In Part One, a Mormon missionary finds himself with his contrary companion at his Buddhist grandfather’s wake.

In Part Two, he is tempted to worship idols.

Part Three follows. As his grandpa’s body is consumed in the crematorium, Elder Degraw puzzles over strange past manifestations of the Spirit. This section is almost entirely autobiographical.

On the way to the crematorium, I thought about an experience I had had in the Missionary Training Center in Provo. Elder Vasquez, my MTC companion, and I were involved in a role-play in which we were the missionaries and our instructor, Hale Sensei, played our difficult investigator. The character he played had concerns about doctrinal issues, which we had tried unsuccessfully to resolve. There was a bad feeling in the room that we all sensed. Vasquez Choro, acting as the senior companion, said to Hale Sensei in his clumsy Japanese, “Brother Tanaka, let’s pray. We need the Spirit.” We had knelt on the classroom floor and Vasquez nodded to me. I folded my arms, closed my eyes, and emptied my mind. Then I pleaded with our Father in Heaven for his Spirit to help Tanaka-san resolve his concerns and to help him to feel the Spirit. Then the most amazing thing happened: a quiet calm filled the room. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and knew that the others had felt it too. Vasquez was excited and turned to Brother Tanaka San/Hale Sensei and said, “The Spirit, Truth.” He was reaching the limit of his Japanese language ability. I took over.

“Brother Tanaka,” I said, “what you are feeling now is the Spirit of God. Father in Heaven speaks to us through his Spirit to help us to recognize the truth.” Hale Sensei’s eyes were moist with tears.

“Will you show your commitment to him by accepting baptism in the name of Jesus Christ?”

“Hai,” he said. Yes.

That was one of the most real lessons I taught throughout my whole mission experience. We had been acting, and we had known we were, but there was no denying the power of the experience. I mean, we were sincere, but the whole situation was a role-play. There was no Brother Tanaka, and he had no real concerns. If what was fake was real, then was the real thing fake? Was the Spirit an act, too? Perhaps Christiansen, the Buddhist priests, and I were all actors in some elaborate play, and God was the director. Who had the right script?

At the crematorium, we all said our last good-byes to Oj?Æchan. This was particularly hard on my grandmother, who started crying. My aunts weren’t doing much better. I was glad that Mom wasn’t here to see this. The attendants placed Oj?Æchan, his coffin and his chrysanthemums into a large oven. They closed a huge steel door that looked more like it belonged in a nuclear power plant or on the airlock of some space battle cruiser. They bowed their heads and placed their palms together in a brief prayer, then left. Uncle Hisao took us to a waiting room. He told me that it would take two or three hours. I wandered outside, and Christiansen followed closely behind.

“I need to be alone for a bit, Christiansen Choro,” I said.

He hesitated for just a bit, then said, “All right.” He wasn’t even angry.

I walked for a while until I could see the ocean waves striking the rocks far below. I felt the moist, salty breeze on my face. It was invigorating.

I looked down on an ocean of liquid sapphire with a million glittering facets. Kujukushima, the Ninety-Nine Islands, floated on the surface like so many bubbles of green velvet. The vegetation on each of the islands blended together to form one mass, so that each island looked like a rounded stone completely covered with dark moss. Thin strands of glaring sand separated the canopy of the islands from the sea. The bamboo forests on the hills in Sasebo are the color of jade, although it is early November. The island jungles off the coast here are always a thousand shades of emerald. Autumn’s colors, though rich, are signs of the winter that will inevitably follow. Kujukushima’s colors are those of an eternal summer. Their colors infuse me with energy and vigor.

As I mentally skipped from island to island towards the horizon, I noticed that they faded, in stages, into the mist. The more distant the island, the more it was hazy and hidden. It was hard to tell if the farthest shadows were islands or illusions. I sat down on the grass, let my thoughts wander, and stared out at the glittering ocean and at Kujukushima for a long, long, time.

A month or two ago, while approaching people in front of a busy train station, I stopped a young Jay Dub‚Äîwhat we missionaries affectionately called members of our primary proselytizing competition: the Jehovah’s Witnesses. He reminded me a lot of me‚Äîa fully Japanese version of me. About my height and build, he had smiled as I approached. After introducing myself and talking for a while, I had asked him:

“How do you know that your Bible is the word of God? That your Church is the Lord’s kingdom?” I asked him. Most Jay Dub’s will say that they have studied it in their Bible and will use logic and scriptural proof to support their arguments. I hadn‚Äôt been prepared for his answer.

“I prayed about it, and the Lord answered me.” That’s what we tell our investigators–to ask God with faith in Christ and he will reveal the truth through his Spirit.

“How did he answer you?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“I felt a great peace in my heart. It was his Spirit speaking to me.” He waited a moment for a response. Then he looked at his watch and said, “Listen, I enjoyed our conversation, but I’m late for class. I’ve got to go now.” He hurried off, and I stood there, stunned.

Why had God told me that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the only true Church and then told this Japanese guy the same thing about the Jehovah’s Witnesses?

I had had a Thai roommate during my freshman year of college who was a devout Buddhist and meditated regularly. He had been the most respectful and kind roommate I‚Äôve known. While I was a fresh convert and preparing for my mission, we had had some interesting conversations about our respective religions. I remember asking him, “Do you ever have spiritual experiences?”

“Yes.” He then thought for a bit. “Sometimes, after I meditate, I am filled with an indescribable love for those around me, even those who have wronged me in some way. At other times, I feel a peace in my heart that is so strong that the tears flow uncontrollably down my face.”