Peace through a bowl of tea

By Go Tamitami and Wen Huang Photography by Minmin Wu

In July 2011, Genshitsu Sen, the former grand master of the Urasenke tea tradition and a member of the Rotary Club of Kyoto, Japan, traveled to Hawaii.

On that trip, Sen had a special mission. He had been invited to perform a devotional tea offering ceremony at the USS Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor to console the souls of all the war dead. The media hailed the ceremony as a symbol of the healing process between the United States and Japan, whose bitter enmity had cost so many lives and caused so much destruction during World War II.

For Sen, this tea offering ceremony was also very personal.

In 1943, he was a sophomore at the Kyoto-based Doshisha University when he entered the Imperial Japanese Navy’s air force division. A year later, in October 1944, with Japan losing the war, the Navy began forming the Special Attack Force.

According to the Mainichi Shimbun, a newspaper in Japan, Sen joined 200 of his comrades in training for suicide missions designed to sink enemy ships with aircraft filled with explosives. Sen feared that he would soon suffer a tragic fate, as had one of his ancestors, Sen no Rikyū, who was ordered by a 16th century feudal lord to perform the samurai ritual of seppuku, a self-disembowelment and painful death.

On the day appointed for his suicide run, as Sen was braced for death, a superior officer, out of the blue, scratched Sen’s name off the mission roster. The officer ordered him to stand down despite his repeated pleas to join his comrades. Instead, Sen was dispatched to a military unit in western Japan.

Before he could discover who had kept him from climbing into a cockpit for the last time, the end of the war arrived. Many of his comrades had plunged to their deaths, taking the lives of an estimated 7,000 American, British, and Australian sailors. The toll among the attacking pilots was also severe — as many as 3,800 flew to certain death.

After the war, Sen met with a former senior officer and asked why he had been spared. The officer replied, "Think of it as your destiny." This is the burden Sen now carries with grace. The faces of those comrades still live in his memory, along with the other ghastly consequences of war.

"It was a terrible feeling to have survived," he says. "For this reason, I often have an inexplicable feeling that I have inherited the time of my comrades and those who should have lived. They transferred their lives to me. For their sake, I must also persevere, live well, and live long enough to fulfill my destiny."

After the war, Sen dedicated his life to rebuilding peace and harmony in the world, an ideal deeply embedded in the tea ceremony. At Pearl Harbor, early in the morning of 19 July 2011, Sen was ushered into the gleaming white, open-air memorial that is built above the sunken hull of the Arizona. Nearly half of those killed in Japan's surprise attack on 7 December 1941 were members of the Arizona crew. Of the 1,177 fatalities aboard the ship, the remains of 1,102 crew members still lie entombed in the wreck.

A news clip of Sen's visit shows the grand master moving purposefully, dressed in a black kimono which hung starkly beneath his solemn expression and thick mane of silver hair. He wore white split-toed socks in the Japanese tabi fashion. The elaborate tea service was laid out on a lacquered black table in the center of the assembly room, where more than 200 Japanese and American guests, including politicians, war veterans, civic leaders, and Urasenke chadō practitioners, were gathered to witness the time-honored Japanese ritual.

Employing a piece of square silk cloth known as fukusa, he purified the tea implements before placing green tea powder in a ceremonial bowl and ladling in hot water from a steaming kettle. With a bamboo whisk, Sen prepared two sacred portions — one koicha, or "thick tea," and one usucha, or "thin tea."

Once each bowl was prepared, he carried them to the memorial's inner shrine, where the names of American sailors who perished during the attack are carved into a towering memorial wall. There, he lifted his head toward the heavens and raised the bowl in outstretched arms as an offering to those lost souls. Then, Sen joined his hands in prayer to make a final silent entreaty. He called into that hall, and into the hearts of the congregation, the spirit of peace and reconciliation.

"I have lived 88 years, and this event is going to be the most memorable event for myself personally," Sen said at the end of the ceremony, adding that it is the responsibility of those alive today to confront the past and carry its lessons into the future.

Meeting Sen in the capital of peace and tranquility

Originally named Heian-kyō – literally translated as "capital of peace and tranquility," Kyoto, located in the southwest of Japan's main island of Honshu, was the seat of the imperial court from 794 until 1868, when Emperor Meiji moved the country's political center to the city now known as Tokyo. Kyoto's deep history has endowed the city with 1,600 classic Buddhist temples, 400 Shinto shrines, palaces, gardens, and architectural treasures. Artistic expressions such as kabuki, geisha, and ikebana (flower arrangements) flourished here, along with the martial traditions of samurai warriors.

During World War II, Kyoto was reportedly placed near the top of the list of potential targets for an atomic bomb attack. However, Henry L. Stimson, the U.S. secretary of war, maintained that the city should be spared. Historical accounts indicate that Stimson's decision was driven by two factors: First, he feared a potential outrage from the Japanese people as well as the international community for destroying a city that stood as a shrine of Japanese art and culture. And second, though he never publicly acknowledged this motivation, Stimson had visited Kyoto with his wife in the 1920s and came away impressed by its beauty.

Call it realpolitik or call it sentiment. Either way, the first atomic bombs used in war rained down their massive destruction on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the glory of Kyoto was preserved. A cultural and spiritual hub, Kyoto today is a living museum of Japanese traditions, among them the practice of chadō ― literally, "the Way of Tea." The city is home to Japan's three prominent chadō schools, including the institution known as Urasenke.

Sen lives at the historic Urasenke Konnichian (Hut of This Day) tearoom compound on Ogawa Street in Kyoto.

The cedar-roofed entry gate resembles a samurai helmet. From the gate, visitors follow a stone path that winds through a leafy green garden under a canopy of neatly manicured pines. By passing through the garden, it is expected that chadō participants leave all their worldly thoughts and desires behind as part of the transition from the stressful materialistic world to the sublime tranquility of a chadō gathering.

At the end of the path lies the porch of the main building, which houses a variety of rustic tea rooms with plain clay walls. The unadorned architecture conveys the dignity of the family's ancestry of tea masters. The building's overall aesthetics mirror those of the Japanese chadō itself ― simplicity, subtlety, and a deep sense of regard for nature and human fellowship.

Inside a small tearoom, sliding doors made of wooden lattice and covered in a translucent Japanese paper allow natural light to filter in from the gardens just beyond. A lacquered black table cut low to the floor stands toward the back and is set with tea-making implements.

Finally, Sen, dressed in a gray robe, strides into the room, standing straight and putting his visitor at ease with his cheerful and sonorous laughter. Standing straight at 5-foot-10 inches, he radiates the dignity of character for which he is known. His thick gray hair is combed neatly to the back, rendering his long eyebrows more prominent. His eyes exude gentility and warmth. One is intensely aware that Sen, having turned 99 in April, has witnessed many turbulent events of the 20th century. He is an oracle of history.

“I have inherited the time of my comrades. ... They transferred their lives to me. For their sake, I must persevere, live well, and live long enough to fulfill my destiny.”

Urasenke traditions meet Rotary values

The conversation starts with Rotary. "I tell you, Rotary is a large part of my life," he says, his eyes sparkling. "My father introduced me to Rotary in 1954, when I was 31. I had a feeling that I would never be able to live my life without it. Rotary's values fit perfectly with the tenets of our Urasenke chadō tradition, such as Wa (harmony), Kei (respect), Sei (purity), and Jaku (tranquility). Therefore, as soon as my father spoke to me about the philosophy of Rotary, I already considered myself a member." 

At times Sen appears to be savoring a memory, especially when recalling key Rotary events in which he'd participated. His voice would rise as he leaned forward, sharing experiences as if he were unwrapping family treasures.

"In 1954, I helped charter a new club in Kyoto — the Rotary Club of Kyoto-South," he says. "Many prominent people in the community joined. I realized that to grow Rotary, we had to take action to help our community. Our club was chartered at the time of Japan's economic takeoff. The unbridled pace of economic development was poised to threaten our city. Many historical monuments and cultural sites faced demolition, and our environment suffered severe damage."

Sen and his fellow Rotary members reached out to the media to educate the public and businesses about the importance of preserving historical sites and the environment. His club hosted symposiums, inviting politicians, businesses, and civic leaders for policy discussions. As a result, they were able to stop or divert construction projects that could have damaged or even erased Kyoto's historic character. "We became a strong community voice, and the Rotary Club of Kyoto-South quickly gained the trust and support of the people," he says.

In 1964, upon the death of his father, Sen acceded to the position of Urasenke grand master, representing the 15th generation in the Urasenke line. Despite his new responsibilities, he remained a dynamic member of Rotary and was elected president of the Rotary Club of Kyoto.

"We expanded the influence of Rotary in the Kansai region of Japan," he recalls. "We had cultural exchange programs and joint projects with clubs in other countries. Our club established a scholarship program called "Winds of Hope" for international students who come to study in Japan. At the same time, I took groups of young Japanese to countries around the world, meeting with government officials, royal family members, and civic leaders. Regardless of where we'd go, whether there were Rotary clubs there or not, we would always promote the Rotary philosophy and convey our message of peace and harmony."

Sen's work gained him wide recognition in the Rotary world. He served as a Rotary International director from 1988 to 1990 and a Rotary Foundation trustee from 1998 to 2002. In 2003-04, he chaired the committee for that year's RI Convention in Osaka. The convention drew more than 45,000 people from around the world, setting an attendance record. Promoting peace was a dominant theme; Sadako Ogata, a former Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar and United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, told the audience that her experiences as a scholar helped her understand the causes and consequences of conflict.

"I feel that Rotary is my family, says Sen. "It relieves me of my loneliness and makes me feel cherished. Whenever I attend club activities and meet with young Rotary members, I feel especially close to them, as if I were at home with my children. I thank Rotary and the chadō for making me young and giving me love and energy."

A dream of peace and equality

The talk turns to Russia's invasion of Ukraine. "The tragedy of my early years is repeating itself," he sighs. "The political leaders in Russia have launched an unprovoked war against Ukraine, despite the condemnation of the international community. I always wonder what Rotary can and should do during such difficult times. We have to do something to prevent another global war."

Sen pauses for a moment, deep in thought. He raises his tea implement as if he were holding a shield to protect the world. What can be done to secure peace for the future? He says the question always weighs heavily on his heart. His faith rests with the younger generation.

While financial support — donations to help the people of Ukraine — is important, Sen believes that moral and spiritual support are equally needed. "Young people need to be more vocal in their opposition to wars," he says. "We must not forget about those who died during World War II. We are here today because of their sacrifice."

Our tea prepared, Sen asks, "How is the taste?" The lustrous concoction comprises a thick foam over the dark mixture of powdered green tea beneath. There is a sweetness in the astringency. Each sip brings a new sensation, the taste luxurious, but refined with a distinct flavor of the season.

"Tea drinking calms my mind," he says, while demonstrating the Urasenke style of tea making. "When my mind is quiet, I read books, which enriches my knowledge and helps me concentrate."

Sen headed the Urasenke family and its chadō tradition for 38 years as Sōshitsu Sen, the traditional name carried by the head of the Urasenke family. He transferred the name to his eldest son in 2002.

Upon his retirement, Sen began devoting more time to peace missions. He was selected as a Goodwill Ambassador for UNESCO, Japan-UN Goodwill Ambassador, and chairman of the board of directors of the Rotary Foundation Japan. In 2020, he received the Ordre National de la Légion d'honneur, rank of Commandeur.

"With a tea bowl in my hand, I have traveled to 63 countries and regions in Europe, America, Asia, and Africa," Sen says. "Chadō is my means, a tool that calls for world peace and respect for the humane hearts and minds of human rights."

Edwin Futa, a past general secretary of Rotary International, has participated in many chadō functions in Japan. He says that ceremonies conducted by Sen carry a powerful message of healing divisions and creating peace. In the 15th and 16th centuries, when samurai warlords started to fight for control of Japan, the Zen concepts of harmony and respect embodied in chadō helped forge consensus among rivals.

When a samurai returned from the battlefield, he would remove his armor and sit down to seek inner peace with a bowl of tea prepared in the chadō manner, Futa says. Since the tea rooms had tiny entrances, one had to crawl to enter. Members of the ruling class, who always carried swords with them, had no choice but to remove their swords from their waists. "Such rules meant that you leave your weapons and ego behind," Futa says.

Chadō cleanses the mind and promotes humility and courtesy, no matter a person's personality, a tearoom will calm even a feisty and aggressive heart, says Sen. "Chadō emphasizes self-cultivation and teaches practitioners to cherish life and respect others," he says. "It is not a ritual or a performance. The practice comprises a philosophy that can easily be understood and accepted by the world. We all like to drink tea. When sitting at tea table, there is no difference between the world's high and low, every individual is equal. Every country and every culture are treated equally."

Go Tamitami is a Tokyo-based writer and TV producer.

This story originally appeared in the August 2022 issue of Rotary magazine.