24

Secret Rendezvous

From the beginning of our persecution interviews, Ruth and I knew that if we wanted to learn how spiritual faith could survive in tough times in hostile places, a visit to mainland China would be essential. Deciding to travel to China was easy; planning and executing the details of the trip proved to be a much more difficult challenge.

We had never worked in China. We had never traveled to that part of the world. I personally did not know one person in China. We reached out to organizations and agencies with work in China, in hopes of connecting with someone who knew someone who might have contacts in China. We needed a group or an individual with credibility and trust among Chinese believers. We needed someone who would be able to open doors for us.

Our search was difficult and closed doors were common. Some people we thought could help told us that they couldn’t—or, for some reason, wouldn’t. It was a challenge even to communicate our intentions and our goals, let alone to orchestrate the logistics of travel and personal contact. Ruth and I spent weeks writing e-mails, making phone calls, and asking for assistance.

Finally, we were told of a man named David Chen. Born in China, he had been educated in North America. He had become a pastor and a seminary professor. Even better, he had made over one hundred trips of his own into China where he regularly provided theological and Bible training to leaders of Chinese house churches. He had also conducted his own life-long study of the growth of Christianity in China under communist rule.

David told us that he was planning another visit to China that fall. He said that he would vouch for me with his contacts and encourage their cooperation. If things worked out, it was possible that David and I could even travel together.

That old axiom, “It’s not what you know, but who you know,” proved to be true. David’s introductions and endorsement opened the door to an extensive network of believers throughout China. Those believers, upon David’s trusted recommendation, agreed to open themselves and, in some cases, their homes and house churches to help me. Within days, detailed plans for my seven-week trip began to fall into place.

I received my initial introduction to China and Chinese culture in Hong Kong. David Chen, who would meet up with me in mainland China later on my trip, had given me a crash course in Chinese heritage and the history of Christianity in his native land before I had left America. He had put me in touch with a number of believers in Hong Kong who had agreed to talk with me about how the local churches had been impacted by the government changeover which had taken place just the year before. After more than a century and a half as a British colony, Hong Kong was now under the control of China.

The Hong Kong believers I met said that there had been a lot of speculation and worry as that long- awaited (and, for many, much-dreaded) transfer of power had come. In fact, uncertainty and fear about the future had been so prevalent that in the years and months prior to the communist takeover in July of 1997, seventy-five percent of the city’s protestant pastors had emigrated from Hong Kong. Many of these pastors, claiming political and/or religious refugee status, had gone to Taiwan, and many had gone to countries in the west.

The lay-leaders and believers who had been left behind said that, so far, the Chinese authorities had lived up to their promises. They were allowing Hong Kong to continue operating under a very different style of government—a style that was more western and capitalistic, less authoritarian, and even somewhat democratic. According to the Hong Kong believers, the biggest problem that they faced now was how to deal with the sudden loss of trained and experienced leadership among the city’s churches. I found it interesting, and even disturbing, that so many of the pastors had left Hong Kong.

Never in my life had I felt so conspicuous, so alien, so completely out of place as I did walking along the back streets of Hong Kong. It surprised me how much that bothered me and it made me wonder a bit about what might be in store over the next few weeks at my various destinations around the mainland—none of which would be nearly as “westernized” as Hong Kong.

My unexpected culture shock reinforced the concern that I had when David Chen had first told me that it would be a good idea if we went into mainland China separately. David knew that every time he made the trip, he increased the risk that he might be suspected and arrested by the Chinese authorities for his work with the house churches. Since I had never been to China, he assured me that there would be little chance that I would be detained. However, if this was the time they finally caught him and I happened to be travelling with him, or if they decided to investigate him because he was traveling with an American, they might somehow discover the real purpose of his visit. I would likely be caught in the same web, and I would probably be refused entry or expelled from the country.

“I’ll catch up with you soon enough,” David said. “Until then, you’ll be safer without me. The people who are meeting you at your first couple of stops speak excellent English. They will be able to interpret if any people they have lined up for interviews don’t speak English. The young couple meeting you at the train station in your first city will take good care of you. At the end of your three days there, they will give you instructions about how to make contact at your second stop.”

“But how will I recognize them?” I asked.

David smiled. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They will find you.”

But I pressed for more assurance: “But how will they . . .”

David’s laughter interrupted me. “Don’t worry, Nik,” he insisted. “They will know!”

Standing on the loading platform at the main Hong Kong railroad station, waiting to board my train to the mainland, I concluded that half of the population of China must have been in the city on holiday and were now heading home, hauling heavy bags of whatever they had purchased in Hong Kong.

I suddenly realized why David had laughed when I asked how the people meeting my train would recognize me. At a towering height of 5’11” I found myself looking over the tops of thousands of heads, as far as I could see, all covered with straight dark hair. There wasn’t a single African, European, or Latino in sight. It was just China and me packed into that train terminal.

The entire crowd suddenly surged toward the slowly-opening doors of the nearest railroad car. Fortunately, I was among the first passengers squeezed onto the train. I managed to claim a seat in a passenger car that filled far beyond its intended capacity.

When we reached our southern Chinese city, the train emptied so fast that I had no chance to get my bearings. I simply followed the flood of humanity as it carried me through the station. I had no alternative but to trust David Chen’s instructions and pray that his friends were as reliable as he had said. Sure enough, within seconds, I felt someone brush up against me and subtly pat my hand as I walked by. Turning, I noticed a young Chinese couple who made eye contact and silently motioned for me to follow them out toward the street. At the curb they hailed a taxi, tossed my single bag into the trunk, and gestured for me to climb in the back seat.

My greeters gave the driver directions. We started on what was a relatively silent forty-minute taxi ride to somewhere in the city that I suspected would not be our final destination. Sure enough, after waiting for our taxi driver to leave, my hosts led me through a confusing, meandering maze of streets for several blocks. Then they slowed their pace. They carefully scanned the empty streets before and behind us, and then stepped quickly through an unlocked door into the tiny foyer of what was some sort of residential building. Only after they led me up three flights of stairs, ushered me into their apartment, and closed the door behind us did they finally relax enough to speak freely.

Daniel and Lydia Wang explained that later that evening, after dark, they would accompany me back downtown to one of the government-owned “official” tourist hotels where foreign visitors were required to register and stay. Until then, they explained, their apartment would be a much safer place to talk. Lydia served tea and cookies as we began to talk.

The Wangs described their role as leaders of a local house church in a regional network of affiliated congregations. That was how they had met David Chen.

I expressed my appreciation and respect for David and explained my own connection with him as a valued advisor. I went on to summarize the purpose of my visit to China and shared a sampling of the Russian and Eastern European stories that I had gathered in those places. I also told them a little about my own background, including my time in Africa. Of course, I also included some of my Somali struggles and how those struggles had led me to China.

In an effort to be sensitive to the situation, I told them that I appreciated and understood the reasons behind their caution. I explained that in Somalia believers could be killed simply for associating with outsiders. I assured Daniel and Lydia that I would gladly follow whatever security precautions they wanted to establish and that I didn’t want to put them in any unnecessary danger.

They explained that our surreptitious route to their apartment that afternoon was because local authorities seemed to have ratcheted up the surveillance level in recent months. A number of their house- church colleagues had reported being followed.

“Do you think we were being followed?” I wanted to know.

“We don’t think so,” Lydia replied. “But we won’t be certain for a few more days.”

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“If anyone happened to be following us today, they would just keep watching as long as you are here, in order to discover what you might be doing and what’s going on,” Daniel explained. “They would be content to continue gathering evidence until you leave. Then, if there was going to be any trouble, that’s when they would come back and arrest us.”

When Lydia saw the look of concern on my face, she smiled and tried to reassure me: “Don’t worry. Daniel and I were very careful going to and coming from the station today. We didn’t notice anyone. We’re pretty sure that we weren’t followed.”

“And even if we were followed and discovered,” Daniel added, “there is little chance that it would be a life or death situation like it might be for your friends in Somalia. So don’t worry. Here in China, most believers who get arrested, even our evangelists who face the serious charge of starting an illegal house church, are usually sentenced to no more than three years in prison.”

I was stunned by the casual way that he said those words. And I was more than worried; I was alarmed. I was alarmed not simply for myself, but by the thought that my visit could actually result in my hosts’ imprisonment.

“Why didn’t you just tell me not to come because it might be too dangerous for you?” I asked.

“We were willing to accept the risk,” Daniel assured me.

“If I had known, though, I’m not sure that I would have accepted that risk,” I told him. That response seemed to surprise them both. I went on to explain the lesson that I had learned in Somalia about the importance of making sure that any persecution to be endured came for Jesus’ sake.

“What I mean,” I explained, “is that if you get in trouble with the authorities for worshiping or witnessing for Jesus, God can and God will honor that. When the people closest to you—your family, your friends, your neighbors, and even those authorities familiar with your case—see and understand what you did and how that was a result of your commitment to Jesus, God can use that for His glory. That might even lead to other people thinking about God.”

“But if you get arrested for associating with me (or any other westerner) simply because someone spotted you meeting me at the train station or walking down your street—and if someone just happened to notice us entering your apartment building together, I’m not sure that God will bless that in the same way.”

“For one thing, many people who know you might never understand that your persecution was for Jesus’ sake. If you are arrested for worshipping with other believers, the reason for your arrest is clear. But there could be many motivations for associating with a foreigner. For example, people might be told that you did that for financial gain, or people might assume that you were working on a plan to leave the country. They might even think that you were involved in something political.”

“So how would the Lord be able to use that to point people to Jesus? The Bible assures us that God can use anything for good, but I don’t think that He wants to reward us when our unnecessary actions make that more difficult for Him to do.”

“What I learned during my time in Somalia” I continued, “was that I never wanted my words, my actions, or my work to be the cause of anyone’s suffering. Being persecuted for my sake is NOT the same as being persecuted for Jesus’ sake. Causing suffering for my sake, especially if that suffering is the result of a thoughtless, uninformed, or downright stupid decision or action on my part, would be sad and unnecessary. It would be wrong. It might even be a sin.”

Daniel and Lydia seemed intensely interested in what I was saying. They also seemed troubled.

Lydia spoke up first: “I understand and appreciate what you are telling us. It makes sense. But what Daniel didn’t say when he told you why we were willing to take the risk—and what you need to understand—is that we would never tell someone like you, a visitor, not to come. We just couldn’t do that! We wouldn’t do that.”

I wasn’t quite sure that I understood her point. So I followed up: “Why not?”

“Because not welcoming a visitor would go against everything we believe. It would go against everything we are!” She went on to explain that hospitality is a high value, one of the very highest values in Chinese culture. Telling someone not to come would be unthinkable. Any Chinese person would consider that both embarrassing and wrong. She explained: “It would never be appropriate to turn down the request of a visitor or a guest.”

Suddenly I understood the issue that we were dealing with. I had been trained to be aware of the different values among different cultures and people groups. The Chinese obviously highly value hospitality (as do Arabs and many other Muslim cultures). Disregard for that value would be considered a terrible offense.

In that moment, it also dawned on me that these kinds of questions were not unique to any one culture. As the Wangs talked, I found myself thinking of things that I had learned as a child, experiences that I had had in Somalia, and stories that had been shared in my recent visits to Russia and Eastern Europe. I suddenly wished that I could get everyone in the same room at the same time! And I began to wonder if these lessons and insights might be transferable from one culture to another. I suspected that they would be.

Listening to Lydia talk about the high value of hospitality in her culture, I thought about an experience from my days in Somalia that highlighted the difference in values between cultures.

In sub-Saharan Africa, relationship is such a highly regarded value that for many tribal Africans that value often takes precedence over truth—which most westerners usually consider the higher of the two values. That difference in perspective can create serious misunderstandings, unnecessary conflict and sometimes even tragic consequences. An African might choose to massage or shade the truth, or withhold important information, because he doesn’t want to cause offense. He might refuse to say something that others might not want to hear.

When that happens, it would be easy for an American to see the African as deceitful and untrustworthy, even lacking in moral character. The African, however, might feel that he has actually demonstrated the highest integrity and trustworthiness by honoring what he had always been taught to believe was the more important cultural value. For him, consciously saying something that he feared could damage or strain a relationship would have been the far greater wrong.

I encountered that kind of cross-cultural misunderstanding shortly after we began working in Somalia. I sought security advice from the newly-hired Omar Aziz. I asked if he thought that it would be safe for me to go to a certain section of the city for a meeting that I needed to attend. Did he think that there would be enough danger that I should cancel my plans?

Omar Aziz told me that I should be fine.

I left for the meeting. As I approached my destination, a firefight broke out. I heard gunfire on my right and my left. I ran for my life. When I reached the safety of our compound and reported what had happened, other Somali staff told me that I should never have been in that part of the city alone. They said, “Everyone knows that is one of the most dangerous areas in all of Mogadishu.”

I was furious. The next time I saw Omar Aziz, I accused him of almost getting me killed. I demanded to know why he had lied to me. I demanded to know why he would place me at such risk.

His immediate, indignant response to my charges floored me. He believed that he was giving a complete justification when he said, “I don’t know you well enough to owe you the truth!”

For Omar Aziz, relationship earned and elicited truth. In my background, truthfulness was crucial for the development of any relationship. We both saw a strong connection between the two, but we saw those two things very differently.

Once we understood and accepted the difference in our cultural values, we began to realize that we both desired the same thing. Omar Aziz wanted a relationship that was strong and deep enough to survive the most difficult truth. Truth and honesty, for me, was the essential foundation upon which to build a good relationship.

Once we understood and honored each other’s values, we developed one of the deepest friendships I have ever had. I knew that I could trust Omar Aziz with my life—and I often did. He knew that I cared deeply for him, and I proved that to him on many occasions. We discovered that relationship and truth were both crucial—and that they did not ever need to be in conflict. We both got what we wanted and our lives were richer for it.

I shared that memory with Lydia and Daniel. I told them that I believed that with good effort at honest communication, and a little more cross-cultural understanding and sensitivity to our different values, most conflict could be avoided or resolved.

Then I continued: “So let me make a suggestion that will allow you to honor and maintain your commitment to your cultural value of hospitality. Let me suggest a way to do that without unnecessarily compromising your personal security situation or endangering others in your house-church movement. When you are contacted by an outsider the next time . . .”

“Wait!” Lydia excitedly interrupted. “We have friends who need to hear what you are saying. We will call them and invite them over. Then you can tell us all at the same time.”

I listened as Daniel and Lydia each began to call their friends. They told them, “We have a Wwesterner visiting us this evening. He has been telling us some very interesting things that you need to hear.”

Soon, fifteen of Daniel and Lydia’s house-church colleagues joined us in their tiny apartment. Daniel briefly introduced me to their friends and quickly summarized my background and my intentions for this visit to China. He told his friends that I had come to learn from them how faith had not only survived, but had literally exploded, multiplied and spread throughout all of China despite decades of communist rule and the unrelenting opposition from both national and local authorities.

As quickly as possible, I tried to bring the expanded group to the point where Daniel, Lydia and I had suspended our conversation. I expressed my fear of creating a more dangerous security issue for Daniel and Lydia, for the people gathered in that room, and for their entire house-church movement. I admitted that I was putting them in danger just by being there. I mentioned that I had questioned Daniel and Lydia’s decision to let me come—and that they had told me that they would never refuse a guest. I again made the point about the difference between being persecuted for my sake and suffering persecution for Jesus’ sake.

I suggested that the next time an outsider inquired about visiting them or their house churches at a difficult, dangerous, or especially inconvenient time, there might be a simple and straightforward strategy. They could graciously let the person know they that they were welcome—and that they would look forward to a time to meet and host them. But then they could also honestly explain why it was not the best or most convenient time for such a visit. Finally, they could suggest that their inquirer check back at a later time when it might be a better time for a visit. When that time came, they could assure the visitor that they would do everything to make the visit meaningful and productive. In the meantime, they could pray that God would lead everyone involved in working out the timing and details of the plan.

That approach honored their cultural and Christian value system by allowing them to maintain a genuine welcoming spirit of hospitality. They would be presenting a practical and sensible plan that would never offend any reasonable, would-be visitor. And they would be able to do so without compromising their own security or unnecessarily endangering any of their congregations or members. They would never have to say “No” to an outsider; they could simply say, “Not today!”

Over the next three days, I was even more encouraged by what these house-church members were able to teach me. I heard wonderful stories of how these individuals had come to know Christ and other reports about what God was doing through their house-church movement.

What I appreciated most was their description of life for believers in communist China. Several of the people I interviewed assured me that the communist government actually didn’t care what its citizens believed. They claimed that the government’s long and brutal opposition to religion had not been about faith, but about control.

I knew, of course, about China’s “one-child policy.” My new friends explained that the enforcement of that law through involuntary abortions was merely one of countless ways the government determined to control every aspect of an individual’s life. The government mandated where people could live and whether or not they could ever relocate to another part of the country. The government determined where children could go to school. School authorities determined if and where each student could continue his or her education. The government would decide each person’s career, where a person would work, and even what the salary would be.

Before young people could marry, they would have to get permission from their supervisor. Applying for a marriage license, they would wait for government approval. If a couple wanted to start a family, they were required to seek permission from authorities at their place of work and in the local government.

All pregnancies had to be reported and were supposed to be pre-approved. Unexpected or unplanned pregnancies, even when it was a couple’s first, would sometimes be aborted. Once a woman had given birth to her one allotted baby, any subsequent pregnancies would be automatically terminated by an involuntary, government-ordered abortion. Many work places required regular pregnancy tests for all female employees of child-bearing age in order to catch unapproved pregnancies early.

Women seeking government permission and paperwork to travel from one province of China to another would first be required to pay for a pregnancy test to make sure that they weren’t going somewhere to secretly give birth to an unapproved child. The personal cost for an elective pregnancy test could be more than one-month’s salary.

Any woman who somehow managed to escape the notice of the pregnancy police, or any family that refused to abide by the government’s one child policy, would pay a terrible price. Because the government issued only one child identity card per family, no additional child could ever have an official identity. As far as the government was concerned, that additional child did not exist. That child could never attend school and that child could never get a job.

Clearly, any government that intent on total control over its citizens would be unable to acknowledge the power of an omnipotent God! Any religion that called for obedience and commitment to Someone (seen or unseen) who was above and beyond the government would be calling the power of the government into question. Such a threat could not, and would not, be tolerated.

I suddenly realized how dangerous it would be simply to speak the words: “Jesus is Lord.” The faith of believers would strike at the very heart of the government’s power.

I began to absorb another instructive lesson from another interview.

When the authorities arrested and imprisoned a house-church pastor and father of seven children, they also placed his wife under house-arrest. The pastor’s wife was told that she was allowed to leave her home only to shop at the local market. That didn’t seem to matter much to her; she had no money to purchase food at the market anyway. She had to rely on faithful fellow house-church members for food. As it turns out, they provided for her well.

She would wear a baggy smock with large pockets over her other clothes when she went to her village’s open-air market. Walking slowly through the crowd as she wandered in and out among the stalls, she would notice a nudge here and a tug there until she had walked through the entire market. By the time she reached home, her pockets would be filled with tomatoes and onions and other items. Sometimes there was money in a pocket. She always seemed to come home with just enough food to feed her family of eight for another day.

Occasionally, when those seven children got really hungry, the mother would be surprised to find a chicken on her front steps. One day her oldest son was offered a job in a nearby city—and there just happened to be a bicycle leaning up against their front door. Seemingly out of the blue, the boy had transportation to and from work.

The network of house churches did not have, or want, church buildings to gather in, or sanctuaries with rows of pews where people could sit and worship on Sunday mornings. But they certainly knew what it meant to love and look after the concerns and needs of their members.

They knew what it meant to be church for one another.

I believed that their example could serve as an inspiration and challenge to other believers. And indeed it did—much sooner than I ever expected.