The Arrival

It is a cool rainy night a we step through the sliding doors. Suddenly before my eyes is a mass of activity. VolkswagenÆs with taxi signs on their roofs plough through the rain headlights blazing and horns blaring. As I look to the right and left, huge neon signs shine in the falling rain. People crowd into lines to await taxis cringing from the droplets from heaven.

The city is Shanghai, the date, June 1999. Here at last, I breathe a deep breath, taking in the Shanghai evening air, feeling a deep satisfaction and joy. After many years of waiting, finally the dream realized my first moments in Communist Mainland China.

The gift of the huge city of 30 million is impressive, with space age skyscrapers making their mark on the skyline. One-fourth of all the worldÆs construction cranes are in this rapidly expanding city. Everywhere buildings are shooting up like saplings in a new forest.

The Journey

The small mini van rolls to a stop, headlights off, I hear the rushing of feet on the gravel, it is a dark night. The only light is the faint flashlight beam pointing the way. As I exit the van, I feel a pressure on my arm, an older women hurries me along. ôLeave the luggage, someone will bring itö she whispers.

A man illuminates part of the dirt path with a weak flashlight. ôKeep your head down, pull the cap down more,ö warns the lady as we make our way up the path at a very brisk pace. Ducking and hopping, power cables swish past our heads and my ankles turn from the unseen potholes.

Inside, one at a time, we enter a small room. The room is empty of furniture except for bedding, barely off the dirt floor. The walls are cracked white concrete. As I turn around and look, curious, smiling faces peep around doorways and through windows. Their bright brown eyes are alive with life and excitement.

ôTake just enough to scrub up, and your bible, so if the police come you can run easily,ö warns our host. ôYour bags will be taken to a safe houseö

Very soon we are hustled back to the van. The engine starts and we are bumping our way down the road once again. At the first intersection, the van stops and the driver is just sitting there, revving the engine with the lights off. Suddenly his cell phone rings, ôAll clear, go!ö The tires bite into the gravel as we lurch forward. A little futher down the road and the van stops once again. The door opens and I am asked to get out. There is a waiting car facing the opposite direction. ôGet in, donÆt let the driver see your face.ö

After some time, our automobile turns down a narrow, country road. Eventually, we repeat the 007 treatment and enter a small country house. This is it, the moment I have dreamed of. I can scarcely believe it. I am deep in the heart of Communist China. This is one of the ôhotspots,ö where the infamous underground, house church revivals burn with fervor. Some report, of up to 30,000 people a day being swept into the kingdom of God.

My new host warmly welcomes me into their home. Pointing at 2 large concrete slabs for beds, I am asked, ôDo you want the hard one or the soft one?ö ôThe soft one if itÆs not too much trouble,ö I reply through my interpreter. I am escorted out in the dark to the back of the house. The flashlight reveals a very shallow hole in the mud with a slippery piece of wood on either side. ôThis is the toilet,ö announces my new friend.

With grace for the field now kicking in, I acknowledge the announcement. There is no mention made of bathing facilities, as such things consist of a bowl of warm water and a bar of soap brought 3 times a day. I am told not to go outside during the day unless absolutely necessary. This will be my home and classroom for the next week.

The Underground Church

Quickly I speed across the courtyard, my boots echoing on the worn cobblestones. I am very careful to duck down in a weak attempt at concealing my 6ö stature. The cap pulled down at the front, does a better job of concealing my face. The scene that awaits me, I will never forget. Huddled everywhere, faces aglow are the wonderful Chinese Christians. The room is small and sweltering with all the body heat. There is a rickety wooden table for a pulpit at one end and a row of windows at the other, which adjoins the next room. These windows are open and full of faces, as are the ones behind me and the 3 doorways are also crowded. There are people crammed on the floor in front and behind me, in the next room and outside too. It is amazing that these people have been crammed in like this,10 hours a day for a week! Such is the hunger of these people for the Word of God. We in the West complain about the air-conditioning, or that the seats are too hard.

As I am being introduced, all the people sing a welcome song. I am touched by the fervent, beautiful singing. Then my friend suggests that I sing a song in Chinese that I have learned. Before I can answer, someone passes a blue guitar through the window. The people pass it over their heads until it reaches me. It doesnÆt take long for me to realize that this guitar cannot be tuned. So what, who cares! Before I can begin strumming and singing, tape recorders begin leaping onto the table like lemmings into the sea. One or two verses of ôChung Hallelujah, say may choo,ö ought to teach them.

After the singing, while speaking to the people, I canÆt help but to love them. Their eyes are as large as rabbits as they listen to every word. At one point, as I was sharing about praying for China, the people began to weep freely. I had to stop for a moment to compose myself.

Leaving was very difficult; these people have a way of getting into your heart. The last night, they all entertained me with their traditional dances and song. They were so full of joy as they jumped and spun. I can still see the smiles on each face.

Then it ended and we had to go our separate ways. I had a flight to another part of China and this small group had to get back to their flocks. After a time of prayer and laying on of hands, they silently slipped out into the night. Two or three at a time they headed back to danger and persecution, some returning to territories where they had been recently arrested for preaching the Gospel.

My Impressions

When it comes time for spiritual matters they are like lions! They know how to get a hold of God fast.

Every morning at 5am in China the devil trembles as the greatest army the world has ever seen, shakes itself and marches into battle as one man.. The people understand the dynamics of prayer, how to flow, how to shout at the devil and how to weep in the presence of God. When it comes to praise and worship they lift up their voices and sing with their whole heart. Many bawl uncontrollably in adoration for their savior. They know the bible like the back of their hands.

I spoke to many who have been imprisoned and tortured for their faith. They smile from ear to ear and laugh about the experience. All of them say that they are not afraid of beatings or prison (they usually get the whole prison saved while there). The only thing they are afraid of is becoming a Judas and selling out their brothers and sisters!

When they are not praying and preaching they put their giftings up on the shelf and operate out of the fruit of the spirit. They walk in the most perfect love, servanthood and humility toward one another. I received the best hospitality I have ever had. They didn't have much to offer materially, but all they had was freely given.

I felt totally humbled and convicted while there. I felt so inadequate, how could I minister to these people? I think I was sent to be changed, more than me changing them.

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