More Amusing Signs (to pass the time)

In a temple bathroom...

So I've been a little bit behind on blogging this week. An Augsburg Fortress deadline and a Chinese exam sort of consumed my free time. Another entry should be coming soon.

In the meantime, I've added some more interesting signs from around China. Many of them are not attributable to me - it seems that my classmates are also on the lookout for strange translations. Cheers.

More Signs

I Will Call Upon the Lord... but Not Too Loudly

The Beijing Int'l Christian Fellowship

The Beijing International Christian Fellowship (BICF) seeks “to build a vibrant, reproducing community unified in Christ that embraces and transforms people of all nations to impact their cities, their nations, and the world for Jesus Christ.” Your passport is required at the door, please; expatriates only.

The BICF was one of many interesting experiences on our recent trip to Beijing, marking the primary occasion of place-neutralization during my time in China. The worship service functioned as a direct transplant of contemporary evangelical worship services in the United States, with familiar songs and messages. We were welcomed to worship with a sterile rendition of “I Will Call Upon the Lord,” a campy, liturgical stowaway in late-emerging worship circles. The same middle-aged, newly balding white men hoisted their electric guitars for this service as those who grace the stage of my home church’s gymnasium; and the same threesome of 40-year-old women wielded their lavaliere headsets as they sought redemption and feigned youthfulness. Ultimately, I had the same problems with this worship service as I have with similar services at home, primarily in their failure to articulate the gospel through intentional and processional worship, all for the sake of new-fangledness and synthetic aestheticism. Not to mention, of course, its lack of confession, absolution, communion, gospel text, psalm, and any other number of critical liturgical components. Even still, though, the BICF is subject to a restriction that no American church must bear, in its inability to welcome Chinese citizens into its comfortable confines.

I struggle with what it really means for expatriate Christians to worship in seclusion, in a sort of ivory-tower circle jerk that leaves everyone feeling relieved, but altogether unsatisfied with a sense of faux evangelism. In a country where proselytizing is strictly outlawed, what does evangelism really mean? If the declared mission of the BICF is to “go, make disciples,” then how is one able to return to worship each week, knowing not that he failed, but that he was utterly impotent to reach the 1.27 billion people who surround him daily? Importantly, and the thing that sets this person apart from any other, what does it mean for this Christian to have a legal excuse to fall short of his calling to evangelize? Aren't those who confess such an excuse better off than those subject to no such restrictions, who also exhibit no disciplical intentionality? I certainly don’t claim any superiority to the members of this congregation; the Lord knows that I am no adequate disciple. But then again, I don’t claim to evangelize when I know full well that I cannot – and I don’t check passports at the door.

Ultimately, I left this worship service feeling relieved for having attended, but unsatisfied with a distinctly inclusive community operating on a strictly exclusive plane. I was uneasy with this community in a way that I have never been uneasy with a community of closed-communion; a willing party is always received in baptism. No, I was uneasy with this community in a way that I am uneasy with a school that only accepts white kids, a hospital that only serves rich people.

Yet, while I can loathe the school and detest the hospital, I cannot bemoan a congregation that must adhere to local laws. And that is what makes me absolutely sick about my visit to the BICF; the culprit is a society, a government, a people who fear authority structures outside of governmental control. The culprit is hardly the congregation – they were forced to become “expat only” in 1996 – the congregation certainly has no vested interest in keeping its doors filtered.

Thus for the time being, I presume, the ivory-tower method of worship will suffice to support those who have the willingness and capacity to exemplify faithfulness, no matter the local laws. In fact, it likely even drives some towards underground evangelism – the kind that I discovered when I bought a bible from the hidden back room of a local bookstore. The BICF worship service thus supports those who have the capacity to sneak around the laws in their efforts to evangelize, which is no doubt a good thing.

And certainly, any worship service is better than no worship service whatsoever; but simply put, this was any worship service.

Note: Maybe I wrote this too late at night. As some of my friends have already noted, it is pretty scathing. I'll try to be kinder in future entries... maybe.

You Say It's Your Birthday? Karaoke...

Last night we celebrated the 21st birthday of one of our group members. To commemorate the occasion, we all went out for dinner and karaoke at one of the big KTV joints in Hangzhou.

I only have a few pictures from our evening on the town; but at the risk of embarrassing myself more than ever before, you can't miss this video.

Have Yourself a Merry Little Mid-Autumn Festival

I've been spending a good deal of time with a really great Chinese student, named Andrew, who has been organizing most of our trips in and around China. Andrew is fluent in English, and he has been super-gracious in his willingness to spend a lot of time with a group of American students. Earlier this week, he and I went out to lunch, and during the course of conversation I casually shared with him my experience of a few evenings prior when I had a nice glass of wine at a nearby restaurant.

On Thursday, the eve of the Mid-Autumn Festival, I sent a text message to Andrew, wishing him and his family happy holiday. Andrew wrote back: “come out to my hometown of XiaoXian and enjoy mooncakes with my family!” He was completely serious – and how could I turn him down? Mooncakes are the traditional food of the holiday, a sort of thick cookie that can be found all over China this week, and I really wanted to meet Andrew's family.

(From Left to Right: Andrew's Brother, Me, Andrew)

That was 2:00. By 3:30 I was on a bus with a friend named Matt, bound for Xiaoxian on a 90 minute journey. Andrew and his brother met us at the bus station, his brother driving a car (certainly a rarity in China). They welcomed us into their home, walked us around the neighborhood, and brought us back to their home to meet their parents just in time for the holiday dinner. Andrew translated as only a professional could; after all, this is his major.

The Zhang family spared no expense on this dinner, no doubt because of the holiday, but surely also because they were entertaining foreign guests. Like most Chinese families, they eat off the table, drink out of bowls, and serve their food on common plates; I was thrilled to be able to share a meal with a family for the holiday. The food was incredible. From pork to beef to eggplant to watermelon to river crab, this was a feast of the finest sort. Andrew said his mother cooked a lot of meat, because she believes Americans primarily eat meat – and she was really worried about what food to buy for dinner. The family would not touch the food until either Matt or I had tasted it. And they would not let us say no to additional servings– the feast was meant to be eaten, and no matter how stuffed we were, we were to leave their home with more food in us than we had ever consumed in our lives. This had all been arranged with a mere 4 hours’ notice! After all this, the fancy gift boxes of mooncakes that Matt and I brought for the family seemed quite inadequate; in fact, they were.

Then, the kicker: Andrew's father had gone out and picked up a half case of Chinese red wine. 6 bottles, for six people. I was floored, and the 6 bottles should have been my first clue that they had not had wine before. He did not need to do this, I told Mr. Zhang, but like everything else, he said that he was thrilled to do it and would have none of my nonsense (and he would accept none of our incessant thanks). Andrew's father handed me the bottle to do the honors of opening it – and I felt awful. For the first time in my life I wished I had a swiss army knife. Momentarily confused, Mr. Zhang examined the bottle. As soon as he understood the situation, he bolted for the door. 10 minutes later, he came back, corkscrew in hand. We drank. I don't think they liked it. But they drank, and we all laughed.

You hear about these things all the time, about people going abroad and being treated with all the finest honors. But it isn’t until you experience it that you realize the true humility of it; you discover the humble honor of being welcomed into somebody's home, and you see the pride in their eyes as they show you the best time that they know how. You want to do something, you want to repay them, because your thanks are just insufficient. But there is nothing you can do, except to never stop saying thank you, and to never ever stop eating.

After dinner, they hurried us out the door to catch our 8:30 bus. They gave us food as we left, so that we could eat on the bus (yeah, right). We had only been there 4 hours. But they felt like family.

These are the times when any feeling other than gratitude is conceit, because there is no way that any common person should deserve such a feast. Those who know me know that I like nice things – I like nice cities and nice coffee shops; I'll go to fancy restaurants for dessert only, because I can't afford a full dinner there, but I want to go. But this tops them all. This was so fine, so magnificent, that it pushed beyond the limits of self-importance to a place of utter humility and inadequacy. Going to Andrew's house for dinner didn't make me feel important – it made me feel artificial. It made me feel shallow for going out and getting a glass of wine at a restaurant, particularly when I treat others. It made me realize the illusive qualities of the “finer things,” and it forced me to see the true virtue of selfless pride and honor in welcoming a friend into your home. Importantly, the whole experience made me want to make dinner for someone – not just going to a bakery to buy them nice mooncakes in fancy boxes.

So yeah, I'm learning something this semester. I'm learning how to eat a whole crab, and spit out the shell. I'm learning how to toast properly and show respect to others when we say cheers. I’m learning about mooncakes and foreign holidays. But most importantly, I'm confronting a sort of underlying self-aggrandizement and tendency towards the illusive "finer things;" On this trip, I'm challenging my perspectives on relationships. I have seen a truer meaning of honor, humility, and respect – and in some sense, I'm growing up. At least I think so...

Generic Nationalism supplants Political Memory...or Hides the Scars

From Sunday, October 1…

Happy Birthday, People’s Republic of China! 57 years ago today, the First Plenum of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) concluded its meeting with the election of a new Chairman, Mao Zedong. On October 1, 1949, a great ceremony inaugurating the People's Republic of China was attended by some 300,000 people in Beijing's Tiananmen Square. And today, we celebrate this great accomplishment of societal transformation and the beginning of one of the greatest social experiments in history, when China freed itself from Japanese imperialism and looked proudly into to its backyard furnaces and common kitchens.

(Click on Photos for explanation)

“The world is progressing, the future is bright
and no one can change this general trend of history. We should carry on constant
propaganda among the people on the facts of world progress and the bright future
ahead so that they will build their confidence in victory.”

Mao Zedong. Little Red Book, p. 70. “On the Chunking Negotiations” (17 Oct 1945).

Today is a holiday - this whole week is a holiday – beginning with the National Holiday on October 1 and concluding with the Mid-Autumn Festival on October 6. The National Day seems to have lost its original meaning, marking the installation of Chairman Mao, but retains its emphasis on Nationalism and pride. The Mid-Autumn Festival is a time for family - a more basic holiday, one that does not conjur images of social experimentation and collapse.

Everyone takes the week off and gathers together with family and friends to celebrate. Small cakes, called “mooncakes” fill the stomachs of those celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival.

China changes this week; it transforms from a place of families on the move to families on a stroll. Parks are filled not only with retirees, but with their loved ones as well. And busy though everything may be, people seem to be patient with each other, and enjoying life. And though campus may be empty, Hangzhou is bustling. It’s the holiday season in China, and people are smiling.

Happy Holidays.