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National Day
September 29, 2006
There are crowds of people cross the road at nearly every intersection.
The black patchwork quilt of heads weave through taxis and busses
crammed with people, blurred motorbikes and bicycles shooting in
streams of colored designs. Gold material flows down into a pool
at the bottom of palm trees in front of a department store. On
the front are brightly decorated characters announcing the reason
for the festivities. Inside western-style suits are marked down
from 900RMB ($112US) to just over 200RMB ($25US). People flow in
and out of the store with bags lined up on their arms. And of course,
there is an increase of those holding out their bowls and cups
to collect money.
National Day is a day of celebration for the “independence” given
to the Chinese people when the Communists came into power nearly
60 years ago. As this national holiday day goes on, rain begins
to sprinkle down lightly on the streets. Just ahead a woman and her son
sit on the steps of a department store. Her son looks to be in his thirties
and has an empty look in his eyes that revealed that something was wrong
with his mind. He lies with his head in his mother’s lap, his round
body wrapped in a plastic tarp to protect him from the rain and wind.
His bowl is ready for those passing by.
A little nine-year-old girl runs up to us nodding her head up
and down as she thanks us in advance for the money she wants
us to give. We place our arm around her back and assure her that
the next time we see her we would give her some cookies. This
is all it takes for her to withdraw her cup from our side and
send her skipping back the other way.
As we walking through Culture Square in the heart of the city, the red
spires of a building rise up over the people. Just ahead, around the corner we come
to the front door of a church. One side of the door is open, with
a sign announcing the service times. Peeking our head into the
door we see a mural of Jesus in a green pasture
surrounded by his sheep, filling up the 20-foot long wall. No one comes
to the door or appears to be in the church.
A nearby vendor who is busy kneading bread dough and baking
it to the inside of a huge heated metallic can
tells us to knock on the window of the little office so that someone
will come to the door. Apparently, those willing, and brave enough
to knock, will bring someone out of the little office to come to
the door. Today that person is Sister Han*, a woman in her fifties
who has been a believer for just over five years. On first meeting,
Sister Han is a little distant, filling the silence with occasional
nervous “Thank God, thank God.” Upon our second meeting,
she greets us with a broad smile across her face as if we were
old friends.
She tells us of the 24 hour shift that she is in the middle of
working and how she fills her time with reading the Word. She is
substituting for her husband who has been fighting an illness.
The other three or four people who take turns watching the door
are responsible not only for watching the church, but also for
answering the questions of those that come to ask. Most are believers,
but she tells us of some that come to ask what Christianity is
about, if you need to pay money to join, and how to become a believer.
She gladly answers these questions and tells them that we are all sinners and that Jesus
is willing to cleanse us of our sin. She smiles broadly as she
tells us of those that have prayed with her to believe.
As we walk out of the empty lobby into the crowded square, a
college-age boy and girl stop and look up to the small metal
cross on the bright red spire that adorns the building. They linger
there not walking away, yet not walking closer to the door either.
Sister Han pulls the door closed on the empty church.
* Name changed
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