No. 4, Nov. 1993

 

ADVENTURES IN CATHAY

 

                It took us 14 hours to fly, non-stop, from Los Angeles to Hong Kong. Counting the Dallas to L.A. segment, we spent almost 17 hours flying 9,000 miles to our destination, first on American Airlines and then Cathay Pacific. While such travel is now routine and taken for granted, I never cease to be awed when a big jet soars 35,000 feet into the sky with hundreds of tons of human cargo and wings its way half way around the world. And along the way they serve gourmet dinners and show movies! I hope I never lose my childlike awe over such wonders.

 

                When Ouida expressed surprise over our flying toward China by way of San Franciso and the northern California coast and finally near Alaska and the Aleutians, I explained that we were going more upward on the map than westward. Since the world is round, it is distorted by a flat map. So, we don't go "across" to China from the U.S., but upwards, and thus fly near Korea and Japan on our way to Hong Kong. Tracing the route on a globe makes it clear.

 

                It had been almost 30 years since I had been in Hong Kong, and I was impressed with its increased elegance, surely one of the great cities of the world, and relatively clean and safe, reminding me of Singapore with its glistening skyscrapers.

 

                Ignoring the jet lag, I was up early the first morning for a vigorous walk along the harbor. The first Chinese I encountered were two young ladies who appeared to be singing and praising God as they looked out over the harbor to the Hong Kong skyline (We were on the Kowloon side of the metroplex). My bold intrusion elicited information they were pleased to share: They were members of the Boston Church of Christ of Hong Kong!

 

                A typhoon hit Hong Kong while we were there, and it was something to see from a hotel window. We were warned not to leave the hotel. No boats on the bay; the big jets at the airport were hangered and tied down or flown to safer havens. The busy streets were virtually bare except for debris. Businesses were closed. Ouida pointed to the palm trees along the boulevards, bent prostrate as if in prayer to Him who controls the seas and the winds. It was awesome.

 

                Ouida was prepared for such contingencies as well as high-priced restaurants, so we feasted on what-nots out of our suitcase, along with the tea that oriental hotels always supply.

 

                Believe me, there's nothing like eating peanut butter and cheese with Ouida during a raging typhoon halfway around the world!

 

                After three days in Hong Kong and with visas in hand, we all flew Air China to Beijing, the capital of the world's most populous nation. Each couple had some 60 Chinese New Testaments and bundles of tracts which we were to smuggle into China. We were instructed on how to pack them so as to escape detection. This made Ouida, who doesn't want to disobey any nation's laws, uneasy.

 

                The Chinese custom officers waved us all by, for they were swamped with traffic following the typhoon. One of our number ventured that the Lord had sent the typhoon so as to get us through customs with our contraband.

 

                We made good use of ours. When I handed a fistful of Bibles to a woman missionary from Britain, she instinctively looked both ways before she accepted them, then quickly buried them in her bag, saying to me, "God bless you for bringing them in; we never have enough." She explained that Chinese Bibles must be distributed very judiciously.

 

                In Beijing our group took a few days for sightseeing before embarking upon our separate missions. It took all of one day to go by bus to see the Great Wall. Started back in 221 B.C. the Wall was 2,000 years being built, and it stretches over 3,000 miles across China's northern border. It was designed to defend the empire from invading barbarians. As Ouida and I walked atop part of it we felt the force of China's antiquity as well as being witness to one of the wonders of the world.

 

                It was a different feeling the next day when we walked about Tiananmen Square. There we remembered the tens of thousands that demonstrated for freedom. It was a crushed rebellion, the spirit of which lives on in China and is sure to rise again. I made a prophesy to our group as we returned to our hotel, that one day our children will visit Tiananmen Square and see a momument erected to the brave Chinese youth who gave their lives for freedom back in 1989. A free China will one day pay homage to those they now persecute.

 

                We spent another day in the Forbidden City, a complex of some 800 buildings, home of the emperors, that dates back 600 years. It earned its name from the fact that no one was allowed into its parameters except those approved by the emperor. Yet there were thousands at his beck and call, including a large harem. One emperor sired over 30 children, but only one by his empress. The women who served him were selected from the brightest and most beautiful of all the empire.

 

                The emperor had absolute power over all his subjects, and stringent tests were used to test the loyalty of those who served him. Ancient China was not backward, but well advanced in many ways, especially in the principles of law and order, family solidarity, ethics and philosophy. The emperor himself would meet with the brightest of the land and test them in the teachings of Confucius, and he would examine their skill in calligraphy, which they spent a half lifetime perfecting before exposing their art to the emperor, always the ideal Confucius gentleman.

 

                Like Jesus of Nazareth centuries after him, Confucius taught the Golden Rule, which was the ideal ethic for all Chinese. One can still see this in the people's solicitude toward foreigners. We had people to go out of their way to be kind. One business man who did not even know us invited us to his country estate for a weekend, an invitation we were not in a position to accept. Others would buy us food, present gifts, and see us to the airport to make sure we were treated with dignity. One business lady ensconced us in her private bedroom, above her store, which we reached by ladder, where we rested on a mat before taking a plane out of the city. These were all heathen, under­stand.

 

                The missionary in charge took me aside and apologized for where they chose to send us. He said he was more concerned about our assignment than any of the others. He said it was not our advanced age that bothered him, but that the place was more closed than most other places in China and might be dangerous. He was referring to Haikou, the capital of Hainan Island province. A map will reveal it is off the coast of southern China.

 

                Our translator, a delightful 24-year old lady named Daisy, and a ChIistian, flew with us to the remote island, while others of our group fanned out into other parts of China, each couple with a translator. I have since learned that one translator became so frightened that he might be arrested that he refused to translate once they arrived at their destination. He had to be dismissed, leaving the couple on their on. They searched out enough people that knew English to have a fruitful mission.

 

                Since it so profoundly impressed her, I have asked Ouida to write about of our stay in Haikou. I will add a few notes.

 

                When Ouida became ill in Beijing with her old respiratory problem and the antibiotic she brought along was not helping, I called a medical center that caters to foreigners and they sent a physician to our hotel room with a nurse in tow, who bore a case of medicine, all by taxi. The woman Chinese doctor was delightful but knew little English. When I asked if she was going to use acupuncture, she smiled with delight and pro­ceeded to needle Ouida, as well as give her an antibiotic. She assured us that Ouida would be better by morning, and she was, much better.

                The cost: doctor, nurse, acupuncture, medicine plus taxi (which was almost half the cost), 225 Chinese F.E.C., about $28.00. The F.E.C. is special currency for foreigners, meaning Foreign Exchange Currency. We could also use R.M.B., the people's money, on the streets and for shopping, but those who cater to foreigners, such as hotels and airlines will accept only F.E.C. or credit card, which is based on same rate, which is higher. Foreigners see this as a way of gouging.

 

                China is a world of bicycles, 6 million in Beijing alone! There is a terrific pollution problem from motor traffic (mostly taxis and trucks) with no emission control. It was so bad that it continued to threaten Ouida' s health, leading us to return home sooner than planned.

 

                I had with me the name and phone number of a Chinese Christian that I will, for his protection, call only Allen, who spent 21 years in prison for his faith. Since he lives in Beijing and has a house church, I was determined to visit him if possible. Even though he speaks English I was told that a Chinese should make the contact, so one of our translators called for me. Allen eagerly made his way to our hotel to visit. We could not call at his house or attend his house church, which I was eager to do. Imagine living in a country where you can't, without jeopardy, invite a friend to your home!

 

                He told us how all the missionaries had to leave China after the Liberation (the Communist takeover) or go to prison, and how all churches were placed under a government bureau that exercises control, even over finances. The churches that refused to submit to this were deemed illegal and went underground.

 

                Allen told us he knew of 16 underground churches in Beijing alone, and all across China there are hundreds if not thousands. They meet in homes mostly and will have 15 to 25 in number. He estimates that 6% of China profess Christianity, which, with a population of more than a billion, would be 60 million plus. This of course counts both "official" and under­ground churches. Near our hotel was an "official" Orthodox Church, an ancient cathedral-like structure.

 

                One can always distinguish an Orthodox from a Roman church by its icons (flat pictures rather than round images, which the Orthodox deem to be idols, and of course they reject the papacy). Early on several mornings I sat with them during Mass and prayed with them. I don't know what they prayed, but I prayed for them, for myself, and for the liberation of China. I was pleased to see crosses on the altar and to see them cross themselves. At least they were paying homage to Christ rather than Buddha or some idol, which we found elsewhere. I would now and again catch the eye of some dear soul, usually aged, and I would say to myself, "To some degree we have Christ in common, and that's a lot."

 

                Allen told us that he went to prison because he refused to put his church under government control. "Christ is the only head of the church," he insisted. I have never met a man freer of sectarianism - an immersed, NT Christian if ever there was one. You never have to argue baptism by immersion with an Oriental, for they understand the rite of initiation. He was also enthusiastic about the gifts of the Spirit. He told how they knocked on his door one night, ordered him to get dressed, and marched him away. He did not see his family for 21 years, and no trial. He worked in rice fields for the government all those years, and while others died around him he was never ill. The Holy Spirit sustained him, he assured us. He was released when he grew too old to do the hard work. He is now 79.

 

                We all fell in love with our brother who had suffered much as a Christian but who bears it with a grateful heart. We plied him with gifts and Bibles, which thrilled his soul.

 

                As we bade him goodbye we knew we would not see him again in this world, but in another where there will be no knocks on the door at night, no prisons, no drudgery, no persecution, no loneliness, no cruelty. All things will be made new, induding us! - Leroy

 

 

IN A QUAINT CHINESE VILLAGE

 

                In our mission to China, Leroy and I were assigned to make contacts in Haikou (pronounced Hico), the capital city of Hainan province, an island off the southern coast of China . It lies near Vietnam and is in a strategic location to protect China from the south. It is the site of many military installations.

 

                Haikou, with its teeming thousands, is no place for the timid dri ver. We did not see one stop sign or one traffic light. It was everyone for himself; even crossing the street was treacherous. Our interpreter told us that there were many pedestrian accidents.

 

                On our first morning in Haikou we took a taxi to make our first contact. The taxi driver took us to a business section and let us off at an alley and pointed straight ahead. Armed only with a name and address we took a walk into a different culture. We were awed by it all, not that it was stark poverty, for it wasn't. No beggars, no children with bloated stomachs as in some parts of the world. It was just radically different.

 

                But we were as strange to them as they were to us. People would stop what they were doing and look at us, as if we had arrived from another planet. There were stalls and booths alongside the alley. Some were plucking chickens, others were cooking chicken entrails (I'm almost sure! But in one Chinese market we saw snails, worms, frogs, snakes, horns, giant flies, and even a butchered cat, with the heart still beating! )

 

                They appeared to be cooking for both themselves and the public. I saw one man reach into his pot and get a handful of noodles with his bare hand, mash off the noodles that hung over the side, return them to the pot. and proceed to serve his customer. They pay little attention to hygiene.

 

                After walking some distance, we showed the name and address to one of the inhabitants who pointed us straight ahead. We did that several times until a lady volunteered to lead us to the address. The man we were trying to contact was not there, so our friendly guide gestured that she would go get him.

 

                The abode had two rooms and sleeping quarters upstairs. We were seated in the kitchen area and as we waited I was intrigued to observe their living conditions. The family of a husband, wife and two little girls were probably far better off than most. The husband was a taxi driver. The kitchen had a small stainless steel sink, another deep sink that our interpreter said was a clothes washer. I looked inside but saw no agitator. Someone suggested that their elbow grease was their agitator. They had one butane bumerin a metal table that also served as their work area and storage underneath. There was one small cabinet on the wall with a glass door. We could see that there were very few dishes. Along a wall was what I call a bench couch, a bench with straight back and arms. Across from the bench was the bathroom. The watertank was positioned above the bathroom and with the holes in the tank, it leaked constantly. One would almost have to see the hole in the floor to understand that was their toilet!

 

                After about twenty minutes the friendly stranger returned with a young man in tow. He was introduced as "Jon. . ." unpronouncable, so he was forever Jon after that. He was 24, slight of build, had smiling eyes, and an open and good countenance. Why he was chosen as a contact we do not know, but probably because his grandmother was a Christian. She had helped raise him and he showed great love and respect for her. He wanted to show us her picture that hung in the living room. For her sake he at least had some openness for Christianity. As we were bringing our visit to a close, he said he would go out to a nearby village and arrange for us to meet some of his relatives (we think). So we took our leave.

 

                The trip took about 30 minutes on a hardtop road that would have been equivalent to one of our farm to market roads. Then we turned off onto a narrow road with only two ruts and drove a mile or two. When we came to a group of huts and buildings, we had arrived at a peasant village of some 300 families.

 

                The people viewed us with great curiosity. We were invited into the finest home in the compound, the only one with an indoor bathroom. The house had been built by our host's father before the Communists took over in 1948. The father was a soldier in Chang Kai Sheks's army and resisted the Communists until it was clear that they must flee for their lives.

 

                They fled to Taiwan where the father still lives. He has only returned home one time in the last 45 years. His two sons live in this house with their families. We were ushered into a big room with little furniture - a buffet type chest on tall legs, a table partially under the buffet, a bench couch, straight back chairs and stools.

 

                The host immediately got out several small glasses and poured us some very sweet hot tea. Only the guests were served with himself and his brother. The village people took their seats around and were not served. When we had drunk down to about half a glass, our host was quick to give us a refill; he also drank hardily.

 

                Our sweet little Chinese interpreter translated in Mandarin, then the host translated into the village language. It would have been interesting to know how Leroy's words came through two interpreta­tions! My silent prayer was that His word would not be void.

 

                Most of the seats and stools were occupied, but people would constantly leave and others would take their place. The children would stand at the door and look in with curiosity that held them spellbound. We were told that we were the first foreigners that had ever visited their village. If we had been savages with rings in our noses, we couldn't have been more strange to them. They looked at us with the expression, "I don't believe what I am seeing!"

 

                Leroy told them the story of Jesus. I tried to listen with their minds. My feeling was that this was indeed a strange tale to them. People who worship idols and ancestors didn't seem to have the capacity to comprehend the story. As Ruth Graham's father wrote about the Chinese people to whom he ministered, "We seemed to be foreign devils!"

 

                When lunch time came, a table had been set up in the entry way of the large room where we had been visiting. Our host said as we were getting seated, "I'm thankful for this good meal!" I had the feeling that we were served their very best. We had spinach that had been cooked in much water, which was our soup; we had a turnip green type vegetable with a little meat mixed in; and we had chicken wings that were golden brown and looked very good, but were so tough they could hardly be eaten.

 

                They served their finest beverage, Pabst Blue Ribbon beer! We ate the spinach soup with a porcelain spoon, easy; but the rest of the meal was eaten with chopsticks, not easy. When I thought we were through, the host graciously served each of us a bowl of rice. That capped off the meal in great style.

 

                More interesting than the lunch was the conversation. We learned that the government owns all the land and allocates each family a plot, which they can cultivate and keep the proceeds. Their life is hard. They have to walk about a mile to their plot; tend their rice paddies which is back- breaking work, then trudge back home.

 

                We were told that there was much opposition to Communism, but the peasants were promised a better life, so they were willing to give it a try. We were told if the peasants had not accepted Commu­nism, the takeover would not likely have succeeded.

                As we said goodbye and thanked the people for their gracious hospitality, the people gathered around with their children to watch these strange people take their leave. When Leroy offered to shake hands with a child, he took to his heels. One bold child dared to walk up and shake hands! We agreed that this was the most unusual day we had ever spent. It was a once in a lifetime experience' -Ouida

 

SPECIAL INVITATION

 

                Each of you is invited to our Golden Wedding Anniversary (1944-1994 )which we are having early because of family convenience. The time is the Friday after Thanksgiving (Nov. 26),2:00-4:30. The place is the Reception Room of Singing Oaks Church of Christ, 101 Cardinal Lane at E. McKinney in Denton, Texas (From Interstate 35E take Loop 288 two miles to McKinney, west one block). No gifts, please! If you are too far away to come, we invite you to send us a letter size page about yourself, your family, something you remember about us or Restoration Review, etc. We may bind them and make them part of our archives. It makes a good time to say once more that we love and appreciate each of you, and it was great having you along for part of the ride. And some ride it has been! Ouida often reminds me of what her mother said back when: "If you marry Leroy, you may die of excitement, but one thing sure, you'll never die of boredom!"

 

We have seven bound volumes of Restoration Review, dating from 1978 through 1992, except 1979-80. We have a special price of $85.00 for all of these, including postage. Some volumes are few in number.