I happened to meet the owner of a pretty big set of English schools the other day.  Nice guy and, from living in Singapore ten years and California for ten years, spoke near native American English.  He happened to mention that his wife was a pastor and that there was a church in the east tower of the Coastal City complex, which is just 5 minutes from me; I go by there all the time.  So, I figured I might as well go there and check it out.

Of course, the service was very very different from anything that I’ve seen in the US.  Actually, it reminded me more of what I’ve seen or heard of churches with mostly black congregations.  There was lots of singing and clapping and tons of “Amen!”s to go around.

Well, to start with, the service was held in a large conference room on the 16th floor of the office building.  It was packed with tiny plastic seats.  I think the smallest chair in the US might be a lawn chair, but here in China, you have to quickly get used to these tiny plastic stools that more resemble doll furniture than seats for people.  Well, these weren’t the little plastic stools, but were just one step up.  Tiny little folding chairs pushed together as tightly as possible.  It turned out to be needed – every single chair was taken; every last one.

The service started with singing; the song words were projected up onto a small screen.  From my years at Alpine camp, I recognized the melody of the song and the words, except of course they were in Chinese.  A group of four singers plus one guitarist (accompanied by an instrumental track) led everyone in the song.  They encouraged clapping and loud singing.  What surprised me the most was how long we sang.  The song was repeated numerous times – ten repetitions, maybe fifteen.  But, it just kept going and going.  Then we started another song and repeated it numerous times, then again.  By the time we’d finished, about twenty five minutes had passed.  All standing up, clapping, and so on.

There was one old woman in the front who particularly impressed me.  She was in the front row and thus had lots of space to move about.  She skipped in place, threw her hands up, and sang joyously.  It was really entertaining to watch her.  I was the only foreigner in the room and when she turned and saw me, reached over and clasped my hand with a big smile.

After the singing came communion, which surprised me.  The guy seated to my right, who spoke fine English, asked me if I was reborn.  In fact, I think at least three people asked me if I was a Christian.  I guess I just take that for granted coming from the US.  As a  side note, all the folks around me (except the old woman), spoke very good English.  I was surprised; it’s rare to have that many good English speakers in one place.  That’s certainly not the case at the meditations.

I thought the service would be finished soon.  But, it seemed that the minister wasn’t going to let up and the next time I looked at my watch, an hour and a half had passed.  The minister remained up in front of the congregation, speaking loudly and emphatically describing the story of Jesus feeding the masses with just five loaves of bread and some fish.  I probably grasped about 25-30% of what he was saying.  Being a native Chinese speaker (and a man), he wasn’t as easy to follow as the Buddhist monk from Hong Kong (a native Cantonese speaker), who spoke much more slowly and calmly.  Actually, having attended several recent meditations, it was interesting observing the stark differences between the two.  While the meditations are a calm, quiet, and soft study, this service was definitely a loud and in-your-face affair.

The service ended two hours later by reprising some songs.  After that, most folks stayed in their seats and listened to another half hour of announcements.  I spoke with the wife of the man who’d invited me, who also spoke excellent English.  She expressed discontent at the lack of character upbringing of the youngsters here in China and divulged a desire to somehow integrate character training into their English schools.  I can definitely understand that, but would like to learn more.  She also told me the background of the church:  Started three years ago in a neighbor’s apartment, it rapidly grew to a few hundred people.  Now, the group has two large services every Sunday and is looking to expand to a third.  They have classes for kids during services as well as a two-hour mens group on Thursday evenings.  All-in-all, impressive growth and organization, not to mention how devoted they are.

Coming out of my apartment one morning, I noticed the nearby small school performing some sort of ceremony for the upcoming national holiday celebrating the 61st anniversary of the current government’s founding.  The ceremony was under the supervision of the teachers and administrators, but completely performed by the kids.  I walked up as they were in the middle of hoisting up the flag.  But, just before that, I noticed the kids marching up to the stage.  The funny thing, I thought, was that all the guys (1st – 3rd graders, I’m guessing) were dressed in fatigues and were carrying plastic machine guns.  Just imagine – say 4-6 little boys dressed in camouflage, marching up to the stage, carrying plastic machine guns, all under the smiling faces of the teachers.

Flag Ceremonies