no longer as strangers

The following is a story I’ve been meaning to tell for at least a month now. It has to do with China, the Church, and my friend John. It is a story about what it feels like to realize that even to kneel down together in prayer was a crime.

About three years ago I was living in the small town of Emmen in the northeast region of the Netherlands by the German border when I came into contact with a Chinese student called John. His Chinese name is Zhan YuFeng, but we always called him John. I was serving as a missionary at the time for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and my companion and I had met John when we had come to his dormitory complex one evening looking for another student whom we had met on the street. The student with whom we had the appointment never showed up, but John was there and he wanted to know who we were and what we were doing. Naturally we were pleased to tell him.

We started meeting with John regularly, and pretty soon we could tell that his interest in our message and the Church was not just a trivial thing. Despite not being able to understand Dutch he started coming to Church regularly, where we would translate the entire three hour service into English for him. It was astounding to have the privilege of teaching him, to watch him grow in understanding, to listen to him pray for the very first time—a young man who had hardly even heard of the idea of God before we met him. I grew to love him deeply...in a way I cannot easily compare to other kinds of love. He also had a delightful sense of humor which when combined with the occasional translation error created a series of memorable lines. There was the time we taught him that the president of the Church, President Hinckley, was the only living prophet authorized to receive revelation on behalf of the entire earth. His response was, “Only one? So rare...like the panda!” Or the time a teacher got very angry at church after an argument with another member. We were concerned that seeing this contention would turn John off of the church, but he seemed to understand and take it in stride: “That teacher’s face didn’t look very much like Jesus’ face. His face looked all red and angry.” Then there was the confusion, as John was preparing to be baptized, when we told him that he would be dressed all in white and immersed in water and suggested that he bring an extra pair of white underwear. “White? But all my underwear is red,” he said, and when we asked how this could be the case he explained, “Well...it’s the year of the Pig.”

John did in fact get baptized. Later another friend of his, another Chinese student, also joined the Church after John had introduced him to it. John was a loving and dedicated young man, and I saw firsthand how the gospel changed his life. He read the scriptures, he prayed, he fellowshipped with the other members of the church. He had found a home far away from home, and most of all he had found his Heavenly Father. When it was time for me to leave and continue my service in a different city, he gave me an electronic wrist watch as a going away present. “Here,” he said, very solemnly and sincerely, “It was made in China.”

John and I kept up occasional contact after I left Emmen. He worked at a Chinese restaurant for a while which was a terrible job, and later got out of it. Eventually he stopped his studies early and came back home to China. He got a job working at the Olympics, and more recently has started a company that organizes a nation-wide singing contest. Sort of like American Idol, except it’s not televised. And then this spring I came to Beijing on the political economy seminar and for the first time in three years we were reunited again.

We had a wonderful time seeing each other. We went out to lunch together one day, and later we hung out in his apartment and played on the karaoke machine. Another day he cooked lunch himself, for me and his apartment mate and his apartment mate’s parents. It was a better meal than at any restaurant I had been in Asia (complete with frog’s legs!). But most of all I was keen on making sure that John reconnected with the Church, because since he returned to China he has not known where to find it.

It is difficult finding the Church in China. The Church exists all over the world in every country where the government will allow us, but in China the regulations on the Church are very strict. Members of the Church are allowed to worship together, but there may be no proselyting. The Church is not allowed to build formal meetinghouses, nor can there be any signage indicating where the church is. The church in Beijing for example is located inside an office building. I found the address on mormon.org, but it still took me an hour walking around looking for the place because I did not know what I was looking for. Even once I found the right building, it was only because I ran into other Mormons along the way that I knew to take the elevator around the corner to the fourth floor and then turn right and go across the hall. Nowhere was any of this information posted.

And while members of the Church are allowed to worship together, foreign passport-holding members are not allowed to worship together with Chinese nationals.
Here is the text printed on the back of every program:

“The branch presidency wishes to draw your attention to the following:

It is important for foreign members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints living in or visiting China to be aware of the unique restrictions on religious activities here. While China permits freedom of religious belief, it requires all religious activities in China to comply with relevant laws and regulations.

We would like to remind you of the following:
1. no active or passive proselyting is permitted among local nationals in China,
2. only individuals who hold foreign passports, and their spouses, may attend meetings or other activities of this branch,
3. no foreign nationals are permitted to participate in activities of any kind with Chinese nationals who are members of our church, and
4. religious materials may not be disseminated to Chinese nationals in China.

Your strict observance of these rules enables us to build a foundation of trust with government authorities and enables us to continue to meet together as the government permits us to do so.”

With all of these obstacles, it was difficult getting John linked up with the Church.

The first time I tried, I brought John along with me to the expat branch I had been attending, but we were stopped at the door. The brother who stopped us was kind and sympathetic, but had to remain firm in prohibiting John from worshiping with us. We understood, of course. One casual exception to the rule can turn into a pattern, which would jeopardize the Church’s ability to exist in China at all. It is in keeping with a common attitude throughout the Church, that we patiently and diligently adhere to established rules and policies, whether by external forces or by the Church itself, even if the policies are painful, until such a time as we can truly change the regulation forever.

And so that first Sunday we did not enter the chapel, but I did insist that John stay with me in the foyer long enough to take of the sacrament—those tokens of the blood and body of Christ. For him it was the first time in at least two years.

The next Sunday I went to the expat service by myself, but waited afterward for the Chinese service to begin. John showed up a few minutes before the first meeting got started and I took him by the hand and led him to the front of the chapel to where the branch president was sitting. The entire congregation was there watching us, and I was conscious that I had to be brief, for every second I spent on that podium was in public violation of Chinese law. One of the branch president’s counselors translated for me. I told them John was a member and I was his missionary. I put John’s hand into the hand of the branch president and said, essentially, “Here. He is yours. Treat him like your son. Look out for him. Help him find family here.” And then I gave John a hug and said goodbye. The counselor shook my hand, looked into my eyes and said, “Thank you.” “Thank you, brother,” I said, “God bless you.” And I left.

I walked across the hallway and turned left, and got in the elevator. As the doors closed I could hear the first few bars of the opening hymn. They were singing in Chinese, but I knew the words. “Now let us rejoice in the day of salvation. No longer as strangers on earth need we roam. Good tidings are sounding to us and each nation, And shortly the hour of redemption will come, When all that was promised the saints will be given, And none will molest them from morn until ev’n, And earth will appear as the Garden of Eden, And Jesus will say to all Israel, ‘Come home’.”

I took the elevator down four flights and walked through the main lobby. As I walked towards the door I passed a middle-aged Chinese woman dressed in her Sunday best, walking in the direction from which I had just come. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other just briefly, just long enough to acknowledge that though we do not know each other, and though we cannot speak to each other, we are both children of the same covenant. And then we passed each other and I walked out the door, still smiling.