When I heard we had a four day weekend coming up, I did what any lover of adventure does: I planned a trip.
My destination was Taroko Gorge National Park on the northeastern coast of Taiwan: it's about as far away from Chiayi as you can get on the island. As soon as my grading was finished for the semester and turned into the Department of Student Records, I hopped on the train solo with a backpack full of long sleeves, hiking shoes, some good music, and a Chinese/English Bible. What else does a girl need for a weekend in the mountains?
Whereas the mountain range running down the spine of Taiwan is green and rolling, Taroko is the most rugged place I've seen in Taiwan yet, with jagged cliffs and slopes of scree landing in the renown gorge that cuts deep through the mountains. My hostel was in the town of Taroko. It's about a mile's length from the sea and just at the mouth of the gorge where the river is still wide and shallow.
On my way to find some supper that first night, I spotted a church on the hill across from the convenience store. It had stain-glass windows, and that's what drew me-- I hadn't seen stain glass anywhere in my nine months in Taiwan. It was getting dark as I walked up to the church. Some people were barbecuing and saw me admiring the building. A little girl came to me, and when I told her I wanted to look at the church, she ran and got the pastor, who led me to the door, unlocked it, and handed me the keys. I sat for a while, enjoying the solitude. Bible verses in Chinese characters and another language I didn't recognize were displayed in the front of the sanctuary. It was refreshing to sit in a church, to just sit and think and pray. I was reminded of my college days at Concordia, when the chapel was always open and available for quiet reflection. I went there often, alone or with friends. It's a resource I'm grateful for to this day, and wish I still had.
After I gave the keys back to the pastor and thanked the little girl named May, her family invited me to sit down and eat with them. So I joined them and we communicated despite my broken Chinese (and I ate some of the best barbecue I've ever had). I discovered I was dining with Taroko people, one of the fourteen aboriginal tribes that exist in Taiwan today. They spoke Chinese as a second language, but Taroko (sometimes called Truku) was their native tongue. They all were members of that church and were delighted when I told them that my dad is a pastor in America. They asked me to stay with them and I was even handed house keys (!), but they understood when I told them I had already paid for a hostel. After a very pleasant time with them, I was on my way again, and since I didn't need to scrounge around for food at 7-11 anymore, I headed back to the hostel to get some sleep.
The next day, Saturday, was a day full of hiking, basking in the mountain sunshine, meeting other travelers, and talking with God as I was awed by His majesty displayed in His creation. Other than church and Christian fellowship, nothing refreshes my spirit more than being alone with God in nature. It was a beautiful time for reflection and gratitude.
Sunday morning I walked up to the church again. I could have very well been the first foreigner to step foot in that church (in years, or ever, I didn't know), and I felt the familiar heat of all eyes probing me as I walked up those stairs. But people responded to me with smiles and warm wishes of
"pin an", "peace to you", and I mirrored their openness to show that I was comfortable with them. The little girl May was excited to see me there, and I recognized some of her family from Friday night's barbecue. I sat down in the back, but soon found out that's where the elderly sit (I guess even in rural Taiwan, people have "assigned pews"!). The pastor's wife brought me to the front where she could translate for me. Her jaw and cheekbones were sharp, announcing her aboriginal blood. During the service, I couldn't help but look behind at me at the church: it was packed, with no empty seats, young and old represented, both Han Chinese people and Taroko people sitting side by side. I listened to the deaconess read the Scripture readings in the clumpy consonants of the Taroko language and then the steady marching syllables of Chinese. The passage was from 1 Corinthians 1:26-31, and I read along in my English Bible. I watched pastor's wife Niyu Niyu follow the liturgy in her Taroko/Chinese hymnal. I felt the traditional song the children sang permeate every corner of that building, leaving nothing untouched. I cried for the beauty of it. I was hardly ashamed, and I don't think Niyu Niyu judged me at all as she handed me tissues.
On my way in, I had read a plaque written in three languages at the entrance. This church, called Chioang Memorial Church, had a very special story behind it. The very first Taroko Christian was a 58-year old woman who walked up the steps of a presbyterian church searching for Truth in the 1930s. That woman, named Chioang, was baptized a year later with the help of pastoral leadership and guidance. After two years studying the Bible, she returned to her people and fervently shared with them the truth she had found in Christ. Many Taroko people received her message with joy. Even during WWII when the Japanese persecuted the Christians of the village, they hid her under sacks of rice or in backpacks on their back during the day. The end of WWII and the cessation of Japanese occupation in Taiwan brought religious freedom to the island, and the number of Taroko Christians rapidly grew to be in the thousands. Today, churches speckle the mountain's slopes, and their graveyards are decorated with crosses and angels, not dragons and gods.
After the church service (2 hours long, and Niyu Niyu translated everything for me), the pastor's family drove me to the train station, even though I told them I had planned to take a bus. They fed me, wouldn't let me pay, and even bought me a bag of Taiwanese delicacies to take back to Chiayi with me. I've been saying that you cannot outdo Taiwanese hospitality, and the Taroko are no exception! One thing they did ask of me: to come back and teach their children English. In my heart I determined to honor their request if at all possible. I will find a time to return to Taroko, even if just for a weekend, to lead some English activities and do what I can. How could I refuse? Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly be as much of a blessing to the people here as they are to me. Either way, God be praised!
It's funny to think that I have more in common with these strangers than so many people from my own country. There is a connection that goes deeper than culture and language, it's the bond of faith and brotherhood in the Lord, being part of something larger than ourselves-- the body and bride of Christ. I was at home there. I cannot express the encouragement I felt to see the culture without the idolatry, their respect of nature without the fear of it, their honor for parents without the worship of them, their hospitality and good deeds without the motivation of earning good karma. I cannot express how beautiful it was hearing the Word of God in their language. I cannot express how hopeful even those graveyards appeared to me. There it was: their own traditional culture, the same one they've passed along from generation to generation that is unique from any other tribe, and yet
transformed by the knowledge of a cross and an empty tomb two thousand years ago. Obviously, no society is perfect and there will always be sin in human culture until we go to heaven. But it gave me hope to see that all things are possible, that God is still doing miracles to change entire nations, even starting movements with one man or one woman-- like Chioang-- who is hungry for truth.
I saw many things that weekend in Taroko, climbed many mountains, read several stories, and met interesting people. There was a Frenchman who left all but his name in Paris to travel the world by bicycle. There was the Czech lawyer who worked in the European Union for some time, and the New Zealander who climbed the Himalayas. There are many stories I could tell from Taroko, but the story I am bound to tell, the story I am indebted to share, is how a loving God changed a woman, how that woman changed a nation, and how that nation changed me.
