Conversations

Saturday morning I went jogging through my favorite village.  Rice fields were basking in sunlight, still intense before the midday haze.  Retired men played mahjong in front of the little convenience store.  I recognized Uncle Robin by his full-toothed smile and white hair sticking out from under his red cap.  The laoban, the old lady who owned the shop, was just opening the business and already had the tv tuned to a Buddhist monk preaching in saffron-colored robes.  "Hallo!" Uncle Robin called out to me as I came up the alley.

     "Hao jiu bu jian!"  Long time no see, I replied.  One autumn evening when they saw me running, I was invited to sit down and drink a Taiwan beer with them.  So I did, and our gestures communicated much more than my broken Chinese and their broken English at that time.  Now, we always greet each other.  They seem to live in front of that shop, playing mahjong, eating noodles, and watching Buddhist tv.

     "Tomorrow we are going to the temple, to bai bai, worship.  You are welcome to come!"  I was pleasantly surprised to be invited.  I decided that it could be a step closer to inviting them to church, so of course I went.  I arrived a little late the next morning and caught only the end of the parade:  pop music blaring, a scantily-dressed girl pole dancing on top of a truck, an altar carried with bouncing flags behind it, and a thickly-eyebrowed god costume riding above a pair of jeans and tennis shoes strutting proudly with each step.  As the procession inched its way down the narrow alley, I went back towards the temple.

      I stood between the pillars of carved dragons, breathing air thick with incense.   A proud ancient melody droned from some corner of the temple.  Decorated packages of rice offerings lay on tables along with purple orchids, fruit, candles, and ghost money.  I have always hated temples; to my conservative Christian eyes they have always been pure evil.  But this time my imagination took hold of me, and the word "evil" found itself being eclipsed with "redeemable".  What if those angry-eyed statues of the gods were replaced with crosses?  What if the dragons were carved into angels instead?  What if the paintings of ancestors fighting demon dogs were repainted to tell the accounts of Peter, Paul, John and the power of the Gospel?  What if that same melody looping over and over brought with it the words of a psalm?  There was nothing intrinsically evil about the music, nor the wood, nor the flowers, nor the love of beauty I saw in its designers.  If only they knew the Truth, the Source of beauty itself... If God can redeem people, surely He can redeem wood and paint and music, too?  Still, it's hearts God wants to dwell in-- not the temple.

      A young man with a volunteer nametag began to talk with me.  "It's bao sheng da di's birthday today-- he's the god of rice and weather.  Oh, and healing too."  I was grateful for the volunteer’s English; no one has explained many of the religious stories to me.  He told me the god's name, but he couldn't recall how bao sheng da di became a god.  I learned that people with health problems come here on bao sheng da di's birthday to pray for healing.  As the volunteer was telling me this, I saw an elderly man, his neck in a brace, walk into the temple and bow.  He began the process of worship, prayer, and casting pieces of wood to decide his fortune.  I wondered how many years this man has been coming on this day, asking for healing with no response.  A young boy was also there, sizing up the dragons, sniffing candles, poking at the rice.

      "Not many kids come to temples anymore," the volunteer mused.  "Maybe not many believe."

      "Do you believe?"  He was hesitant to answer.

      "You're a teacher at the Christian school, right?"  He asked.

      "Yeah, I am."

      "Oh, I didn't think you would be interested in seeing our temple."

      "Well, it's important for me to understand Taiwanese people and culture.  I'm glad to meet you.  But it's time for me to go to church now...."

      He gave me his business card before I left.  I hope to talk with him again soon.

~*~

My Taiwanese friend invites me to her house for lunch.  Tomorrow is Matzu's birthday, the goddess of sea and fishermen.  My friend prepares food for the ancestors and ghost money to burn.

     "Why do you burn money?"  I already know the answer.

     "So ancestors can buy things in the afterlife.  You know, in heaven, or... wherever."

     "How much did that ghost money cost?"

     "One hundred NT."  About three US dollars.

     "Oh.  Things must be cheaper in heaven,"  I smile.

     "Well, I really don't know much about heaven.  There are classes to take at the university, Daoist or Zen Buddhist classes, but I don't participate."

      "Are you interested in learning about heaven?"

      "No, not really."  She changes the subject to her calligraphy.  Before I leave, I say something about how life is short, and forever is a long time, and it's important to learn about heaven, but the words sound flat and oblong in my mouth and they fall on apathetic ears.  Why, God?  What can I do to show her how necessary You are?

~*~

       A senior student comes to my office to chat.  She wants to improve her conversational English.  We talk about food, movies, yoga, travel, Taiwanese politics.  She tells me of her senioritis and lack of motivation.  She tells me of her pressure to perform in school.  She tells me that she's always on edge, easily angered, that she feels sickened when she compares herself to her classmates and comes up the underdog.  

     "So you're pretty competitive, huh?"  I ask, and she nods.  "So am I.  It's really easy to feel frustrated with ourselves when we feel like we aren't succeeding like other people. And if others fail, we feel pretty good about it, don't we?"  She laughs knowingly.  Even when friends fail, we both muse.

     "Yeah, I do that, too.  Naturally, I want to rejoice in other people's failures.  But I have to ask God to come and change my heart and make it like His.  I want to be able to have the strength to wish both my friends and enemies the best and genuinely care about their success.  I can't do that on my own, but God gives me the strength and changes my heart."

      "So, you're a Christian?"  she asks.  I answer and tell her why, and ask about her faith.

      "My grandparents are Taoists, but my parents aren't serious about faith.  I guess I'm looking for something to give me peace.  I really need peace right now."

      "Well, you've had Bible classes.  What do you think about Jesus?"

      "Mmmm.... many of my classmates are Christians, but I don't know."

      "Well, I know Jesus doesn’t want you to live in this anxiety.  He wants you to be free.  Is it okay if I pray for you this week, that Jesus would give you peace?"

      "You want to do that for me?"

      "Yeah, I do.  And I also encourage you to pray about it."

      "But I don't know how to pray."

      "Praying is just talking with God.  It's really easy!"

      "But I'm Taiwanese.  Will Jesus hear me?  I mean, He's a Western God."

Oh, the joy in telling her that the God of the Bible isn't just the God of America.  He's the God of the whole world-- Taiwan too!  He will hear her.  He knows her.  He made her.  He knows the hairs on her head and the thoughts in her mind.  And He cares.  She left with a sense of calm, and we are both looking forward to our meeting next week.  Abba, thanks for promising to reveal Yourself to those who seek You with their whole heart.  Thanks for being Good News to the entire world.  If I tried to fill this world with my love, I would come up empty and bitter.  But You, You never run out of love for us.