Hospital/ZhuZhou City Church
March 8, 2009:
Today we went to Church. I’m not sure what kind of church it was, since it’s just called “ZhuZhou City Church” and I couldn’t possibly read any of the signage on the building other than the cross symbol on top of the roof. The building was actually a hospital on the bottom two floors with the church occupying the third and fourth floors. It was a very simple building and wouldn’t have looked like a church if not for the aforementioned cross (although even that was very subtle and could have been mistaken for a red “hospital” cross) and the line of people pouring through the doors. Just like in America, there were greeters standing outside the church doors who provided you with a gentle applause for coming to church. We walked past the “treat room” (whatever that was) and then past the restroom before finally making it to the church floor. Despite its unassuming appearance from the outside, the building looked very much like a church on the inside. Just as in many churches, there was a foyer – although in this foyer the “Chinese” touch was evident in the plastic sheets hanging down from the doorway between the foyer and the sanctuary. Just through the hanging plastic was the sanctuary, with its massive crowd of church-goers. The room was filled from front to back with dark wooden pews that looked like they had been in service for at least 40 years. Rotating fans were attached to the sanctuary’s support beams, but since it was winter they were covered with fan protectors (because this is considered “fashion” here). However, these were not just any fan covers. They were all made to match each other as well as the sanctuary’s simple window treatments. Both were made of a dark, red, fake-velvet material. The fan covers were adorned with a gold star in the middle, which allowed them to serve as both “fancy” religious decor and a salute to Chinese nationalism. The windows were simple pane glass and looked out onto the neighboring building, which was a mere 2 feet away. At the front of the church was a stained glass window displaying a secular picture of some colorful flowers. Other than this stained glass window and the red velvet touches, the room was very simple. There was a balcony where the younger families had chosen to sit.
The choir joined us as the service began. They entered from the rear of the church wearing white robes and red collars. Other than the choir, there appeared to be just two other people actively involved in running the church service: the minister and a piano player. The minister really did everything. He made the announcements at the beginning and end, he led the church in song, read the scripture, and gave the sermon. He was well-dressed in black with a white collar, much like an Episcopalian or Catholic Priest. The man was well groomed, handsome and looked to be in his 50’s. As for the congregation, I would have to guess that the median age was 70. (It is always hard for us to tell age here though, as many individuals have aged from hardships rather than years). They were mostly women and seemed to have come to church in small groups of two or three (although a number of mother-daughter pairs were in attendance as well). There were very few young families and from my recollection, there was no one between the ages of 8 and 28. These church-goers, while in the minority, looked just like any other person you’d see walking the streets in the city of Zhuzhou. They came in all their winter layers, mismatched ski caps, gloves, and oversized jackets. They sported various styles of winter sleeve protectors (see the previous blog entry on the Winter in Zhuzhou for more on these “fashion-statements”). The sanctuary was a quilt of well-worn floral-patterned jackets. To protect from the cold in this unheated building, people wore their hats indoors (although some were barely balanced on the top of their heads) and they drank hot water from flimsy plastic cups provided in the foyer of the church.
My senses were overloaded as we made it into the aisles. Of course, when David, Janet, Sandi (our Chinese friend), and I showed up everybody made a big fuss to give us their seats. We’d arrived about 10 minutes early for the service, but already the sanctuary was packed with people practicing the hymns that would be sung in the service that day. There was not enough room for all of us to sit together, but the people gladly moved and waved us into the pew they had been sitting in. They really wanted to give us their seats. I felt bad choosing a seat, afraid to offend those whose seats I didn’t steal.
Once we were seated I noticed that some of the pews were adorned with hand-sewn seat pads (although I think they were just cloth without any padding). I thought about what kind of woman probably spent weeks sewing these for the church! Secondly, I noticed that there were no Bibles or hymnals available. People had brought their own. (Or, alternatively, you could buy them in the shop at the foyer.) Of course, all the hymnals were in Chinese. Throughout the service, the kind woman to my left tilted her hymnal slightly to the side so I could see the words. Much to her disappointment, I was still unable to sing along because, “kan bu dong” (“I cannot read”)! The music sounded similar to the songs typically sung in a western church, although I didn’t recognize any song in particular. The songs were accompanied by an off-key piano at the front of the church. Instead of musical notes, the melody was denoted by numbers ranging from 1 to 5. I could follow the melody, and I recognized the Chinese word for “love” but nothing more. Finally, the end of each song came with an “Amen” and I couldn’t help but smile. Some things are the same across languages!
During the service, a projector screen hung low, covering up the stained-glass window. The 4 points of the sermon were projected onto the screen. The minister took his standing position at a simple podium adorned with a basic red cross. He talked with emotion and enthusiasm about biblical stories, and (just like many preachers in America) he told a few bad jokes. Luckily, we had Sandi to translate the sermon into English for us. What we gathered from Sandi’s translation was that the main point of the sermon was “How to deal with family crisis”. The minister wove the story of the Prodigal Son into his sermon. There was also a joke about a drunk man who lost his cell phone, but we couldn’t tell exactly how that fit into the message. Occasionally, Sandi would lean over and tell us something she read on the screen or something the minister had said. Most of what she said made sense to us. However, one time, she leaned over once to say,
“Do you know of a large monkey who is also a king?”
When she said this, we thought, “Where is this sermon heading?” and David replied “is he talking about this monkey?”
Sandi replied, “No, I was just thinking of a movie with a large monkey.”
As she said this, we realized she was referring to King Kong and that our friend was afflicted with the common American phenomena of day dreaming in church! We got a good laugh out of that. Well, in the end, I didn’t really learn a lot but I did feel the ebb and flow of a church service. People quietly excused themselves for water or the restroom; babies squirmed in their mothers’ laps; and a few parishioners became weary-eyed after the service passed the one-hour mark. I enjoyed watching the addition of shelling peanuts as a passtime during the service. The church-goers seemed to be well acquainted with one another, and I could imagine them dividing into familiar groups for lunch after church.
The service continued for one and a half hours, and a few people could be seen gently nodding off. However, most people were listening intently and even taking notes. At the end of the service, the minister said something, and my kind neighbor gestured to me that I should go to the front of the church. The only words I understood her say were “first time” so I gathered that the minister was inviting first time visitors to the front of the church. I went because it appeared to be very important, judging by my neighbor’s enthusiasm. About 30 people joined us at the front of the church and we all received a light applause and a piece of paper. The minister came to shake each of our hands. He even spoke a bit of English to us, “Welcome to ZhuZhou City Church.” I don’t know if this was just my imagination, but I felt like this was the least amount of stares and pointed fingers I have received in a large crowd since moving to China. Perhaps the church has foreign visitors often, or perhaps they are not in the business of judging. Regardless, it felt really nice to not be critically analyzed for once. Once the service had ended, we squeezed our way down the narrow stairwell along with the other 1,000 people and exited out of the ramp-less hospital front doors (An equivalent to the American’s with Disabilities Act still has not passed in China). The rain had washed the city while we were inside and the streets were now lively with the sound of conversations and passing cars. We hailed a cab and headed for the downtown supermarket, which is always a treat because they sell peanut butter! This was the first Sunday that truly felt like a “Sunday” in China, and we embraced it!
Trying to make sense of my life in a Chinese world is often confusing and occasionally seems impossible. How do you plan a trip in a country where plans are not made? How do you cook a Thanksgiving meal without any familiar ingredients? How do you make friends when you speak different languages? It often feels like my life and Chinese life are the same poles of two magnets, pushing and fighting against each other. You feel the resistance everyday, in both big and small ways. And then, sometimes, one pole wins over the other and one suddenly spins around and the two magnets are magnificently pulled together by the laws of physics. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the two worlds seem to coexist. It’s at this point when I change from an observer of Chinese society to a participant in it, and the people I had been observing change from being “Chinese” to being “a mother” and “a daughter.” They are each living and breathing for exactly the same reasons we do at home. And when I have one of these moments, it absolutely takes my breath away. In the end, I would like to say: Some people here are Christian, and they don’t look any different than the people who aren’t. They love their family, friends, and God. And despite their clothes, language, and taste for pig intestines, they are just like me. I can live off of those moments of clarity for hours, but somehow I soon slip back into my role as an observer. I will always long for those moments when I can be part of something bigger.
Women’s Day Celebrations:
As expected, by early evening that same Sunday I was once again playing the role of “The observer.” This particular Sunday was “Women’s Day,” an international holiday started in America in 1909 by the socialist party which is now only observed in 8 countries (all of which are or were Communist). To the best of my knowledge, it is a day to both celebrate women and to advocate for their equality. Well, our school had a dinner for the senior women teachers. They invited Janet and I (sorry David), so of course we joined in.
The food was delicious and different. There was a fabulous frog and pepper dish (I am learning to like frog since it is more meat and less bones than chicken, but it tastes like chicken), fermented green vegetables, another fermented green vegetable with pig intestines and peas, beef and red peppers, a medley of snow peas, red bell peppers, and water chestnuts (I used to think, these were quintessential to Chinese food, but this was the first time I’d seen them in China), bitter melon, small slightly sweet wheat pancakes, and my favorite dish was one with thin filets of delicate white fish cooked in a pot of hot oil. Janet and I sat with a fellow English teacher whose English name is Cynthia (whose husband had driven us to the restaurant), another English teacher named Cindy, a history teacher, a Chinese teacher, and two kids.
After dinner, we learned that the party would continue at a nearby KTV (karaoke) club. One of the young women teachers offered to drive us to KTV (although it would have been faster to walk since it took us so long to find a parking space). We accepted her offer to drive us, even though there were more people in the car than seats and I had to sit on Janet’s lap. It was evident she really wanted to show us her car, and rightfully so. It was shiny and new and it was an SUV! These are not common here, even small ones. Actually, owning a car at all is not common here. I looked at her temporary paper license plates and was reminded of the new law passed here in January which allowed financing for cars in China. (So, people who couldn’t afford a car before are now able to take out a loan to buy one. If only China would learn from our mistakes! I hate to see them move away from the cash-only society they are today.)
After a somewhat uncomfortable ride, we made it to KTV row, a long strip of KTV joints lit up with neon lights. Our school had rented a large room where they would spend the entire night singing and dancing. The room was covered in red rose wallpaper and had a projector screen to show the music videos. First, we had to set up for the party! Several 10 pound bags of sunflower seeds were hauled in and distributed into shallow bowls around the room. Hot tea was poured into large glass beer mugs, and oranges were passed out. A hostess circled the room, writing down everybody’s song preference. They were very adamant about Janet and I choosing a song to sing, even though they had no songs in English. We politely declined the opportunity to sing a song we neither knew nor would be able to read the words to. We agreed to dance instead. And dance we did! Well, when I say we, I mean the other Chinese people in the room. They loved dancing! Our liaison, Mr. Zhang, joined the party, claiming that someone had to do the hard work of dancing with all the women. He was a dancing machine. They fast-danced, slow-danced, waltzed, did the fox trot, and at one point, our liaison even did a ballet leap across the floor. People changed dance partners from one song to the next, and it didn’t seem to matter if the couple was two girls. As for the singing, most were very good singers. No one was shy, even if they were not very good. They each belted out their favorite song into the microphone like it was their long-awaited 5 minutes of fame. I suppose that is a cultural difference, because I was mortified by the idea of singing in front of colleagues.
Today we went to Church. I’m not sure what kind of church it was, since it’s just called “ZhuZhou City Church” and I couldn’t possibly read any of the signage on the building other than the cross symbol on top of the roof. The building was actually a hospital on the bottom two floors with the church occupying the third and fourth floors. It was a very simple building and wouldn’t have looked like a church if not for the aforementioned cross (although even that was very subtle and could have been mistaken for a red “hospital” cross) and the line of people pouring through the doors. Just like in America, there were greeters standing outside the church doors who provided you with a gentle applause for coming to church. We walked past the “treat room” (whatever that was) and then past the restroom before finally making it to the church floor. Despite its unassuming appearance from the outside, the building looked very much like a church on the inside. Just as in many churches, there was a foyer – although in this foyer the “Chinese” touch was evident in the plastic sheets hanging down from the doorway between the foyer and the sanctuary. Just through the hanging plastic was the sanctuary, with its massive crowd of church-goers. The room was filled from front to back with dark wooden pews that looked like they had been in service for at least 40 years. Rotating fans were attached to the sanctuary’s support beams, but since it was winter they were covered with fan protectors (because this is considered “fashion” here). However, these were not just any fan covers. They were all made to match each other as well as the sanctuary’s simple window treatments. Both were made of a dark, red, fake-velvet material. The fan covers were adorned with a gold star in the middle, which allowed them to serve as both “fancy” religious decor and a salute to Chinese nationalism. The windows were simple pane glass and looked out onto the neighboring building, which was a mere 2 feet away. At the front of the church was a stained glass window displaying a secular picture of some colorful flowers. Other than this stained glass window and the red velvet touches, the room was very simple. There was a balcony where the younger families had chosen to sit.
The choir joined us as the service began. They entered from the rear of the church wearing white robes and red collars. Other than the choir, there appeared to be just two other people actively involved in running the church service: the minister and a piano player. The minister really did everything. He made the announcements at the beginning and end, he led the church in song, read the scripture, and gave the sermon. He was well-dressed in black with a white collar, much like an Episcopalian or Catholic Priest. The man was well groomed, handsome and looked to be in his 50’s. As for the congregation, I would have to guess that the median age was 70. (It is always hard for us to tell age here though, as many individuals have aged from hardships rather than years). They were mostly women and seemed to have come to church in small groups of two or three (although a number of mother-daughter pairs were in attendance as well). There were very few young families and from my recollection, there was no one between the ages of 8 and 28. These church-goers, while in the minority, looked just like any other person you’d see walking the streets in the city of Zhuzhou. They came in all their winter layers, mismatched ski caps, gloves, and oversized jackets. They sported various styles of winter sleeve protectors (see the previous blog entry on the Winter in Zhuzhou for more on these “fashion-statements”). The sanctuary was a quilt of well-worn floral-patterned jackets. To protect from the cold in this unheated building, people wore their hats indoors (although some were barely balanced on the top of their heads) and they drank hot water from flimsy plastic cups provided in the foyer of the church.
My senses were overloaded as we made it into the aisles. Of course, when David, Janet, Sandi (our Chinese friend), and I showed up everybody made a big fuss to give us their seats. We’d arrived about 10 minutes early for the service, but already the sanctuary was packed with people practicing the hymns that would be sung in the service that day. There was not enough room for all of us to sit together, but the people gladly moved and waved us into the pew they had been sitting in. They really wanted to give us their seats. I felt bad choosing a seat, afraid to offend those whose seats I didn’t steal.
Once we were seated I noticed that some of the pews were adorned with hand-sewn seat pads (although I think they were just cloth without any padding). I thought about what kind of woman probably spent weeks sewing these for the church! Secondly, I noticed that there were no Bibles or hymnals available. People had brought their own. (Or, alternatively, you could buy them in the shop at the foyer.) Of course, all the hymnals were in Chinese. Throughout the service, the kind woman to my left tilted her hymnal slightly to the side so I could see the words. Much to her disappointment, I was still unable to sing along because, “kan bu dong” (“I cannot read”)! The music sounded similar to the songs typically sung in a western church, although I didn’t recognize any song in particular. The songs were accompanied by an off-key piano at the front of the church. Instead of musical notes, the melody was denoted by numbers ranging from 1 to 5. I could follow the melody, and I recognized the Chinese word for “love” but nothing more. Finally, the end of each song came with an “Amen” and I couldn’t help but smile. Some things are the same across languages!
During the service, a projector screen hung low, covering up the stained-glass window. The 4 points of the sermon were projected onto the screen. The minister took his standing position at a simple podium adorned with a basic red cross. He talked with emotion and enthusiasm about biblical stories, and (just like many preachers in America) he told a few bad jokes. Luckily, we had Sandi to translate the sermon into English for us. What we gathered from Sandi’s translation was that the main point of the sermon was “How to deal with family crisis”. The minister wove the story of the Prodigal Son into his sermon. There was also a joke about a drunk man who lost his cell phone, but we couldn’t tell exactly how that fit into the message. Occasionally, Sandi would lean over and tell us something she read on the screen or something the minister had said. Most of what she said made sense to us. However, one time, she leaned over once to say,
“Do you know of a large monkey who is also a king?”
When she said this, we thought, “Where is this sermon heading?” and David replied “is he talking about this monkey?”
Sandi replied, “No, I was just thinking of a movie with a large monkey.”
As she said this, we realized she was referring to King Kong and that our friend was afflicted with the common American phenomena of day dreaming in church! We got a good laugh out of that. Well, in the end, I didn’t really learn a lot but I did feel the ebb and flow of a church service. People quietly excused themselves for water or the restroom; babies squirmed in their mothers’ laps; and a few parishioners became weary-eyed after the service passed the one-hour mark. I enjoyed watching the addition of shelling peanuts as a passtime during the service. The church-goers seemed to be well acquainted with one another, and I could imagine them dividing into familiar groups for lunch after church.
The service continued for one and a half hours, and a few people could be seen gently nodding off. However, most people were listening intently and even taking notes. At the end of the service, the minister said something, and my kind neighbor gestured to me that I should go to the front of the church. The only words I understood her say were “first time” so I gathered that the minister was inviting first time visitors to the front of the church. I went because it appeared to be very important, judging by my neighbor’s enthusiasm. About 30 people joined us at the front of the church and we all received a light applause and a piece of paper. The minister came to shake each of our hands. He even spoke a bit of English to us, “Welcome to ZhuZhou City Church.” I don’t know if this was just my imagination, but I felt like this was the least amount of stares and pointed fingers I have received in a large crowd since moving to China. Perhaps the church has foreign visitors often, or perhaps they are not in the business of judging. Regardless, it felt really nice to not be critically analyzed for once. Once the service had ended, we squeezed our way down the narrow stairwell along with the other 1,000 people and exited out of the ramp-less hospital front doors (An equivalent to the American’s with Disabilities Act still has not passed in China). The rain had washed the city while we were inside and the streets were now lively with the sound of conversations and passing cars. We hailed a cab and headed for the downtown supermarket, which is always a treat because they sell peanut butter! This was the first Sunday that truly felt like a “Sunday” in China, and we embraced it!
Trying to make sense of my life in a Chinese world is often confusing and occasionally seems impossible. How do you plan a trip in a country where plans are not made? How do you cook a Thanksgiving meal without any familiar ingredients? How do you make friends when you speak different languages? It often feels like my life and Chinese life are the same poles of two magnets, pushing and fighting against each other. You feel the resistance everyday, in both big and small ways. And then, sometimes, one pole wins over the other and one suddenly spins around and the two magnets are magnificently pulled together by the laws of physics. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the two worlds seem to coexist. It’s at this point when I change from an observer of Chinese society to a participant in it, and the people I had been observing change from being “Chinese” to being “a mother” and “a daughter.” They are each living and breathing for exactly the same reasons we do at home. And when I have one of these moments, it absolutely takes my breath away. In the end, I would like to say: Some people here are Christian, and they don’t look any different than the people who aren’t. They love their family, friends, and God. And despite their clothes, language, and taste for pig intestines, they are just like me. I can live off of those moments of clarity for hours, but somehow I soon slip back into my role as an observer. I will always long for those moments when I can be part of something bigger.
Women’s Day Celebrations:
As expected, by early evening that same Sunday I was once again playing the role of “The observer.” This particular Sunday was “Women’s Day,” an international holiday started in America in 1909 by the socialist party which is now only observed in 8 countries (all of which are or were Communist). To the best of my knowledge, it is a day to both celebrate women and to advocate for their equality. Well, our school had a dinner for the senior women teachers. They invited Janet and I (sorry David), so of course we joined in.
The food was delicious and different. There was a fabulous frog and pepper dish (I am learning to like frog since it is more meat and less bones than chicken, but it tastes like chicken), fermented green vegetables, another fermented green vegetable with pig intestines and peas, beef and red peppers, a medley of snow peas, red bell peppers, and water chestnuts (I used to think, these were quintessential to Chinese food, but this was the first time I’d seen them in China), bitter melon, small slightly sweet wheat pancakes, and my favorite dish was one with thin filets of delicate white fish cooked in a pot of hot oil. Janet and I sat with a fellow English teacher whose English name is Cynthia (whose husband had driven us to the restaurant), another English teacher named Cindy, a history teacher, a Chinese teacher, and two kids.
After dinner, we learned that the party would continue at a nearby KTV (karaoke) club. One of the young women teachers offered to drive us to KTV (although it would have been faster to walk since it took us so long to find a parking space). We accepted her offer to drive us, even though there were more people in the car than seats and I had to sit on Janet’s lap. It was evident she really wanted to show us her car, and rightfully so. It was shiny and new and it was an SUV! These are not common here, even small ones. Actually, owning a car at all is not common here. I looked at her temporary paper license plates and was reminded of the new law passed here in January which allowed financing for cars in China. (So, people who couldn’t afford a car before are now able to take out a loan to buy one. If only China would learn from our mistakes! I hate to see them move away from the cash-only society they are today.)
After a somewhat uncomfortable ride, we made it to KTV row, a long strip of KTV joints lit up with neon lights. Our school had rented a large room where they would spend the entire night singing and dancing. The room was covered in red rose wallpaper and had a projector screen to show the music videos. First, we had to set up for the party! Several 10 pound bags of sunflower seeds were hauled in and distributed into shallow bowls around the room. Hot tea was poured into large glass beer mugs, and oranges were passed out. A hostess circled the room, writing down everybody’s song preference. They were very adamant about Janet and I choosing a song to sing, even though they had no songs in English. We politely declined the opportunity to sing a song we neither knew nor would be able to read the words to. We agreed to dance instead. And dance we did! Well, when I say we, I mean the other Chinese people in the room. They loved dancing! Our liaison, Mr. Zhang, joined the party, claiming that someone had to do the hard work of dancing with all the women. He was a dancing machine. They fast-danced, slow-danced, waltzed, did the fox trot, and at one point, our liaison even did a ballet leap across the floor. People changed dance partners from one song to the next, and it didn’t seem to matter if the couple was two girls. As for the singing, most were very good singers. No one was shy, even if they were not very good. They each belted out their favorite song into the microphone like it was their long-awaited 5 minutes of fame. I suppose that is a cultural difference, because I was mortified by the idea of singing in front of colleagues.
Outside KTV (karaoke)
Sunflower seeds anyone?
Our Liaison hard at work!
KTV singing
Being Women’s Day, it was mostly women in attendance, but of course the school “leaders” could come because they planned the event (or as far as I can see, the leaders always get to have fun on the school’s tab). A door prize was given every 45 minutes by drawing names from a box. Somehow, both Janet and I won prizes. We knew we had won before they called our names by the “leader’s” bewildered facial expression when trying to read our names. (Haha, look who “kan bu dong” (can’t read) now?) Janet walked away with a large-headed plush doll of a cartoonish-looking boy. I won a wall clock depicting the same, extremely Asian, cartoon. Janet and I left early when we learned they had rented the room until after midnight on account of our suffering ear drums.
So I started the day at Church and ended at a KTV club. Somewhere in the middle, I had a moment of feeling like this crazy, upside-down world I live in actually made sense. What more could a waiguoren ask for?
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