by D.I. Telbat
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Pastor Wu couldn't hold back his smile as the thirty people sang a hymn of worship in his tiny shop. Aware that Party agents were always near, the Christians sang in whispers, but the joy they expressed was no less beautiful.
Wu recognized less than half of the thirty who'd arrived for the service. They'd begun to trickle in the previous day from as far away as Shandong Province. As a good host, Wu shared what little food he had, but everyone had brought their own provisions as well. Those with a little rice were given pork and tea by those who had more.
Finally, the service had begun after midnight. In the shadows of flickering candles, they had gathered for prayer. Pastor Wu wouldn't speak until after the whisper singing was finished, which would go on for at least another hour. The service itself would last until dawn, at which time the guests would rest and pray through the day, then depart under the cover of darkness the following night. The thirty here would branch out to visit other underground house churches in other provinces.
Halfway through the third hymn, the shop door swung open. Wu tensed as a man in a peasant's parka shuffled into the room. The man kept the parka hood over his head and the collar covered much of his face. Public Security Bureau agents may have been informed of their gathering. Only a man with something to hide would keep his face covered, and Wu was certain the man in the parka was a Party official.
The pastor surveyed the room for other potential spies, but everyone's lips were moving to the words of the hymn. An agent certainly wouldn't sing. He watched the newcomer closely. It was common for an agent to infiltrate a service and take note of the prominent members in attendance. Wu had already been arrested twice for having "unauthorized cultic material" since he refused to use state edited sermons and registered facilities. A third offense would mean hard prison time in a labor camp for "rehabilitation"—if he endured the abusive interrogations.
His wife had been encouraging him to sell their shop and home to become traveling evangelists. Wu cringed at the thought. He'd heard that one such brother had been arrested in a nearby city and was scheduled for execution. Though China had made civil progress, civilian freedoms and rights were still greatly lacking.
Closing his eyes, Wu tried to pray, but he was distracted, listening for the squeal of brakes of the PSB arriving. They would surely arrest everyone and confiscate their small collection of Bibles and literature.
Suddenly, his eyes flashed open as he remembered he'd just received a new shipment of hymnals from Hong Kong. They were still in a box upstairs in their living quarters! If he could do nothing else, he could hide that box and get it after he was released from prison. Glancing at his wife, he tried to get her attention, but she was focused on the worship song. He took a deep breath and moved toward the staircase in the corner.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the stranger in the parka watching him.
The shop's door burst open before Wu could reach the stairs. The Christians stopped singing and shrank away from two men in military uniforms who wielded batons. A third man—an officer—entered the room, one hand on his holstered sidearm, and his other hand carrying enough zip ties to bind every Christian twice. He blocked the door.
"There's no need for this!" Wu moved toward the officer as the other two with batons began to batter the helpless on the floor. "We are peaceful!"
The officer backhanded Wu across the jaw, sending him spinning. But before Wu could fall to the ground, someone caught him and steadied him on his feet. Wu looked into the eyes of his rescuer—the man in the parka was not Chinese at all!
Stopping momentarily, the officer and his two enforcers seemed stunned. Pastor Wu knew why they were surprised—the Christians had never stood up to them before; they were always passive. The two with batons moved toward the stranger with rage on their faces.
Pushing Wu aside, the stranger drew a pistol, causing the PSB agents to hesitate. The officer blocking the door reached for his sidearm. The man in the parka fired three times at him, then the officer slumped to the floor. Pivoting, the stranger fired on the two with batons, before they had a chance to react.
The thirty Christians were speechless and frightened. Wu wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand and rushed to the officer near the door.
"I've found a pulse. He seems to be injured, but I see no blood," Wu announced, as he studied the stranger and his pistol.
Taking off his hood, the man in the parka then holstered his weapon.
"Who are you?" Wu asked, stepping closer to the Latino man. "And what kind of gun is that?"
The stranger spoke, but not in Chinese. Wu recognized the English language and called for one of the men across the room that had studied English in Beijing before the Olympics. After several minutes of rough translation, Wu learned the man's name was Ruben, and discovered why he was there. Through the translator, Ruben explained that he hadn't killed the officers because his gun was only a tranquilizer.
Several men spread their coats on the floor for Ruben to lie down so one of the women could inspect his injury. It was a superficial wound and needed only cleaning and a few stitches.
"He has saved us all from arrest, but at what cost?" Wu asked his guests. The translator didn't translate for Ruben. "We are obviously not safe here any longer. It's time for us to leave. Tonight."
"Perhaps this is God's way of telling us what we already knew." Wu's wife took her husband's hand. "We must leave our place of comfort to serve Him better elsewhere. He wants us to have more faith in Him."
The other believers agreed with solemn nods.
"This man has asked if we can get him to Chengdu," the Beijing man translated for Ruben. "There's a safe house there, he says. These government men will awaken within one hour."
"You take him to Chengdu," Wu instructed the translator. "The rest of us will go our separate ways. Tell him he has saved us from torture and prison, and we'll use our extended time of freedom wisely for Jesus."
The translator spoke with Ruben, then laughed, and looked at Wu with tears in his eyes.
"Our guest says he had hoped to hear a few more of our Chinese songs about Jesus before he was forced to leave your house."
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Listening intently, Ruben's heart was encouraged as the group of believers sang quietly while they gathered their belongings and left one by one. Most would probably never see one another again, Ruben knew, and many would suffer greatly for the sake of the gospel.
Ruben thanked God for the great blessing of being used for His work. He now understood that the Lord had given him two missions this night.
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