God Is Red

by Liao Yiwu

  Liao: Your name doesn’t sound Tibetan.

  Jia: You are right. It’s a Western name. I was baptized in a church. The priest named me “Gabriel.” Gabriel is one of God’s angels, and the name means “man of God.” As you know, we Tibetans name our children quite spontaneously. A father is supposed to come up with a name immediately upon the birth of his child. Many times, he gets his inspiration from whatever he sees first when he steps outside the house. If it’s a Kalsang flower blooming on the grassland, he will name his baby girl Kal Sang, or Ge Sang. If it’s a windy morning, he’s very likely to name his baby boy Anil, which means “wind” or “air.” I like my biblical name a lot.

  Liao: Where were you baptized?

  Jia: In the Cizhong church, which was built by French missionaries about 150 years ago.

  Liao: Is it the oldest church in Yunnan province?

  Jia: Probably. When you are in the valley area, you can see from a distance its Western-style steeple against the snow-covered mountain peaks, surrounded by Buddhist temples. The Lancang River flows by and then curves around the villages there. Old folks in my village used to say that Cizhong was a borderland for Christian missionaries. From the mid-nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries, missionaries hoped that the gospel would filter into Tibet, but the lamas didn’t like religious competition and many priests were killed. The Kashag, or the governing council of Tibet, placed thousands of troops at key mountain passes to prevent outsiders from entering Tibet. It didn’t matter whether you were a Han or a Westerner, and it didn’t matter if you carried a gun or a Bible. The troops would arrest you or kill you. Many people went and never returned. In the end, the missionaries established bases in Cizhong from which to serve the Tibetan villages.

  Liao: Are there many Christians in Tibet?

  Jia: No. I think there are only about seven hundred or so. In Cizhong, the Catholic missionaries were the first to arrive, but as travel has become easier the Protestant churches have also been expanding. In recent years, Cizhong has become a popular destination for tourists from France, America, Britain, Canada, Australia, Sweden, and New Zealand. On their way to climb the Meili Snow Mountain, many stop and worship at the Cizhong church.

  Liao: Have you heard any stories about early Western missionaries in the region?

  Jia: Yes. I’ve seen their tombstones. Some of them were damaged during the Cultural Revolution, but now they have been restored and are protected. I’ve also seen trees planted by foreign missionaries at the beginning of the last century. The missionaries picked mountain slopes that faced the sun to plant grapes. We call them “rose honey.” They have a strong, thick, and sweet taste. They are part of an ancient variety in France. The missionaries brought winemaking techniques to the region.

  Liao: I have tasted rose-honey wine. It is red and mild.

  Jia: It doesn’t scratch your throat like barley wine does. The French missionaries originally intended it just for Holy Communion. But after they had settled in our village and built a church there, people easily overcame cultural difference and treated them like family. The Tibetans would offer highland barley wine to their French friends, who offered their red rose-honey wine in return. Tibetan traders and farmers would go to the church not to pray or sing hymns—they were still Buddhists—but to visit their French friends and drink wine with them. I’m told that sometimes a local farmer would enjoy too many glasses of wine and the priests would find him a bed to sleep it off.

  During harvest seasons, the French priests would bring their wine to the barley field and help farmers with harvesting and planting. They also tried to teach them how to sing hymns. You know, Tibetans are good at bellowing out loud mountain tunes. They open their mouths and howl. The priest would stop them, saying: “Amen; God bless your voice. But you don’t have to howl. God is not deaf. He can hear you.” The French priests made lots of adjustments to the hymns. Nowadays, psalms are sung with Tibetan highland melodies. Sunday Mass will sometimes feature a dance around a bonfire. Christmas is celebrated with dancing around bonfires.

  Relations between local Tibetans and foreign missionaries have not always been easy though. We Tibetans suffered deeply, sometimes ravaged by war, other times by pandemics, at times both war and pandemics.

  I was told that in my great-great-grandfather’s time, the region was hit by a severe drought. For several consecutive years, there was no rain or snow. The riverbed lay exposed. Goats and cattle died of starvation because there was no grass to feed them. Crops withered to sticks. People’s lives were in danger. The lamas chanted and prayed for rain. It didn’t help. People burned incense to local gods and deities. Nothing. Some Tibetans began to vent their frustrations on the foreign missionaries. Some claimed that Tibetans had offended their ancestors because they had invited foreigners to their villages and allowed them to change their faith. In one area, local villagers surrounded a church and captured the lone priest. They tied him up and carried him up to the mountains where they planned to sacrifice him to their ancestors. When the knife fell on the priest’s neck, his head turned into a piece of blue rock. From his neck spurted not blood but milk, which streamed down the mountain and into the village. Everyone hastened out. They jumped into the stream to drink the nurturing liquid. Just like that, the blighted land was rejuvenated. People were grateful and carried the priest’s body down the mountain and buried him at the back of his church. Ever since, they pray in front of the priest’s tomb to seek God’s protection when disaster hits.

  Liao: History and legends are only separated by a thin wall. Sometimes, it’s okay to climb over.

  Jia: Let me share with you another one, “The story of the golden needles.” Bubonic plague and cholera struck our region many decades ago. A large swath of the population died. Survivors escaped to other places. Village after village became empty. Even the Han and Tibetan troops had to stop their protracted war against each other. There was silence everywhere. Fortunately, the missionaries arrived with many golden needles. It was vaccine for the plague, and they had pills for cholera. Some recovered fast, some more slowly, but soon everyone became better.

  Liao: I’ve heard many stories about how Western missionaries saved lives through their medical services. They played a big role in stopping the spread of epidemics in many parts of China.

  Jia: As a child, I remember seeing adults sitting around a bonfire at night. After downing shots of liquor, they would start telling such stories, but I was too young to remember them all. My parents had seven children; several of my siblings have much better memories than I.

  Liao: Seven children?

  Jia: I have three elder sisters and three younger brothers. I’m in the middle, but the eldest son. I’m very lucky they sent me to Chengdu to study theology. I’ve always been attracted to the church. Whatever the Lord wants me to do, I obey his plan.

  But sometimes I’m not as determined as I should be. Many of my elders, such as Sister Tao and Father Ding, are much more devoted. Many of my fellow seminarians renew their commitment vows every three years. Three times three is nine. After nine years, they will make a final vow to remain celibate and serve the Lord for the rest of their lives. I’m still hesitating and pondering my future. I’m not as devoted as my elders.

  Liao: You are only twenty-four. Are you still hesitant about your future with the church because you want to get married?

  Jia: No. I’m not thinking about the issue now.

  Liao: Are you planning to go back to Cizhong after seminary?

  Jia: No.

  Liao: Why not? Cizhong is your hometown and it’s a great place.

  Jia: I belong to the church. I will go wherever the church sends me. The Bible says that Jesus left his hometown and wandered around the world for many years. So since I’ve already left, I’m not going back. I’m ready to travel the country and serve God.

  Liao: The Catholic Church holds you to the rule of celibacy. The Protestant churches are different.

  Jia: Some people think the Cath
olics are more conservative. It might be true. That’s why the secular government feels more threatened by the Catholics.

  Liao: Really?

  Jia: Let me give you an example. There’s a poster at the entrance about a missing person who lived more than two thousand years ago. It says: “Jesus from Nazareth, 1.80 meters tall, with brown curly hair, bright piercing eyes brimming with vigor, his voice sonorous and forceful. He doesn’t bow to evil forces and he detests hypocrisies. God is the path. He represents truth and life. If you find Him, please follow Him.”

  Liao: Do you pledge loyalty to the Vatican?

  Jia: Not really. Bishops and priests who have relations with the Vatican are being monitored closely by the government. They try very hard to block any contacts with the Vatican. The Communist Party has planted many of its people inside the church. The government constantly reminds the clergy not to stray or do anything to violate the Party policy. Before any kind of large-scale Mass, the government has to approve the contents of the sermon.

  Liao: Do you bow to evil forces?

  Jia: I have not been tested yet.

  Liao: What about your parents?

  Jia: They went through the destructive Cultural Revolution. The only thing they mentioned was that they didn’t give up on God. They prayed secretly. They don’t want to dwell too much on the past. I think most Catholics in China feel the same way.

  Chapter 4

  The Elder (I)

  In the course of my research I came across a copy of Wu Yongsheng’s The History of Christianity in Dali, which outlines the work of early missionaries in southwest China. I was determined to talk to the author about the past and present spread of the Christian religion.

  The Old City Protestant Church, or “Fuyintang,” was built in 1905. Occupying more than three hundred square meters, Fuyintang is architecturally mixed—Bai ethnic residential meets European gothic. Its facade is exposed stone, and a cross painted in red stands prominently atop a traditional Chinese roof tower that resembles an eagle flapping in flight. Old courtyard houses and Bai buildings in the vicinity are dwarfed by its presence.

  The chapel was empty when I called on the afternoon of August 11, 2009, with my monk friend Ze Yu. We stepped out and turned into a small quiet lane near the chapel. Based on the address provided by the church staff, we knocked on the door of a small courtyard house. An elderly lady with gray hair popped her head out, looking stern and annoyed. When she heard we were friends of the church, she mulled it over for a few seconds and led us to a spartanly furnished house, inside of which were hung crosses and scrolls of Bible proverbs and a family portrait I took to be of Wu and his wife, Zhang Fengxiang (the gray-haired lady), and their offspring—some twenty in total.

  Wu Yongsheng was born in 1924. An elder at the Dali Old City Protestant Church, he was highly respected in the Christian community. Three months before our visit, he had a stroke and fell. He received timely treatment and, though his movement was impaired and he walked with a cane, had retained all his faculties and was articulate, his mind lucid. He presented me with a copy of the Book of Psalms. I accepted it, saying that I would “study up on it.” Wu corrected me, saying, “You should use it as a mirror to confess your sins and reform.” He urged monk Ze to abdicate his pursuit of enlightenment through Buddha and look to Jesus for salvation. Ze responded with a smile.

  During our interview, Wu was guarded, even evasive, when I asked about his views on the past political campaigns, though the reason for his reluctance to discuss such questions became clear toward the end of our visit.

  Wu Yongsheng: I was born in the provincial capital of Kunming. In 1937, when I was finishing up elementary school, my mother’s younger brother returned to Kunming from Dali and told me to quit school. “The whole country is in chaos,” he said. “Disasters are imminent. What’s the point of attending school?” This uncle asked me to apprentice with him and become a carpenter. Even though the war [with Japan] had not officially started, you could feel it. There were sirens all the time. Food prices went up dramatically and people hoarded goods. Our family lived in constant fear. My uncle’s offer made my parents happy, and I returned with him to Dali on an old-style bus that carried both people and merchandise. We spent four days on a road that was paved with rocks as big as potatoes. It was such a bumpy ride. I felt like my whole body was falling apart. Nowadays, when you come from Kunming, it takes half a day.

  Liao Yiwu: Did your uncle have his own business in Dali?

  Wu: Yes. He ran his own shop in Dali’s old section. As an apprentice, at first I only helped him with some simple errands. He was a Christian and knew many foreign missionaries in town. Each time they needed some work done, they would look for him. He treated me as his own child and took me to Sunday services every week. Soon, I learned the Bible and knew how to sing hymns. In 1940, an American couple arrived in Dali.

  Liao: Do you remember their names?

  Wu: Let me see . . . Mr. and Mrs. Harold Taylor. They rented a small courtyard house on Foreigner Street. They put up a sign on their door. It said “The Christian Church.” They asked us to renovate the house. During the renovation, we lived on the second floor. The Taylors would leave the house in the morning and come back late at night. They treated us very nicely. They requested that we say a prayer or read the Bible before starting work every day. We followed their advice. By June 1941, I felt inspired by God and was baptized. I was seventeen.

  On the day of my baptism, my uncle woke me up at dawn. “It’s the day of your rebirth today,” my uncle said. The old city wall was still in good shape back then, and you could see all of the four tower gates from the town center. We went through the western gate and waited near a stream that poured down from Cangshan Mountain. A water mill had been built there to grind grain. The mill had two big wooden wheels and operated day and night. In the 1940s, the water mill was a novelty. Reverend Taylor was only in his thirties and liked technology. He thought the stream at the mill an appropriate place to baptize me. He had me step into a pond on the right side of the waterwheel and recited some verses. His big hands held my small thin body. Slowly, he submerged me in the water, from head to toe. I kept my eyes open and could see the top of the city wall, Cangshan Mountain, and then the white clouds and blue sky. I thought I would see my creator residing high up in heaven but was content to feel surrounded by beautiful white clouds.

  Liao: It must have been a wonderful feeling.

  Wu: After the ceremony, Reverend Taylor held my hands and said in his broken Chinese: “Brother Wu, thanks for taking over.” I didn’t understand what he meant until the Taylors had to leave Dali. The Japanese troops had moved in from Myanmar and occupied the nearby city of Tengchong. They were bombing Kunming and Xiaguan. Many Americans decided to leave.

  Liao: Were there a lot of foreigners in Dali?

  Wu: Quite a lot. Some didn’t stay long though. They just came and went.

  Liao: Were the Taylors well known in the region?

  Wu: Not really. They stayed in Dali for no more than two years. They built a small church and had a limited number of followers. The most famous missionary couple was Mr. and Mrs. Liang Xisheng. Their English names were, let me see, Mr. and Mrs. William Allen. They were very well known in the region. They served in the Dali region for more than ten years and were known for their generosity, both material and spiritual. Unlike the Taylors, they were successful and had gathered a large following. Many high school students took English lessons from them at home. One night, as Mrs. Allen was saying her nightly prayers, she suddenly noticed a man’s foot sticking out from under her bed—one of her former students had snuck into their house to steal food. Before he had time to run away, Mrs. Allen walked in. He hid under her bed, hoping to escape after she fell asleep. Mrs. Allen jumped up and screamed with fear. Scared by the noise, the thief crawled in farther. Reverend Allen rushed in from the living room. He bent down, trying to persuade the thief to come out by saying, “You don’t have to worry. We are not rep
orting you to the police. I know your family is poor. Just come out and take whatever you want. I don’t care.” The thief started crying and promised to crawl out if Reverend Allen would step away from the bed. Meanwhile, Mrs. Allen said, “My dear, I will pray for you. I will ask the Lord to forgive your sins.” The thief answered, “No thanks, I don’t need you to pray for me. I’m not a Christian.” After he finally got out, the thief saw something shining in Reverend Allen’s hand. Thinking it was a weapon, the thief pulled out his knife and stabbed at Reverend Allen’s thigh. It turned out Reverend Allen was holding a glass of water for the thief. The stabbing shocked Mrs. Allen, who ran out and screamed, “Help, Help.” The neighbors heard commotion and helped catch the thief.

  Liao: What a story. What happened to the thief?

  Wu: The next day, Reverend Allen went to the police station and bailed the thief out. He knew the poor kid was driven to burglary because of poverty. He never pressed any charges. For a while, it was big news here and spread fast in the region. People were really moved by their generosity. When people saw Reverend Allen on the street, they addressed him as a “saint.” He would wave his hands and reply in his Dali dialect, “I don’t deserve that honor. I’m merely doing the Lord’s work.”

  Since ancient times, Dali has been fertile ground for all types of religion. Gods and deities fill every inch of the land here. Buddhism and Islam were already here when Christianity arrived, but it spread fast because we have had many wonderful Christians like Rev. Allen, who, through their behavior, demonstrated the benevolence of God.