Mei Ling

A final memorable conversation from 2009.

Mei and Ling are actually two separate people. I put the names together because the two parts sound nice one after the other. Perhaps I have unconsciously stolen the name from a famous Chinese person. Mei and Ling, both middle-aged women of Chinese descent, were followers of Falun Gong. I confess to not knowing much about the tenets of Falun Gong, apart from that it derives from Buddhist and Daoist teachings. There is a strong emphasis on consciousness and hence meditation and tai-chi. Politically, they are strong dissenters against the Communist Party China, which is seen as quite oppressive.

To digress a little, my first encounter with Falun Gong was several years ago. My grandmother was going through a tai-chi fad. She soon discovered fellowship with some Falun Gong members, drawn to their anti-Beijing stance. My grandmother was one of many Chinese-Vietnamese 'petit bourgeoisie' in Saigon, having fled the country near the end of the Vietnam War, leaving behind the vast majority of what 3 generations of her family had built up. Hence she has long held a grudge against anything red. It is not difficult to see why a not insignificant portion of older Chinese immigrants to Australia, perhaps from Vietnam, Taiwan, Hong Kong, (colloquially "non-mainlanders") may have similar sentiments. It provides a way for Falun Gong to get a foot in the door to people's sympathies.

In any case, on this particular day, I was doing walk-up with a friend from law school. We were quite good friends and I knew her not only through study, but also from doing a lot of activities with the on-campus Christian group. There was a local festival on this day (strangely named after an apple) and my friend's church had a stall on the main walkway. I had agreed to come help out a little and do some walk-up evangelism with her. The suburb was particularly "Asian", and I say this without any sort of discriminatory intention, for I myself am an ABC (Australian born Chinese), if you haven't already noticed. The partnership was exceptionally useful, as my friend spoke fluent Mandarin, and I spoke quasi-fluent Cantonese. So when we encountered who did not speak English, we generally had both sides covered.

It was a lucky day. We were a little anxious starting out, but the first couple we approached were very willing to listen to what we had to share and talk about their experienced. The man recalled his experiences at youth group and the lady discussed her experiences teaching at a Catholic school and attending mass. My friend did the 2WTL presentation and we gave them some tracts for reading. It was too awkward to swap contact details, though I had ventured the question. It frustrated me that there was no real way of following them up. Though we referred them to my friend's church, her church was a Chinese congregation, and the couple we met, were not Chinese.

We met some other people throughout the day, though the conversations were not long, and I felt the outing had fallen into the lull period. Though I enjoyed parading around in my new blue 'Jesus: All About Life' shirt, in the back of my mind I had resorted to telling myself that at least we were giving the church a 'presence' in the community and getting ourselves out there. A common excuse for unenthusiasm.

Later on we met Mei and Ling. They spoke Cantonese, which was disappointing. I enjoyed when the person we approached spoke Mandarin, that way my friend could do all the talking and I could just stand there and look pretty (figuratively speaking). Though I am conversationally fluent in Cantonese, I always have difficulty evangelising in the language. The trouble is that I don't always know the official phrase/word for 'salvation' and 'grace' (instead I might incorrectly use 'saving' and 'generosity/love'). Other words like 'monotheism', well, I simply do not know how to articulate in Chinese. I tried hard, though it was hard to be clear or challenging without a full arsenal of words.

Mei was the meek one. Ling was the assertive one. At first Ling tried to 'reverse-evangelise' us. This is somewhat common amongst Falun Gong and has happened to me several times. I at resolved at the outset of the day that if this happened, I wouldn't get sucked into a conversation that led nowhere and should be able to end the conversation politely. But Ling just kept talking and being the polite person that I am (sarcasm), I couldn't just walk away. She told me how she once was Buddhist. She developed a form of cancer of the stomach, which could not be treated with conventional medicine. She went to a Buddhist temple to ask for advice, but they gave her no cure. Eventually she started discovered practicing tai-chi and meditation, which miraculously healed her. In response I decided to talk about endurance through suffering and trusting God's will as something that was part of the Christian faith, though it did not go down so well.

Ling spoke again about how Falun Gong recognised polytheism, how that even as a Christian I could join Falun Gong (which she claimed was not a belief-system, nor a faith). She said something complicated in Chinese, which I did not really understand, but I think she said that they recognised many paths to achieving something that resembled Enlightenment (though expressed in a 7-step program). To this I commented on the fact that several faiths contradict one another, and there is no way that this is mutually compatible (a common argument against polytheism). But that didn't go down too well either.

Ling then finally made the comment that as collective Chinese people, we should support Falun Gong to bring justice and end the oppression against Falun Gong members in China. To this point I was more sympathetic, though it was not the time or the place to start a political discussion.

Mei, in contrast, was less "hard-core". She talked about how her husband was (or still is) a Christian, in that he went to church. She once went along with him, but felt as though the sermon was a way for the pastor to indoctrinate the congregation. Accept and do not question. This was not helped by the church's constant urges to the congregation to make monetary offerings. This she said she could accept, but the straw that broke the camel's back was that though her husband would go to church, she saw no real improvement in how good a person he was. He was still lazy and ungenerous.

It was hard for me to respond to so many issues. I tried to address the issues with the church by saying that a church should encourage its congregation to read the Bible for themselves and encourage thought and discussion in order to learn. The emphasis should not be on tithing. To her husband's behaviour, I explained that though genuine faith leads us to strive and become more like Jesus (often expressed in outworking of good deeds), we are still sinful people by very nature and a lot of the time hypocrites. Hence why we constantly confess and seek forgiveness through Jesus. Yet salvation is not measured by how good we are nor how many good deeds we have done.

Mei's final comment was that she was surprised by the conviction we had in our beliefs. There is a phrase she used. Literally translated it means 'true heart'. To hear this I was encouraged. Though saddened also, as she said it in such a way to imply that she could never have the same unwavering conviction as us. Perhaps she thought we were naive, but I like to think that her opinion of Christians had however minutely elevated.

By this stage, the conversation was not going anywhere, so I ended it. We left them with some tracts in Chinese, though Ling said it was a waste of our resources. But I had more hoped that Mei might read it at some point. I can only hope that the seed has been planted in their minds.

The day went on, though I have no recollection of conversations subsequent. It was hot and I was quite tired. We met up with another Christian law school colleague who came to help evangelise as well. Luckily for me he spoke Cantonese. When the three of us encountered a young Cantonese student, our colleague told me that I should talk to the student, since I was the most fluent in Canto. But I off-loaded the student back to him, claiming that it would be good practice. I confess now, that it was actually because I was absolutely tired.

The three amigos disbanded shortly thereafter.

As for my grandmother, years in Australia (dare I say in a democratic socialist country) have gradually moved her politics leftwards. Perhaps it was more to do with having to start life again in the working class as a social-nobody immigrant. She tells me she has never voted Liberal (capital L) in her life. She is generally ambivalent towards the Chinese government today.

Grandma is also a strong believer of Sing Tao. Sing Tao is one of the main Chinese language newspapers in Australia, based in Hong Kong. Though she complains the paper has gone downhill ever since Hong-Kong reunification with China (it is too pro-Beijing now she protests), she still believes everything that newspaper says. I have drunk many a bitter herbal tea recipe from that newspaper. So when Sing Tao came out with revelations of the cult-like practices of Falun Gong, that was the end of that. She has moved onto origami folding, Chinese operatic singing and fellowship with her school alumni.

Carmen

Another conversation from 2009. Merry Christmas readers (if readers in fact exist).

I met Carmen at a party. She was a friend of a friend, though I had never seen her before. She was roughly around my age. She studied at university as well, though not at the same one as me. She was the one who approached me because I looked lonely. I didn't know many people at the party and I'm pathetic at mingling. I call her Carmen because as children we both enjoyed playing a computer game called 'Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego'. (So her real name obviously isn't Carmen.)

At first we talked about the usual kind of things. How we both knew the birthday girl. What we studied, how we didn't enjoy what we studied for a significant portion of the day. What our career and future plans were, how we didn't have any. Which places we had travelled to, how we wanted to go to more. The conversation eventually turned onto extra-curricular activities. I talked about how I played mixed social soccer this year, though after many balls to the head I would use the word 'social' very lightly. She talked about her music. She wanted to pick up another instrument, having mastered her first. I asked her if she was part of any societies at university. She said she had joined a couple, but had never really been active in any of them. She asked me the same question and I told her I was quite involved in the Christian group at my campus. And this was how the topic of Jesus was raised.

I told her I was a Christian. I spoke about the university Christian group and its activities, and then I spoke a little about my home church and its activities. I asked her if she was Christian, or whether she had any beliefs. She said she was Catholic, though she wasn't practising. Her family was Catholic and she went to a Catholic school. So she guessed that made her Catholic. She attended mass on occasion, though far from regular.

I have this bad habit where whenever a stranger tells me they're Catholic I get very excited and over-eager to discuss certain issues. I feel like talking about faith not works doctrine, the role of the Pope, the role of Mary, purgatory, transubstantiation, lots of other trendy Catholic v. Christian issues. Thoughts scuttle through my mind. I think of all sorts of things to talk about, even bad taste jokes like if you went to MacDonald's and ordered an Angus burger, and then switched 2 of the letters (making Agnus), then ate the burger, it would almost be like transubstantiation. (Very bad taste.) Perhaps other Christians have the same habit. But I must warn you about launching into grand debates about these things. The other person probably doesn't really want to talk about them, nor often would they understand what you're asking them in the first place.

So instead I let Carmen talk and I resolved to listen. She told me how she found mass formal and traditional. She did not understand all the conventions and felt that the church did not make a big effort to reach out to people her age. She nonetheless thought that religion was a good thing, in the sense that it would compel people to be more moral. I thought that would be a good segueway to talking about faith v. works. We discuss salvation through faith in Jesus for some time. She has difficulty accepting that we cannot do anything to earn it for ourselves. She asks what is the motivation to do anything good if you can be saved by doing no works. I try to explain that faith alone saves, but faith grows us in Christ's likeness, and hence our lives bear the fruit of good works. It is a difficult explanation and I tread with care.

Our conversation was interrupted by the party formalities (speech-making and cake-cutting), so I never got to ask Carmen for her contact details. After the party I tried to add her on Facebook, but she hasn't accepted me. I endeavour to acquire Carmen's details off our mutual friend (the birthday girl), though she is a fervent atheist and looks upon me with suspicion whenever I ask for other friend's details. I hope I left her with at least something to think about. Perhaps a seed for later.

Rejections

Here's a special edition. Memorable rejections of 09.

Perhaps the most memorable rejection from 2009 is one that almost brought me to tears. I remember being quite upset. I have no idea why. I am generally not an emotive person and things don't normally get to me so easily.

I had buzzed someone on the security intercom and done my regular introductory spiel. Very quickly the person buzzed us through and told us to come up to his apartment. I was surprised that this person was so willing to talk and let us in. Perhaps he had misheard, though I was sure I spoke clearly on the intercom. But I let my doubts lie and hoped that it would be a good conversation. I was optimistic as I bounded up those stairs to the apartment.

But my optimism was misplaced. The man had mistaken us for someone else he was waiting for. When he found out that we were Christian evangelists he became very frustrated. He told us we had deceived him into letting us in. He resented what we did and asked us whether we knew what we were doing was disrespectful. He told us to get out and forced us down the stairs.

It took several moments to gather myself after this encounter. My partner at the time was a Christian girl who had never evangelised before. She was noticeably distressed and I tried hard to not let my own dejection show. I don't think it was the rejection itself that upset me so much. I had been rejected many times before. It was more the fact this man who had rejected us wasn't a particularly grumpy sort of person. He looked and seemed perfectly normal. If we had met on the street in different circumstances I'm sure he would have been sociable and hospitable. It shocked me that the issue of faith could repulse someone so. We had made him so angry. It hurt to know that someone, a total stranger, who didn't know me at all, could hate me so much just because of what I believe.

People often respond by saying that, well I don't hate you for what you believe, I hate you for what you do, for evangelising and trying to make me believe. But I guess evangelism comes part and parcel with faith. What does it say about what you believe in if you don't think it's worthwhile sharing?

At times like this, I think you've just got to move.

On a lighter note, here are some more humorous rejections:

Approached a man in his garden on a sunny afternoon. I said 'hi'. He paused for about 5 seconds, eyeing us. He then shot off at the speed of light, running back into his house. He slammed the door loudly. Then he opened the door again and slammed it again. Opened it once more and slammed it for a third time. Point taken.

Man answered door holding 2 large dogs on a leash. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me and then looked at his dogs. Then I left. I love gated communities. The hounds will be released any moment now.

Woman accused me of being a Jehovah's Witness.

Man accused me of being a Mormon.

Man told me he was an atheist. Then told me to go to hell. Irony?

Man pretended he didn't speak English, even though he was reading the Sydney Morning Herald.

Woman gave me $5 to go away. (I didn't take it.)

Student told me she was busy. Then resumed reading a copy of Cosmo magazine.

Law student told me she was busy. Then resumed reading Fed Con textbook (joking).

Jack

Another memorable conversation from 2009. These don't count as part of the tally, since it's not 2010 yet.

I am a person that likes to class things into categories. I like when things are organised neatly and put in self-contained boxes. I enjoy labels. Apparently organisation is my 2nd ranking manifest gift in the Christian gifts survey. (Though I don't read too much into that survey.) Classification is a good skill to have when tackling exam problems at uni. Step-by-step, follow the structure, deal with each issue independently, they always tell me. Young-old, rich-poor, middle class-working class, mainstream-indie, interesting-boring, useful-superfluous, city-country, domestic-international, so forth and so forth, I make many classifications in everyday life. Compartmentalisation is a concept that is thrown around a lot at law school - a way of separating "stuff" into manageable chunks with no messy interference between them. Deans always talk about separating your work life and your private life. However, most law students already concede that the nature of the law beast is that your work life is your private life. (A discussion for another time.) I heard an interview with the actress Jodie Foster, who attributed the success of her career on her capacity to compartmentalise her life.

Suffice to say, when I evangelise it is in my nature to make a lot of classifications. Even when I know this is extremely problematic. Is this person likely to want to talk to me, or unlikely to want to talk to me? The little-old-ladies, the young-international-student-girls always seem to win out over the burly bloke with in the singlet-top with the tattoos or the busy-looking CEO in the Armani suit, leather shoes, briefcase. But I am very wary of over-simplification, especially with people. It is impossible to know how any given person will reaction when asked about Jesus.

I once knew a person, who as part of a Christian in-joke would give strangers a rating out of 5 for approachability. 0 would denote no hope in hell (mind the language and the bad pun). 5 would denote a blank canvas. Very bad taste, no? Yet I still classify people, though not using a 1-to-5 scale, in my mind subconsciously, even when I know profiling (a form of pre-judgement) is misplaced. I make lots of excuses - my time is precious, I should only approach the ones where I actually stand a chance. But my assumptions are nearly always wrong. Who am I to know who will eventually turn to Jesus? I am surely not God.

Every once in a while we get a stark reminder of this.

Jack was unexpected. Obviously not his real name, I call him Jack because he reminded me a lot of Jack Sparrow the Pirate in character (though not appearance). (High-culture readers will cringe at the pop-culture reference.) Somewhat quirky, not always all there, but mentally agile, a bit mysterious, elusive and very unexpected.

On the day I met him it was raining. The day had begun rather early and I am not a morning person. I had arranged to meet with a group of Christians from the Christian group at uni and the plan was to do some walk-up evangelism in my local church area, mostly around the shopping district. I waited for a long time for my friends and fellow students to arrive, as most students and Christians are late (and invariably the combination of Christian student does not help). When finally they all arrived, we gathered in the small apartment of one of my church's staff-workers, who lived nearby and had generously donated his place to host a short briefing session. We resolved to split into pairs and wander different parts of the suburb. We would evangelise in the morning, have lunch and reassess what to do for the afternoon.

My partner was a friend and fellow Law student. He had a natural easy-going style of conversation that would compliment my more question-asking approach. (I am often envious of people with the ability to naturally converse.) He had never evangelised before and I was supposed to be 'the experienced one'. I found this somewhat disconcerting, as I was far from experienced. We had agreed to ask people what they thought Christians believed as an opening question. We hoped that this would elucidate quickly what problems or issues that certain person had with the Christian faith, allow us to clarify and discuss it with them, and segue way into further meaningful conversation topics.

The morning was slow. We started in a quiet bench area inside the shopping centre. There were few people as it was still early. We had several rejections, followed by a young recent immigrant from India. He was genuinely interested in what we had to say, as he did not know much about what Christians believed. But because of the language barrier (neither my partner or I can speak Hindi), it was exceptionally difficult to converse, and the conversation soon ended.

More rejections and we ended up it the food court area. We were somewhat hesitant to do that area. There is a general rule of thumb not to approach people who are eating, people who are indoors and areas where there are groups of people within close proximity of one another. (Feel free to disagree.) The food court is a triple whammy. If people are eating, they generally don't want to talk. Indoors creates a sense of inability to escape and strangers find this uncomfortable. Also, there's the added difficulty of once you approach one group of people at one table, the next group of people sitting in the adjacent table quietly thinking, "Oh no, I'm next, those crazy Christians are going to approach me next." Nonetheless, we decided to hit the food court area anyway. We were feeling optimistic.

More rejections followed. I recall a lot of people telling us that it was absolutely disrespectful to approach them at a time like this, while they were eating. The only person to respond was an older man in his 50s or 60s. I am a bad judge of age (as most young people are). He was having a coffee and reading a paper. He told us about that he was a Christian and how he went regularly to a different church in the area. He talked a lot about works and being good servant-hearted people, imitating Jesus. He commended us for doing evangelism. We talked briefly about the grace of God in Jesus, and salvation through faith, which he affirmed. Though I would have liked to talk to him more about this work and faith dichotomy, he seemed anxious to return to his coffee, so we bid him farewell.

A little dismayed, and with about 30 minutes until the designated lunch break, we decided to venture on to the street and talk to people there. The lure of dumplings in the nearby Shanghai eateries was probably the real drawcard. On the streets, a couple of steps from a bus stop, is where we met Jack. We approached him not because he looked particularly approachable, in fact he was far from it. It was just that he was there, and we were just there, and it was convenient. My partner and I just thought we 'might as well', even though in the back of our minds we expected a speedy rejection and to move on.

Jack's appearance and dress was a tad scruffy. He looked about 45, though he may have only been in his 30s. If we were to classify him, he might be what you call a 'bum', very elegantly put by my partner during our debrief session later. Jack was ungroomed, and his face wrinkled. His teeth were yellow-brown. Perhaps he smoked. Perhaps he drank, though I didn't smell it. Homeless, I am not sure, though surely not well-off. He was not like the homeless men that you see on George and Pitt St in the city, crouching with posters, heads dipped, busking, the ones people always avoid with their eyes. Jack was not that kind of 'bum'. He was more energetic, gypsy-like. He was in the midst of doing something and had a sense of purpose about him. He was waiting for a friend.

Jack told us he was a Jewish-Christian and when we asked what this meant, he told us that by birth he was Jewish. He had a Jewish mother, but had become a Christian in his youth. We asked him what he believed, as a Christian. He replied that it all centred on a guy called Jesus, who was both human and God, without which the Christian faith is hopeless. He told us that it was in God's grace and love that Jesus was sent to deal with sin on the cross through the ultimate sacrifice. It was all about Jesus, he repeated. He even told us about the Trinity and the Holy Spirit. So dumbfounded were my partner and I that we didn't know what to ask next. Of all the people we talked to, this 'bum' gave what was arguably the most accurate depiction of what Christianity is about (though not perfect). Even though I had reservations about whether Jack really meant what he said, I was certainly surprised at what he knew. It had turned our initial expectations upside down.

We asked him about his life. Unsurprisingly, he was evasive. He told us that his life was 'here and there'. I forget what he said about his family. At times he felt he was on his feet, other times not. He didn't give too many details. But he mentioned he had accepted the station in life he had been granted and that even in the hardest times contentment can still be found. He told us that a while ago he attended a Bible Study group another nearby church, but because he had to move around a lot, it was no longer possible for him to attend. He told us he appreciated the time he spent with that Bible Study.

Shortly later, his friend arrived in the middle of our conversation. The friend was like him, unkempt in appearance. They talked of some kind of job they had to attend to. Jack thanked us for our time and I gave him some of my church's contact cards and some pamphlets. And like that he disappeared, as elusive as ever.

My partner and I were late for lunch. And even if the dumplings were no longer warm, my heart was.

I don't think Jack ever contacted my church. But I don't ever think our exchange of words was wasted. I saw him again once at the train station on the opposite platform. He didn't notice me. A southbound train soon whisked him away, whilst I stood watching, waiting for my northbound train. Perhaps we will run into each other on another day. Only God knows.

I keep thinking that this trendy notion of compartmentalisation and classifying people, especially in evangelism, is overrated. Of course evangelists should exercise caution (if you're a solo female evangelist approaching a group of burly men, it is perhaps not the most pragmatic option). Yet, if we're asking for others to have open hearts about us and what we have to say, then we should have open hearts about who we talk to. I'm not about to start closing the door on people prematurely. Jesus didn't.

I'm ready to be surprised.

Jo

While I wait for the year 2010 to begin. I thought I might write down some of the more memorable conversations that I've had in 2009. I try my best to recount each experience, though the details are a bit sketchy. I only have a vague memory of some, though other encounters will quite possibly haunt me forever.


I met Jo, a primary school teacher, whilst I was on SUFM beach mission somewhere on the NSW south coast. Of course this is not her real name. Jo was staying there with her young family, enjoying what little was left of her summer vacation before the school term recommenced. Christmas had passed and the new year was soon to come.

Jo resided in last caravan in the long stretch of caravans that had been allocated to my door-knocking partner and me for the mission. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for me, my door-knocking partner was a particularly charismatic fellow. He had a good sense of humour and a down-to-earth nature. We had only met several days earlier. I had no idea what his evangelism style was, though I soon learnt. It was good that his confidence and energy allayed my apprehensions. I felt that his easy-going Australianism would make up for my city-girl yuppie unrelatability, especially in a place such as where we were. I was told to greet people with 'How-ya-going?', which did not sit well with me. Everytime I said it I worried it sounded rather unnatural and condescending. Even small-talk was hard.

After several days of 'dry' door-knocking, we stumbled upon the last caravan. Jo and her mother were reclining on the verandah, sipping glasses of cool drink (or perhaps it was beer). My door-knocking partner started the conversation, as he usually would, and I was particularly apprehensive on this day because of the heat.

The conversation started with mere formalities - an exchange of names, comments about the weather, and have you seen the cricket? She was very cheerful and had a bubbly disposition. Her mother was at first a little uneasy, but she too was soon drawn into the conversation. The conversation, without any guidance from us, took a turn on to more serious subjects. Jo told us about how she didn't look forward to returning to school because of the amount of marking she had to do. It was not a high-paying or lucrative job, yet it saddened her how much time it took away from time spent with her family. I tried to empathise. Yet I was several years her junior, and never held a full-time job before. My feelings were perhaps sympathy towards her cause, rather than a real empathy towards her personal experiences. I felt frustrated that I could not adequately relate, again. Jo tried to laugh off the unhappy subject, but the conversation had lulled into an awkward silence.

My partner ventured a question about whether Jo and her mother attended church. The response was that they used to, but no longer attended. The reason she gave came a shock to me. She would be the first person, in a long line of people throughout 2009, to recount scars of the past. She told us that she had attended a certain church for several months. She attended Sunday service and a cell group (similar to a Bible Study fellowship group) regularly. She tithed regularly as well. However, her family feel on hard financial times and hence stopped giving to the church as regularly. At first this was unnoticed, but after a while, she told us that the people in her cell group began to shun her, and at times when she discussed her problems, their responses would be insincere. Jo recalled distinctly that another member of her group said that if she tithed a bit more often, perhaps then her problems would have redress. It was then she began to withdraw from church social events, because of shame, discomfort and ostracism. Jo discontinued any relationship with the church after she was removed from her cell group upon approaching the minister of the church and complaining of her experiences.

When asked about her relationship with God, Jo told us that she would still pray and occasionally read the Bible, though she has truly been disheartened by her experiences. To her story, I had no response. I was genuinely saddened. If her claims are true, which I believe to some extent they are, it is even more disappointing. I struggled to find words to say, though I knew whatever I said would not be able to account for what happened nor why that church did what it did. To tell her that not all churches are like that, seemed inappropriate and dismissive. So instead, my partner and I just said that we were sorry for what had happened. No other words could suffice. We hoped in our hearts that she might look past the failings of men, drawing near and not losing faith in God's perfect justice and love.

We saw Jo on several other occasions during beach mission. We talked more about Jesus and the weight of sin in this world. My door-knocking partner eventually gave her some details to another church in her nearby area. He knew the area because he grew up near there. He hoped that she might have the courage to try again. Though in my mind, the passage of time may ease her hesitation, I pray.