Smash hit

I learnt of the Communist Party secretary of a village not far from Qufu, the home town of Confucius, who sleeps with a crucifix above his bed. His wife, he explained, was a Christian, as were his sons. Indeed, he went on, pretty much everyone in the village of about 3,000 was a believer. Almost all, it seems, belong to illegal house churches, small congregations that come together in private homes in cities, towns and villages across China.

Why Christianity has such a hold remains something of an enigma. Many Chinese are looking to fill the chasm left by the collapse in Marxist ideology’s credibility in the wake of the disastrous ultra-leftist 1966-76 Cultural Revolution and the Tiananmen Square crackdown. It’s also possible that a religion from the West holds a particular attraction for Chinese looking for a more modern faith to complement the stunning success of capitalist-style economic reforms. But the sense of belonging may be the best way to explain why Christianity has been such a spectacular success story in China in the past few years.

Finding a family far from home

Pastor Ezra Jin heads the Protestant Zion Church, based above a karaoke club in one of the thousands of faceless apartment blocks that populate the suburbs of Beijing.

He prefers not to see Zion as an illegal underground Church but rather as private and independent, and in the two years since its inception, the church has never suffered a police raid. “Our Church offers people a feeling of belonging to a family,” explains Pastor Jin. “There are more and more contradictions in our society as different interest groups emerge and gaps open up between regions and between social groups. Christianity can help by providing comfort and spiritual strength.”

Dressed in a sharply cut dark suit with a white shirt and gold silk tie, Pastor Jin could be just another successful executive. Instead he runs a house church so large he conducts at least three services every Sunday in a room brimming with 300 to 400 people. Toddlers play in a glassed-off crèche while their parents stand to sing hymns and to pray. A choir in hot-pink robes leads the singing and a little band with an electric organ and two guitar players keeps the congregation in tune.

Liu Huan has been playing the guitar in church for nine years. The slight computer engineer in his thirties beams with delight at being asked to explain why he attends a house church. Although in this case sprawling, neon-lit office might be more appropriate. Apart from the main hall, the Zion Church seems to occupy most of the floor of the building with smaller offices and store rooms. “My wife introduced me to God and coming here gives me strength.” He fits one of the models that Pastor Jin described: the out-of-town worker who has found a place in a new community far from home through Christianity.

With his spiky haircut and a single earring, Wang Ye cuts a dashing figure in the congregation. The 21-year-old is a student graduating in online business who hails from the northern coal-mining province of Shanxi. His mother, who had moved to Beijing in search of a better job and was lonely, found comfort when friends introduced her to the church. “She brought me as well. Many of us have family problems and we find warmth here.” He strolls over to join a group of friends gossiping about their plans to celebrate the Chinese New Year.

“The future of Christianity in China is very different from in the West,” believes Pastor Jin. “In the West, Christianity is in retreat, especially in Europe, but in China it is growing by leaps and bounds.” He cites the stability the church offers to a population buffeted by decades of wrenching political change as one of most appealing aspects of the faith.

The first hymn on a wintry Sunday at his Zion Church echoes that refrain. A lay preacher leads the congregation. Projected on a screen on the wall behind him the words scroll down against a background of plum blossoms. Voices are raised in song. “There are many things I don’t know in the future. But I know who will hold my hand and who will be in charge.”

As readings from the Bible and prayers follow more hymns, the atmosphere in the room is charged. A verse reaches a crescendo, women in the congregation one after another raise their arms above their heads and sway. One or two sob quietly. The lay preacher leads a prayer. Each time he mentions “Our Lord”, a chorus of “Amen” swells up from the crowd. Nothing is allowed to disturb their evangelical reverie and there is little sense among these worshippers that they risk arrest.

Pastor Jin believes the most difficult times for house churches such as his may soon be over. He recently took part in the first meeting between government officials and leaders of the banned underground Protestant faith.