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Authors: Jackie Pullinger
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the world like them. They can sing about love very nicely, but what do they know about us? They don’t touch us—they know nothing.”
Sometimes I tried talking to the men who guarded the gambling dens, but when I told them that Jesus loved them, they just nodded. “Yeah, yeah, how nice. That means nothing to us.” And of course, it did not mean anything to them, as most of them had no idea who Jesus was or what love was. I went on—preach, preach, preach about how Jesus could give them a new life, but no one seemed to understand.
5
LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
J esus did not promise running shoes in the hereafter to the lame man. He made him walk. He not only preached but also demonstrated that He was God. He made blind men see, deaf men hear and dead men return to life. Some Christians claimed that these things still happened, and I certainly needed to find them.
My missionary friends could not help me much. Most of them were well over 40; many had spent their lives in China and now felt lost. They did not expect people to be converted, and they explained this by saying that there was a spiritual cloud hanging over China that covered Hong Kong, too. Some missionaries had all sorts of cultural hang-ups that infected me, until I found myself worrying over such questions as to whether I should wear sleeveless summer dresses and whether it was wrong to go bathing on Sundays. I got in the ridiculous situation where I was more concerned to please these missionary friends than to find out what God wanted me to do. I did not belong to any missionary society, was not sponsored by any group at home and, in reality, had all the freedom anyone could want; yet I was feeling bound and ineffective.
One day, I went to play the harmonium in the chapel. There, I found out that a Chinese couple was to lead the service. As soon as I saw them, I knew they had it. What “it” was I did not know—but even watching them praying, I sensed a vitality, a power. Immediately, I wanted to know what made them so different. After the service, I made a beeline for the couple. They spoke hardly any English, and I knew hardly any Chinese. Yetsoon, it was clear what they were trying to convey.
“You haven’t got the Holy Spirit.”
A little indignantly, I replied that I had. They replied that I had not, and so the futile argument continued as we walked out of the Walled City and back to my bus stop.
Of course I have the Spirit
, I thought to myself.
I couldn’t believe in Jesus if I didn’t
. So what were we arguing about? These people obviously had something I needed, which I had recognized even without understanding their sermon. They called it having the Holy Spirit, and I wanted to call it something else. I quit the quarrel over terminology—receiving the Spirit, being filled with the Spirit, baptism of the Spirit, the power of the Spirit, second blessing, or what have you. 1 If God had anything more for me, I wanted to receive it. I would sort out the theological terms later. So I made an appointment to go to the young couple’s flat the next day.
Their flat proved to be a one-room affair, exactly like thousands of flats all over the colony. There was one table, and on it were placed a plate of oranges and a plate of wet flannels. The oranges are a traditional Chinese food for a celebration; they were for when I had “received” the Holy Spirit, while the flannels were for me to cry into.
Whatever was going to happen next was obviously meant to be a very emotional experience. My heart began to bump a bit, because I was not at all sure what to expect. Then I sat down, and the couple laid their hands on my head, saying over and over again in pidgin English, “Now you begin speaking, now you begin speaking, now you begin speaking.”
But nothing happened; they thought I was going to burst into “the gift of tongues,” but it had not worked.
Some of the West Croydon group had spoken in tongues, and I had heard of other friends who had
Sometimes I tried talking to the men who guarded the gambling dens, but when I told them that Jesus loved them, they just nodded. “Yeah, yeah, how nice. That means nothing to us.” And of course, it did not mean anything to them, as most of them had no idea who Jesus was or what love was. I went on—preach, preach, preach about how Jesus could give them a new life, but no one seemed to understand.
5
LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
J esus did not promise running shoes in the hereafter to the lame man. He made him walk. He not only preached but also demonstrated that He was God. He made blind men see, deaf men hear and dead men return to life. Some Christians claimed that these things still happened, and I certainly needed to find them.
My missionary friends could not help me much. Most of them were well over 40; many had spent their lives in China and now felt lost. They did not expect people to be converted, and they explained this by saying that there was a spiritual cloud hanging over China that covered Hong Kong, too. Some missionaries had all sorts of cultural hang-ups that infected me, until I found myself worrying over such questions as to whether I should wear sleeveless summer dresses and whether it was wrong to go bathing on Sundays. I got in the ridiculous situation where I was more concerned to please these missionary friends than to find out what God wanted me to do. I did not belong to any missionary society, was not sponsored by any group at home and, in reality, had all the freedom anyone could want; yet I was feeling bound and ineffective.
One day, I went to play the harmonium in the chapel. There, I found out that a Chinese couple was to lead the service. As soon as I saw them, I knew they had it. What “it” was I did not know—but even watching them praying, I sensed a vitality, a power. Immediately, I wanted to know what made them so different. After the service, I made a beeline for the couple. They spoke hardly any English, and I knew hardly any Chinese. Yetsoon, it was clear what they were trying to convey.
“You haven’t got the Holy Spirit.”
A little indignantly, I replied that I had. They replied that I had not, and so the futile argument continued as we walked out of the Walled City and back to my bus stop.
Of course I have the Spirit
, I thought to myself.
I couldn’t believe in Jesus if I didn’t
. So what were we arguing about? These people obviously had something I needed, which I had recognized even without understanding their sermon. They called it having the Holy Spirit, and I wanted to call it something else. I quit the quarrel over terminology—receiving the Spirit, being filled with the Spirit, baptism of the Spirit, the power of the Spirit, second blessing, or what have you. 1 If God had anything more for me, I wanted to receive it. I would sort out the theological terms later. So I made an appointment to go to the young couple’s flat the next day.
Their flat proved to be a one-room affair, exactly like thousands of flats all over the colony. There was one table, and on it were placed a plate of oranges and a plate of wet flannels. The oranges are a traditional Chinese food for a celebration; they were for when I had “received” the Holy Spirit, while the flannels were for me to cry into.
Whatever was going to happen next was obviously meant to be a very emotional experience. My heart began to bump a bit, because I was not at all sure what to expect. Then I sat down, and the couple laid their hands on my head, saying over and over again in pidgin English, “Now you begin speaking, now you begin speaking, now you begin speaking.”
But nothing happened; they thought I was going to burst into “the gift of tongues,” but it had not worked.
Some of the West Croydon group had spoken in tongues, and I had heard of other friends who had
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