Balancing with the Book

Beijing-branded Bibles distributed in China will highlight the government's volatile stance on civil liberties.

China's human rights critics have had ample fodder for attacks in the run-up to the Olympics in Beijing. Concerns over the handling of riots in Tibet, arms deals with a genocidal regime in Sudan and arrests of key religious leaders in unregistered churches and groups all seem to indicate that China has not lived up to the human rights promises it made when awarded the bid to host the Games.

China's defenders, however, have a picture of their own to paint. The government's swift and effective response in aiding grieving citizens the aftermath of the devastating Sichuan earthquake, its designated areas for approved protests during the Games and handling of supposed terrorist threats in remote areas have all been lauded as signs that the country is moving in the right direction. All this, and the fact that China’s economic situation and the daily degree of personal freedoms have improved dramatically since the country opened its borders three decades ago.

The challenge for those examining these conflicting portrayals of the world's most populous country is to figure out whether one is a mirage distorting reality, or whether both have semblances of truth that fuse to form an entirely new image.

In light of a few recent developments and conversations, I can only support the latter idea. With a land as huge, dynamic and varied as China, nothing is set in stone, and the only thing it's safe to be dogmatic about is that dogma here is the height of arrogance and a sure precursor to a lesson in intellectual humility.

The question of the dissemination of the Bible and the treatment of underground Church leaders in China highlights this unpredictable environment. Last year, the Catholic News Agency reported that Bibles were on the government's list of banned items for Olympic athletes. That article, which was actually false, ignited a firestorm of criticism from Christian groups. Authorities quickly denounced the rumor, saying that athletes were allowed one Bible in the language of their country.

Now, in an apparent effort to allay concerns that China is not friendly toward religion, the government has made an extra step that at least looks like freedom. A recent China Daily article announced that thousands of Christian texts will be distributed freely to athletes and visitors to the Olympic Village. Some 10,000 bilingual Bibles, 30,000 New Testaments and 50,000 books featuring the four Gospels have been ordered, as if to scoff at those who warned of China’s intolerance.

This sounds encouraging, but as I kept surfing the Net, I came across an article that noted the crackdown on unregistered house church pastors and foreign missionaries over the past year. According to the article, which cited experts on the subject, the Chinese government expelled more foreign missionaries in 2007 than in the entire 59 prior years of communist rule combined. Voice of the Martyrs, an organization that tracks persecution of Christians around the world, is asking supporters to buy bracelets that remind them to pray for the mistreated Christians of China during the Games.

Only a nation as complex as China would leave us to reconcile the conundrum of a government that simultaneously persecutes a faith and disseminates its texts. The danger from a Western perspective is to chalk the Bible plan up to a ploy and completely ignore its potential for helping to spread the Gospel. And the government would be well-advised to realize that Christians can’t be duped into thinking that printing the Word erases trespasses against it. As a Chinese friend from Shanghai told me tonight, “In China, there are many sides, and you have to look at them all.”

Photo: Mao keeps watch over tourists at Tiananmen. Copyright Trevor Williams, 2006

Life in the Fast Train

I didn't write too much on this blog about my trip to Shanghai back in March and April. I hope to remedy that situation by resurrecting some of the content from my trip journal. Here's a video I did for GlobalAtlanta about the magnetically levitating, or "maglev," train that runs the 19-mile stretch between Shanghai's Pudong International Airport and the Longyang Road subway station at speeds of more than 260 mph.



To read my story about how this blazing-fast technology could be in Georgia's future, click here. My GlobalAtlanta trip blog offers some insights into Shanghai's transportation options as well.

Good Night, Jesus

I've never been much for ritual in my faith. I grew up in a country Baptist church where we called Communion the "Lord's Supper" and observed it quarterly, on special holidays or fifth Sundays, which didn't come around often. When they did, boy were they a treat: cardboard crackers and grape juice in morning service and an assortment of potluck dishes including Miss Evelyn's infamous tire-textured cubed steak in the Fellowship Hall after "Singspiration" (an all-singin' service) that night.

Those were good times, and that was a good church. I was taught the foundations of the Bible there. VBS, Bible drills, Sunday School and memory verses got me to the point where I could recite the books of the Bible backwards, a useless skill that I retain to this day. But outside of the rare observance of the sacred meal and the occasional convert getting dunked in the baptismal pool, rite was nowhere to be found.

I remember going a few times to my friend's Lutheran church. It felt stuffy. Robed acolytes carried a flame down the aisle and lit the fuse for a less-than-dynamite performance by men in funny outfits who droned on with collective chants and readings I couldn't really understand. Maybe I was projecting my state of mind, but the people seemed to drool with boredom. In my view, there was no pep, and I couldn't wait to wake up from the liturgical nightmare I'd fallen into. Rituals made no sense. They were mindless gestures by sad people steeped in lame traditions. And grape juice tasted much better than wine.

It's possible that I was right about the collective attitude of that church, but I was definitely off about the idea that structured, metered worship is useless and irredeemable. Because I hadn't seen it modeled in a constructive way, I assumed rite was wrong. In the past few years, worshiping in different churches and cultures, I've adjusted that view. I maintain that recitations and protocols without the flair of heartfelt spontaneity can lead to spiritual malaise. But now I realize ritual's potential to regularly revive hearts that are constantly being pulled down by the weight of our sin nature and the cares of the world. Predictable actions as symbols, the sacraments, give us an anchor with the saints of old and help us to - like Paul said - proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

On the first night of our recent trip to Savannah, Katy and I wandered the rain-slicked streets looking for something to do. It was a Sunday night, so the old city's restaurants were closing down even earlier than usual. Driving through one of the town's scenic squares, we noticed an old church with a new banner inviting everyone to "Come say good night to God." Sounded pretty awesome to me, even though I had never heard of a "compline," which I later found out is a night prayer that draws on 1,500 years of monastic tradition.

We returned to Christ Church Savannah that night for the event, which the sign promised would involve some sort of Gregorian chant. This Anglican church, established in 1733, is as old as the city and the Georgia colony. That became evident as choir members entered the sanctuary, breaking the subdued silence with steps that creaked the floorboards. Four candles stood at the front of the sanctuary, casting a soft glow on the stained-glass Jesus, who stood with arms outstretched as if to bless the gathered worshippers.

The robed singers disappeared into the balcony and proceeded to bathe the sanctuary in their chanting voices, singing in unison, not harmony, presumably to help focus participants on words and not the music. It worked, and voices that would have grated on my Baptist nerves in the past gave rise to a flow of meditation. Capped off with the Apostle's Creed, a poignant Father's Day sermon and a classical guitar number accompanied by an unseen booming voice from the balcony, I can't think of any better way to say, Good night, Jesus.

For another out-of-the-box worship experience, read about my first Mass, spent with reclusive Irish Travelers in Edgefield, S.C. here.

Tybee Island

Katy and I clash when it comes to the criteria for an ideal vacation. She likes pure, white sandy beaches and a lot of downtime to enjoy them. And once you've gotten good and baked in the sun, you go inside, get cleaned up and head out for a fancy, delicious dinner. To her, this is a natural progression.

I enjoy the beach well enough, at least the relaxation part of it. If I have a good book, plenty of sunscreen and sunglasses, I can wait it out. But I hate sand with a passion. I always try futilely to keep it from invading the cracks between my toes. And even though I'm lazy at times, I get bored with too much inactivity.

Somehow for our honeymoon last year, I was able to rope Katy into heading to Arizona, which - at least in the southern part - is basically like a beach without water. It's devastatingly hot, and when you're out walking and driving around, you can't just take a quick dip to cool off. She was a good sport, and I think the fact that our resort had a nice pool went a long way in helping her forget her beachy dreams.

But for this year's trip we found an even happier medium. Savannah's marketing people call Tybee Island "Savannah's Beach." I think that might be slighting Tybee a little. The island has a lot of attractions in its own right - batteries built by the Union during the Civil War to bombard confederate forts, pirate lore, one of the first lighthouses on the East Coast and a name that means "salt" in a Native American language.

Together, Savannah's tourist magnetism and Tybee's quiet, old-fashioned beach community made a great marriage of city life and isolation, activity and relaxation. And since marriage is what the whole trip was about, that couldn't have fit any better. We made the 30-minute drive twice, treading a long causeway across wetlands and out to the island.

Parking was convenient - only a few bucks for a few hours, and the ticket-dispensing machines were very intuitive, although we did have to help one older couple figure them out. The beaches were nice. The sand wasn't blinding white, but it wasn't too brown. Best of all, it was natural. In a total of about 4 1/2 hours over two days, we saw about 10 stingrays, two jellyfish and three dolphins, and we found the currency of vacation memories - sand dollars.

As fun as it was to trudge through sand and lay there hoping for clouds to cover the sun, my favorite Tybee Island activity had nothing to do with the sunny pursuits others like Katy tend to enjoy. I preferred cooling down at Seaweed's, a small "sno-ball" shop on the main drag, U.S. Highway 80. The friendly staff only accepts cash, and if you don't have it, make a trip to the ATM. In two days, we tried fuzzy navel, strawberry daiquiri and dinosaur (strawberry, banana, and fruit punch) with sweet cream. All were amazing, as I'm sure are the other 70-something flavors.

Thanks to Seaweed's, Savannah's Beach was quite a hit.

Photos (from top): Looking at the lighthouse Oglethorpe saw built in 1733; two aptly sized sand dollars; a Seaweed's preview.

Savanniversary

Katy and I recently returned from a four-day trip to Savannah to celebrate our one-year anniversary. Our short jaunt in Georgia's 275-year-old founding city was a welcome respite from the normal routines of life. It came conveniently and poignantly after a weekend where I participated in the wedding of one of my good friends. At his request, I sang "Amazing Grace" just before he kissed his new bride, reminding those gathered that their union is made possible and will be sustained only by God's willingness to look past their faults individually and their ability to do the same for one another.

Before Katy and I said our vows, weddings were a bore. For the past year, they've been a blast, as we've quietly renewed our commitment to our journey as we've seen friends begin theirs. Summer has just begun, and more weddings are to come. That means a lot of things - more mushy reminders of our still-young love, not to mention loads of great food.

Speaking of that, here's a short summary of our "Savanniversary," an adventure that was marked - as any good vacation is - by unconstrained gastronomic indulgence. If you're heading to Savannah, here's an ideal menu:

Breakfast

Experts say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Having grown up on Pop-Tarts and cereal, I doubted the veracity of the "experts'" arrogant consensus. After going to Savannah, I have to say that I've come around. If breakfast isn't the most important meal of the day, it can be the most fun.

-Savannah Coffee House Cafe - On our first morning, we left our (Pricelined) riverview room at the Hyatt Regency and headed south on Bull Street, through one of Savannah's 21 town squares and around some road construction to end up at Savannah Coffee House Cafe. Interestingly enough, our waitress from the previous night, who supplied us with our ribs from Tony Roma's on Bay Street, greeted us from behind the counter. After we stated the obvious connection from last night, she hooked me up with a heavenly raspberry mocha muffin. Katy opted for an apple fritter, which tasted like a glazed funnel cake with no powdered sugar. The coffees we ordered were great as well, and they even offered to top us off when we asked for a to-go cup for our walk back to the hotel.

-Express Cafe and Bakery - SCHC would be hard to top, but the next morning, we went a different route, heading west on Bay Street before turning south from the River onto Barnard Street, where we found the Express Cafe and Bakery at the Barnard/Broughton intersection. We had noticed it the day before on one of many shopping excursions. We crisscrossed the downtown streets so much, I literally had them memorized east to west. Express Cafe has a goose on their sign, which really attracted Katy. Upping the "cuteness" factor, their OPEN sign said, "Come on in, and see what the goose is cookin'." How could we not?

Apparently, the goose is a very good chef, at least with breakfast food. Katy's warmed croissant filled with strawberry preserves and cream cheese gave us a nice introduction to the bird's vast culinary repertoire. My cinnamon raisin bagel was less sensational, although still very good. We both put in an order for spiced new potatoes, which were deliciously prepared. The coffee was good, and the melty, homemade peanut butter chocolate chip cookie we ordered to go was even better. In a gesture of smugness, I sneered and waved the cookie proudly at Paula Deen's overcrowded restaurant as we walked by.

Lunch

Midday was a time for safe meals with adventurous twists. We ate on River Street near the hotel both days after trips to the nearby Tybee Island beaches. As a rule, everything is more expensive on River Street, but we had great access to it from our hotel. The Hyatt Regency, though reviled by some because of it's lack of historic charm, has an elevator that spits guests right out onto the cobblestoned thoroughfare lining the Savannah River. Watch out for trolleys and crowds of tourists. And here's a tip: Walk on the sidewalk nearest the river and look back at the shops and restaurants. You'll have a better view and keep from stumbling over candy-toting kids and photo-snapping families.

-Boar's Head Grill & Tavern - Aside from the waiter who told us all about his sailboat and his daughter's unorthodox methods of using the restroom in the ocean waters, everything at the Boar's Head was quite appetizing. We shared a huge burger and fries and bought a bowl of black-eyed pea and ham soup, which was what drew us into the restaurant in the first place. It shattered our expectations in its presentation: In the bowl of soup, not a pea was to be found. But it also went far beyond the taste I anticipated. It was definitely worth the stop, and the restaurant itself had a historic pub decor.

-Huey's on the River - Recommended by our Frommer's book, Huey's was billed as a cajun haven. In keeping with that theme, a fried oyster po'boy seemed like the way to go for me. Katy indulged her craving for fried green tomatoes, which she ate on a muffaletta with some olive spread.

Dinner

Tony Roma's ribs were our only meal from a restaurant chain, and we decided that it didn't count since that restaurant is mostly found in other states, and I had never eaten there. We went with local favorites for our other two dinners.

-Masato of Japan - Another great thing that came out of our Boar's Head lunch - a recommendation for Masato, a Japanese hibachi restaurant on the south side of Savannah's Abercorn Street near the mall. Our waiter praised Masato's steak and other intangibles. Apparently, a chef there named "Duck" gives out an endless string of sake shots to semi-alcoholics like our waiter. We went for the steak and sat with a Pakistani family celebrating their daughter's graduation. Our chef was from Bali, and his name was Pu, like Winnie the Pooh, he said. Pu makes a mean filet mignon. I don't think I've ever been that full. With Pu's help and despite a less-than-romantic atmosphere, our anniversary dinner was very laid-back and extremely enjoyable.

-Vinnie Van GoGo's - Don't try to eat in Savannah after 10 p.m. Apparently, the "Hostess City" has not gotten the memo that some people like to eat out later than five-year-old kids go to bed. Our search on our final night in town took us to three restaurants that said they were closed. We finally made it to Vinnie Van GoGo's, a pizza place in Savannah's City Market shopping area. The pizza reminded me of Mellow Mushroom. Luckily we had cash, because Vinnie didn't accept credit cards.

After Vinnie's we hit up Lulu's Chocolate Bar on MLK Blvd. Nothing better than truffles to go. I particularly enjoyed the chocolate truffle with chili powder.

You'll be happy to know that we're both alive and well. A few pounds heavier maybe, but we'll work it off as we get back to the bustle of our daily routines. We're still astounded that we're blessed enough to have the luxury of a Savanniversary extravaganza. Our bellies - and our hearts - are overflowing.

Photos (from top):

-Obligatory beach shot;
-Flowers at St. John's cathedral;
-Express Cafe;
-Rubbing my cookie in Paula Deen's face. You'll have to look just above the cookie to see the sign for "The Lady & Sons," her perennially crowded restaurant;
-Boar's Head looks out at the Savannah River, where ships make their way toward the nation's fastest-growing port;
-St. John's Cathedral;
-All photos Copyright Trevor Williams, 2008.