We're Here, He is Alive #2

As I write, Ray is snoozing on the bed for a Monday afternoon nap. He fell asleep around 1:30pm, and is about to break the two-hour mark. Uh, oh, does that mean a late night? If so, that’s okay – there are only two more nights remaining in China! Rose and I remember counting the days until travel, now we are counting the hours to be together again (you are, aren’t you dear?).

Sunday was a Blessed Sunday! First up was breakfast down in the hotel restaurant. We didn’t realize it was included but it is within the ~$73 per night rate. It is a buffet like Harbin, but not like Harbin in the dishes. Up in Ray’s birth city we had traditional Chinese food for breakfast; here on Shamian Island, which is quite westernized, the breakfast is your standard omelets, ham, bacon, French toast, and the like (Ray’s up now; he must have heard me typing about food.). Don’t get me wrong, we enjoyed it – having table cream in my cereal is, er, a treat.

It’s as though the Seeley Boys have our own personal family table in this place, since we’ve sat in the spot by the window the three times we’ve eaten breakfast (plus a few times for lunch). It’s the same routine also: Ray and I get his plate and put it on the table; we double-back and get mine and put it on the table; we go and get drinks; then we sit down to eat. Ray uses a high chair here since they have them, but he won’t let the tray be down in front of him. My dad and I have these massive, cushiony chairs to rock back in; they aren’t really good for dining, but then again, they haven’t inhibited our ability to move said fork to said plate and then to said mouth. While we eat, Ray is always scoping out anything different that’s on my plate – and he’ll barter something of his, or kiss me, wait a second, then point to want he wants. I don’t participate in either method, but you can’t blame the boy for trying.

On Sunday we needed to wind down breakfast so we could get to Mass on time. There were a few spare minutes before leaving, and they were spent calling Rose, who was over Mary and Ty’s house (Rose’s sister, and brother-in-law). They were hosting a big wine-tasting gathering and many of our friends were there. How nice it would have been to join them. It was neat to hear Ty realize it was me and say to the crowd, “Hey guys, we have a call from China!”

Rose said there was a lot of great food there, not to mention 11 bottles of vino to be judged. This description may not be wholly accurate, but each couple brings two bottles of the same wine, one for tasting and one for a prize. All the wines are blind-tasted one at a time; folks offer up both interesting and silly comments about the wine, then vote. At the end of the evening the votes are tallied up, and whichever couple’s wine gets the high score gets one of each of the wines. Winner takes all, so in this case take all eleven! And…wouldn’t you know it, Ty and Mary won. How gracious of them to invite everyone over, only to take the loot from their guests!

No doubt, Ty rigged this all. Oh, well, Ty still is Ray’s favorite uncle, or so my son will learn that he is. It’s a requirement in our family that all 31 nieces and nephews of Ty’s sign a document and pledge that he is their favorite uncle. The older children had to sign in blood years ago; today using a Bic pen is fine.

…But off to Mass. My father had located two Catholic churches in Guangzhou – one within walking distance, and the other by a short cab ride. We went to the latter on Sunday, The Cathedral of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The ride didn’t produce the anxiety Harbin may have the first couple days. Interestingly, the cab had bars between the front and the back; crime may be low, but it’s not non-existent. Also, only women and children are allowed in the front.

On the way over we saw what must have been a fire or police department exhibition, with an official boat cruising down the Pearl River spraying water every which way. Also of note were many, many riders of bicycles; in Harbin, the traffic probably created a Darwinian situation, whereby cyclists don’t reproduce, or do so at a lower rate.

The cab stopped at a store front, and thinking the driver misunderstood our desired destination we said, “No, we are looking for the church, the church.” He was kind, and he kinda didn’t have to be: he pointed to the left side of where we where stopped (not the right, which we were criticizing). That view produced the Cathedral. Duh.

We were several hundred yards away from the Cathedral as we crossed the busy street. It was of a good size; my dad thinks something on the order of Notre Dame. We walked across a plaza and then through gates onto the church property. The two reaching spires were impressive.

The 10:30am Mass would be in Mandarin, one of four that day including an English version at 3:30pm. Mass was just about to start when we arrived, and with Ray as a wildcard, we walked down the ride side and into an available pew. There weren’t many of those since a good number of the faithful were in attendance. Looking around, the church was very pretty, with chandeliers running down the center aisle, marble Stations of the Cross on the columns, and two-levels of gorgeous stained-glass windows. The top level was Old Testament scenes, the bottom from the New Testament.

Of particular beauty about the Catholic Church and our Mass is that the same flow of worship is maintained most anywhere you go around the world. There is consistency in Christ, one might say. So while it all “sounded Greek to me” – or in this case, Chinese – I always knew where we were during the holy hour, and what the faithful were doing: from the greeting in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; through the opening prayer; during the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist; to the concluding blessing and dismissal.

Of course, I couldn’t understand what was being said during the homily. One imagines, though, the message was one of kindness to others; of seeing the Lord in them wherever they may be physically, mentally, and spiritually; and that, as the Magnificat offered for reflection that morning, “we find no pleasure except in Christ.”

While I am unsure as to how faithful the Chinese people practice Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism, it is admitted that the level of Christianity in China witnessed was thoroughly unanticipated. This view is mostly due to thoughts of Government intervention and impositions; and, yes, those do apply, but anecdotal or not, the religiosity of the Christian Chinese we have been exposed to is great, and moving. Sunday was not an exception, with very reverent people in attendance. And really, so many of the Chinese we have interacted with have a definite Christian Way about them; one doesn’t doubt the Golden Rule is written on their hearts. Jesus is alive and well in China.

Ray was positively perfect during Mass. Sometimes he was on my lap, sometimes he was sitting on the pew. But always, he was calm and quiet. Thanks be to God.

After Mass Ray and I walk around the Cathedral, taking some pictures, and taking in some of the details. When he got a little restless a lollipop was offered as a reward. Hey, I remember the days of my youth going to Mass with my Grandfather and Grandmother Idzik – “Mom and Pa” –and receiving a Golden Book if I was good.

During this time my father was engaged in conversation with a young fellow named “Oscar” at the back of the church. My dad said Oscar was currently studying computer engineering at a local university and is also captain of the English debate team. When Ray and I finished our tour it was getting time to leave; we needed to get back for his nap. I commented to Oscar, “My father is a talker.” His response was perfect, and not what I wanted to hear: “Well, I am a listener.” Oh, dear.

Ray needed to use the bathroom, so a few more minutes could be granted the new foreign friends; they were enjoying each other’s company after all. After Ray used the facilities, we walked around a courtyard a bit, took in a lovely Grotto established, and walked inside a multi-purpose building where about a hundred people were engaged in what appeared to a version of Sunday School.

Back inside the church our possibility of leaving soon, in my mind, had worsened: my father and Oscar were now sitting down! Double Oh Dear! They were discussing Oscar’s conversion to God – to Christ. I was fine with that, but didn’t want it to take a wrong turn into computers. It turns out he encountered an American who worked for “Blue Ribbon” beer (of all places) who helped him with many personal problems. Oscar was so taken by the man’s constant kindness toward him that he wanted to find out more about his God. The rest is history, and also his future.

I said good-bye to Oscar, and let my dad know Ray and I would be outside waiting for him, and slowly made our way to where the taxis were on the main street. Walking back I became overwhelmed by seeing two rows of beggars on either side of the gate to the church courtyard. In our short stay we simply haven’t seen many if any homeless people; and here, these good men and women had severe problems.

There are few moments I have been more uncomfortable in my life, here having just finished Mass…and walking…right past Christ’s people. In the moment, with upwards of 12-15 of them, there were too many to selectively choose to give to. Alas, this reaching rationalization may have been okay, especially since Ray was also with me. But it was a cold and concrete reminder that the poorest of the poor do exist, here and everywhere, and they, too, are our brothers and sisters. My heart shouldn’t be moved for them “only when I am forced to see them.”

My father finally said good-bye to Oscar and walked down the front church steps. I watched from afar as he approached the same column of people. Dad handed out change and paper money to them without reservation, and they immediately and frantically formed an ever-tightening circle around him. He literally had to break his way through; later he said that if in fact there are few homeless people in China, “I think all of them must have been there in the square in front of the Cathedral that Sunday!”

My dad taught me a lesson that morning. Something was better than nothing. Something was better than excuses. I pray Ray follows in his grandfather’s steps, in his faithfulness to the Gospel. Maybe God had translated the priest’s earlier homily for me right then and there.

Dad caught up with us and we hailed a cab back to the hotel for a quick lunch and a nap for Ray. When he awoke an hour or so later we played in the room before going out to shop. Our son is so…playful. He gets excited about any little thing, and wants to show you any little thing.

We do this one little cute game where Ray stacks these colored cups, then comes over to me and presumably says, “Hey, look what I did.” Then I say with excitement, “OOOOHH, AHHHHHHH,” and precede to pick him up, put him over my head, around my back, every which way, and tickle, tickle, tickle him. Ray goes crazy with his laughter. I then put him down, and we go through it all over all again…about fifteen times until he struggles with his breathing. That boy even tries to get lazy and just point at the cups again without rearranging them! I say, “Move ‘em around or something!”

Oh, Rose, dear Rose…be prepared! It’s hard to believe we are only days away now. We are so close to your arms!