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RELIGION:
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ASIA | March 30, 1998 VOL. 151 NO. 12 |
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Lone Star Loonies In a Texas town, a UFO cult from Taiwan awaits the coming of the Lord-and his TV appearance By Nisid Hajari  hat the new neighbors came from Taiwan wasn't so odd to the citizens of Garland, Texas, a suburban city of about 200,000 people located northeast of Dallas. The town already had a sizable Asian community active in business and commercial circles. The approximately 150 newcomers were polite and, locals noted with approval, kept up their lawns. Sure they paid cash for their homes-more than 30 of them-and clad themselves head-to-toe in white garments, including the matching straw Stetsons they wear, says their leader, Chen Heng-ming, "to fit in better." But if they wanted to call Garland home, nobody seemed to mind.
Chen and his disciples, however, call it more than that. "Garland," they point out, sounds like "God's Land." And the newcomers, who are members of a church whose Chinese name translates roughly as "God Saves the Earth Flying Saucer Association," are convinced that salvation will arrive first on the streets of this Texas town. According to Chen, a 42-year-old former social sciences professor who claims to communicate with God through a ring on his finger and through floating golden balls only he can see, God will appear on television on March 25 on channel 18 worldwide. Then, Chen explains helpfully in his manifesto, "at 10 a.m. on March 31, 1998, God shall make His appearance in the Holy Land of the Kingdom of God: 3513 Ridgedale Dr., Garland, TX. 75041 U.S.A." That happens to be Chen's address and, Chen explains, although the Supreme Being will manifest Himself in the form of the Taiwanese cult leader, He shall be distinguished by His various godly powers: to clone himself endlessly, to speak in all tongues (Chen claims to know only Mandarin), to walk through walls. This Chen guarantees "on my life." That pledge has spawned another expectant club, as U.S. and Asian media-as well as the Garland police department-zero in on Chen's ranch-style manse to see what his disciples will do if God stands them up. Barely a year ago in California, 39 Heaven's Gate cult members committed suicide when the spaceship they had awaited never showed. Chen dismisses any talk that his flock would follow a similar path. "Every time we see them they tell us they protect life," says neighbor Charles Amyx. "They won't even mow the lawn without apologizing to the grass." Chen allows for one exception: if, in their ire and disappointment his disciples feel the need either to crucify or stone him to death, the cult leader would have no objection. A blend of Christian millennial themes, Chinese spiritualism and a fascination with ufos, Chen's creed turns upon its vision of the apocalypse: next February the People's Republic of China will launch an attack on Taiwan; North Korea will invade the South; Japan will revert to militarism, and the meltdown of three nuclear plants in Taiwan will culminate in Armageddon. A year from now, however, a fleet of flying saucers sent by God will whisk the fortunate few to outer space and then onward to Heaven. (Cult members are said to gaze raptly at passing airplanes, which they believe to be "evacuation vessels" for beings from another dimension.) In preparation, devotees have occupied themselves with ritual and study. Amyx says they have filled a gazebo in Chen's backyard with cereals, drinks, vegetables and fruit; on occasion he has seen them gather barefoot around the structure, jump up and down, and shake their heads violently from side-to-side. Otherwise, neighbors say, the visitors are quiet and well-behaved. Like Chen, most of them are educated professionals, including several former academics and engineers, as well as about 40 children. (Taiwan officials say that most of the adults hold short-term U.S. visas plus return air tickets to Taiwan.) From a U.S. beachhead established in San Dimas, California in 1995, disciples moved two years later to Garland, where they have reportedly lived off the proceeds from selling their homes in Taiwan. The decision to settle in the U.S. may have much to do with what these seekers left behind. In recent years several sects that combine traditional mystic beliefs and pseudo-science have sprung up in Taiwan, where fear of social disorder is growing. "They are practical in nature and emphasize personal salvation," says sociologist Chiu Hei-yuan. "What they ask for is not transcendence, but escape from real suffering. They ran away from Taiwan because it is not safe." Though its outward traits seem taken from the goofier dimensions of American mysticism, Chen's church is rooted in Taiwanese concerns-like violent crime. That in itself should ease fears of a mass suicide, says Chiu: "Western Christianity contains a strong apocalypticism that doesn't exist in Taiwan's religions." Garland officials, who also don't see the traditional danger signs in the loose-knit group, seem more worried about the media circus set to descend on March 31. Amyx is even planning to host a Texas barbecue on his lawn. If a more unusual visitor shows up that day, He should fit right in. -Reported by Hilary Hylton/Austin and Stephanie Low/Taipei
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