The War For China's Soul

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The flowering of Chinese Christianity reflects a wider religious awakening. Long criticized by Western governments and human-rights groups for its virulently antireligious policies, China's central government has in recent years adopted a more lenient attitude toward religious expression. Traditionally, the Communist Party allowed membership in five officially approved religions: Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Protestant Christianity and Catholicism. Anything falling outside those groups was officially shunned. Even those adhering to "approved" religions have to register to worship in churches and temples approved by the state. But those rules are becoming harder to enforce. These days, Chinese flock to everything from mystical Taoist sects to huge, prosperous Buddhist temples and spiritually based exercise and meditation systems.

The growth of spirituality poses a challenge for China's ruling class, which pays little more than lip service to communist ideology but still strives to control its restive populace. Faced with a social phenomenon that would use up huge amounts of time, manpower and international goodwill to curb, Beijing's cadres have decided to tolerate the new churches so long as they keep a low profile. The more outspoken and organized such groups become, however, the greater the threat they pose to the authority of the Communist Party. For the moment, that influence is confined to local issues related to their faith, such as church building and education. But observers say the challenge could grow, as churches continue to spread out of the countryside and into the cities, where they draw from the ranks of the rapidly growing middle class. "If you look at Chinese history, all the rebellions that led to change of dynasty had some religious connotations," says Jean-Paul Wiest, an expert in the history of Christianity in China who teaches at Beijing's University of International Business and Economics. "The authorities don't like that."

There may not be much they can do about it. Across the country, Christians are worshipping with a fervor once unimaginable in a communist society. Take the service held at 10 o'clock on a recent Sunday morning in China's booming southern city of Shenzhen. Some 40 people are crowded into the living room of a small two-bedroom apartment. The regulars call the place the Home of Love, and like the majority of Chinese Christians, they worship in private because they can't--or won't--register with the government-controlled official Protestant Church, the so-called Three-Self Church (the church's name refers to its three guiding principles of self-reliance). The cries of hawkers selling vegetables and fruits in the alleyway below drift through the grimy windows, but the worshippers have eyes only for the front of the room, where a plump, middle-aged preacher in a tight gray suit stands at a small lectern. Behind him is a large wooden cross draped with a white cotton cloth. Several pictures of Jesus hang on the walls, and Chinese characters phonetically spelling out Emanuel--"Yi-man-nei-yi"--frame an archway.