For security reasons the writer of To the Orient must remain anonymous. Miss Johanna Timmer, departmental editor of Reformed Women Speak, writes: “I find this a very soul-stirring article in which the author very effectively opens up to us the hearts of the Chinese Christians. It reminds me of the saying, ‘By indirections find directions out.’”

The huge plane droned on and on high above the fleecy white clouds. Smoothly and swiftly we were  being transported to our destination. All that was  familiar was far behind and we were coming closer to what up to then had only been exotic names. We  were on our way to the Orient!

Glancing around I could not see either the front or the hack of the enormous plane. Along with 250 others we seemed to be suspended in mid-air. Far below we could see the blue and boundless Pacific. How huge was this body of water God had made in the days of creation when “He called the gathering together of the waters seas.” How pretty it was!

There was blue above and blue below. Whitecaps could be seen even from so high up. Now and then the pilot would call our attention to an island far below. An occasional shudder of the plane kept me from enjoying complete relaxation. It reminded me of our complete dependence upon God. A verse from the Psalms helped keep me calm: “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him and delivereth them.” I had memorized this verse long before but I had not expected it would someday comfort me high above the Pacific ocean.

The Korean stewardesses were petite and dainty, serving us guava drink and macadamia nuts. They also were rather overworked trying to please all the passengers. Many of them were exchange students on their way to Tokyo.

A group of pretty Hawaiian girls sat near us. They were going to dance away the summer in Japan. The leis they wore filled the air around us with a heavy fragrance, not unpleasant but not quite welcome to my somewhat queasy stomach.

Suddenly we were in the middle of tomorrow. Crossing the international dateline we went from Thursday to Friday. The airline thought it fitting to commemorate the new day with a gift. Everyone was presented with two heavy plastic ashtrays. All the rest of the trip we were burdened with them. We had no interest in them except that they served as a memento of that interesting incident.

Late the same night we arrived in Seoul, Korea. We slept in a dingy hotel provided by the airline. Many complained about the mosquitoes and poor facilities but we slept well. A sightseeing tour was arranged for us for the following day.

We saw some nice spots, but due to military regulations we might not take any pictures. Seoul must have its beauty spots but we were not shown them, and the impression that it is a hilly and rocky city stays with me.

I thought about the difficult life the Koreans had had. War in the past and now a divided nation with much unrest. We strolled around a large school playground filled with happy children. They looked at us so curiously. I thought about all the orphans in this land and of how our own church ladies had done so much sewing for them. These people were our neighbors as Jesus taught the meaning of that word. They had been bruised and wounded by the adversary and needed our help. Many were sincere and faithful Christians and were the property of God.

It was our first Sunday in the Orient and we were in Hong Kong. We had come late the night before and the aerial view of the city at night had been spectacular. It lay like a glittering jewel in the world‘s most beautiful harbor. But down on its streets in daylight we were accosted by sights, sounds, and smells such as I had never before experienced.

A friend came to take us to church with a tram. The tram ride was a struggle all the way. First to get a seat, and secondly, to work our way back to the exit so as to be able to get off when we reached our destination. Soon we came to an old store building and began climbing up three flights of old, narrow steps.

I kept wondering where we were going and where was the church? I had in mind the type of church I was familiar with. That day I had to discard that image and learn that not all of God’s children have access to a lovely edifice. Especially not in crowded Hong Kong with its millions of people and where (here is scarcely a foot of land available for erecting a building of any kind.

On the third landing we came to a locked door. A locked door at a church? Yes, primarily to keep out the undesirables who come only to cause trouble. A beaming doorkeeper unlocked the door and ushered us into a long room with a few benches, a piano, and a pulpit. “I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord . . .” seemed to fit this man exactly. He gave me the feeling that he was most blessed to render this service and to usher us into the house of the Lord. Though it did not look like it, yet that is what it was.

f enjoyed the service and also the midweek prayer meeting even though I could not understand any of the words. The song tunes were familiar so I sang along in the words that I remembered.

The faces of the people reflected their inner peace. Their smiles were warm and kind and their hand clasps sincere. The elderly especially, dressed so plainly, had faces that radiated joy. Many were so  poor and worked so hard and lived in conditions that  were such as I would find hard to endure.

Later in the week we were on Ladder Street, a  street so crowded with shops, stalls, goods, and  people it was almost impossible to walk.

We entered a dark, narrow store jammed from floor to ceiling with coats. Under a dim light we met the lady in charge of the store. Later we learned that she was a Christian. It did not surprise me. There are many Christians in Hong Kong. But some how her calm, friendly face told the story of an  obedient, loving heart serving her Savior. In the sultry recesses of that store was one of God‘s children.  I saw hundreds of faces in crowded Hong Kong. None of them stand out in my memory as does the sweet face of that woman.

Much later, at the end of the summer, on our way back to the States, we again worshiped God in that upstairs church that we could enter only through the services of a doorkeeper. We sat on the same bench. The same fan whirred trying to give us a bit of relief from the high humidity. It was such a blessing to be there. My heart was praising God for the privilege, because we had just returned from a two-and-a-half month visit in a country where there is no opportunity to worship God in any visible way.

We sat by the same friend we had sat with in early June. I had something for her. I had received it from one of her sisters in China. It was a piece of jewelry that had been pressed into my hand in a dark courtyard in a city far, far from Hong Kong.

Jewelry is not worn in China today. It had been in our friend‘s family for many years and had been a gift from the father to his daughters. The familiar piece of jewelry brought back a flood of memories of a happy family circle with all of its dear members but now long separated and no hope of any reunion here below. Sobs shook our friend’s slender body. She was a sad picture of loneliness and yearning.

How strange life is! I, a stranger, had met with the one she longed to sec, the sistcr she will in all probability never meet again. And such a brave sister! One of the heroes of faith!

In a soft voice and in limited English she had related to me that she teaches her child to pray to Jesus. We in the West cannot understand the courage that requires. It sounds so simple but it is not. The parents are aware of the outcome should this act become known. But obedience to God means more to them than man‘s wrath.

In Christ’s high-priestly prayer He prayed for the unity of His children, that they may be one even as He and the Father are one. It was my personal experience to feel this unity, though imperfectly, with God’s people in the Oriental countries far across the seas. We were one in love and devotion to God, one in faith, one in Christ Jesus in whom there is no difference in race, culture, or language.

Our stay in China was exciting and tremendously interesting. We visited in several of its ancient cities. It is a land of majestic mountains and graceful lakes. It abounds in historic spots and relics which have been carefully preserved through all the years.

We were in palaces and museums, in gardens and tea–houses, in parks and communes, in zoos and entertainment houses, on bridges and highways. The land is graced with verdant foliage, willows, flowers, bamboo groves, tea bushes, and rice fields. But its best possession and resource is its people.

We were told how the people‘s lives had improved in many material ways. The working class, which is its only class, now has sufficient food and improved housing. They have a self-confidence and a dignity which they never had before.

The people—so many, many of theml Wherever we walked, rode, visited, or shopped, we were always surrounded by people. They were very curious about us and made no effort to hide their curiosity. Their intense stares always made me feel uncomfortable. I never quite knew what to “do” with my eyes when walking on the street or in a store when a crowd would press in around me and just silently watch my every move.

To ease my own discomfort I would often say a few of the words I had learned to anyone near me and invariably that person would repeat it after me in a more perfect pronunciation—of course! No one ever molested or bothered me, although I did get some hostile looks. Those usually were from teenage boys. The very young and the older folks were extremely friendly, for the Chinese are normally an agreeable and friendly people.

I longed to be able to speak to the people. But I could not. I felt an awful sense of loss. I wondered if it was this same kind of urgency that sent a missionary hurrying to language school when he longed to communicate with the people in a foreign land.

All summer I saw the people—on the paths, on the roads, on the walks, on their bikes, in the stores, in the buses, in the fields, in the parks. 1ney walked, rode, pushed carts, pulled carts, carried heavy loads on yokes. People, people, walking, working, riding, carrying, pushing, pulling, smiling, sweating, laboring, waving. All image-bearers of the sovereign God.

Often the words found in Scripture came to my mind—“when He saw the multitudes He had compassion on them for they were as sheep without a shepherd.” Truly they are shepherdless. for nearly a quarter of a century no one has broken to them the bread of life. In this Bibleless land there is a great famine of the Word.

The yoke is a useful instrument and we saw it used everywhere we went. Men and women, young people, and the elderly—all were adept in the use of this tool. Large wooden buckets would hang on each end filled with water, vegetables, bricks, or sand. It looked like hard work calling for trained muscles and a sturdy back.

Our Master said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” In my mind I saw the people laboring under two yokes, one visible and another one invisible but nonetheless creating a very real burden “grievous to be borne.” An intolerable burden of an empty heart, a famished soul, unfulfilled yearnings so prevalent in the human heart, for which no sustenance is provided.

Our Sundays wcre spent as quietly as possible. We would stay in our rooms or I would go for a walk, but that generally was a lonesome and uncomfortable time. I read and reread the New Testament I had taken along. David’s words would come to my mind: “I was glad when they said to me, let us go to the house of the Lord.” But no one said these words because there was no open church to go to. All the lovely brick churches had been converted for other uses. The Bibles, songbooks, and pews were put into the flames long ago.

We met several brothers and sisters in the faith. All were steadfast and devoted to their Lord. All feared detection. They were very discreet in their conversations and cautious in their gestures. Within the confines of a room they scarcely dared to commit themselves to any statements. In open areas they felt less restrained and there told of privations primarily of the spirit. The words of the psalmist describe this great and lovely land when he says, “My flesh longeth for Thee in a dry and thirsty land where no water is.”

In many of my walks I would see among the throngs a soft and kindly face and my heart would reach out to this person. I longed to stop them and ask, “Are you one of His?” I was sure they were. It comforted me to know that the Master knew and that He had once confidently affirmed, “and no man is able to pluck them out of my hand.” The gates of hell can rage but not prevail.

I clearly recall one warm evening. I left our room to stroll out on the walks around the hotel in which we were lodged. The moon was bright, the swallows and bats were flying low catching mosquitoes. A slight breeze gave a welcome coolness from the sultry, humid evening.

After a bit I was joined by someone with whom I had made a rather close friendship. That had come about because this person could speak a smattering of English and I always made the most of this talent whenever a listener understood it.

After a few casual remarks I was suddenly startled by a question from my friend. “Do you celebrate Christmas in America?” Upon my answer of “yes” there followed in low tones and many gestures a recital of boyhood memories of a chapel, a choir, a song with a few remembered words, “rolled away, rolled away, as white as snow, in the crimson flow.” In spite of the heat my arms got goose bumps. My heart was touched, tears came to my eyes. But my friend, urged, “no cry, no cry, happy, happy!” Of course I should be happy, and I was. If this one of God’s own could speak of happiness in the bleak circumstances of that heritage, then I should not insult it with tears.

Before we left that hotel to visit another city, I met yet another one of God‘s sheep. That life had not been easy for this individual was apparent. My rings were an attraction and were appraised and fingered. When I got the message across that they were from my husband, this person began to cry heartbrokenly. Not knowing what to do to bestow some comfort, I got my small Testament and opened it to the picture of the Master knocking on a door. After looking at it for a moment a gesture was made of patting the heart which was meant to convey to me the information, “Yes, I know and love Him too.” At the time of departure I walked along with this one of China‘s millions. How I longed to say something that could impart strength but the language barrier was there between us.

Yet, I did what I could. At the wall, in the shade of the sycamore trees, I embraced and kissed this one so battered by life‘s storms, who had had such a hard path in which to walk. In the last moment of farewell I was given a thrill. With hunched shoulders and a back turned towards the young guards at the gate this one painted one finger upward to the throne on high. I, seeing it, quickly gave a discreet little nod. I had seen it and God had seen it too!

I met many pleasant people with whom I struck up a “non-speaking friendship.” They were gardeners, hotel workers, guides, laborers, children, waiters and waitresses. All were congenial and eager to please. Not any have lack of food or clothing. But yet their lives are dull and empty.

Denials and frustrations make up much of the daily pattern of everyday life. Intangible common needs are never fulfilled and spiritual needs are never met. Hearts hunger for ennobling, inspiring, character-building books, poetry, literature, for great pieces of music, operas, oratorios. Spirits yearn for self-expression in art, words, drama, song. Such desires are quenched, hidden, buried, kept for another day.

Americans know nothing of such existence. The adage, “When freedom is lost there is nothing else to lose” has no concrete meaning for us. There are countless churches in America in which no prayer is ever raised for our brothers and sisters in the faith who daily struggle along on less than crumbs. God can and will uphold them without our prayers; yet in some mysterious way God has bound Himself to the prayer of faith of His children. The best offering that could be presented to China would be a prayer:

“Oh, who so fraught with earthly care, As not to give humble prayer Some part of day? Must care for business’ urgent call So press us as to take it all Each passing day?”