God's Double Agent (15 page)

Up until that moment, I had thought,
Wow, I am the man who can lead China. I’m a good guy, a righteous man who can lead people in a better direction.
But the beautiful sentences in the book I’d been reading had penetrated me to my core. Suddenly, I felt the weight of the darkness in my own heart.

I shut the booklet, laid it on my notebook, and glanced at the deputy secretary who was still grading my work. Just the sight of him—this Communist official—pierced my heart. I’d proclaimed to everyone that I was against corruption, but I had also previously tried to bribe the deputy party secretary. I thought I was working for freedom, but I had also sealed the classrooms in my college, forbidding others the liberty to choose whether to join us. I was for fairness, but I had stolen food as a very young child. I was for kindness, but I had decided to murder someone.

Reading the book was like taking a bright light and shining it on my life. The invisible man had become visible, and I didn’t like what I saw. I wasn’t a righteous leader; I wasn’t even really a good guy. In fact, I was days and maybe one chemistry lesson away from committing murder.

I looked at the clock and realized my time in the classroom was coming to a close. I’d spent my entire time reading and copying the “beautiful sentences” into my notebook.

“Do you need this back?” I tapped Jack on the back. “Or can I keep it for a while?”

“I don’t want it back,” he said, waving me off. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”

The next morning I scurried through campus. The sun had already been up for an hour, but the dew still stubbornly clung to the blades of grass like tiny crystals. In a plaza near a fountain, dozens of students were beginning their day with tai chi and qi gong, moving together like a flock of geese as they stretched a new day into being. Two students lugged heavy backpacks into a teashop as the store owner swept the steps, preparing for the day.

“Lao Wu,” I said, knocking on the door of his apartment in the foreign expert regiment building. The foreigners were a privileged group of professors because the university provided a laundry service as well as cooks for them. Their building was also nicer than the others, newer, and with more accommodations.

“What’s gotten you out of bed so early?” He smiled as he opened the door. “Come to see if I had any more bananas?”

He was dressed but his hair was mussed, and he held a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry I came so early, but I need to talk to you,” I said.

He motioned toward his couch, and I plopped down onto it. “I need to talk to you about the biography of Xi Zizhi.”

His voice lowered like we were suddenly in a library. “Oh? Where’d you get it?”

As an American, he’d signed an agreement not to evangelize the students, though he was allowed to answer any questions honestly. Because the students were interested in all things American, Lao Wu created opportunities to arouse curiosity among the students about Christianity. He hosted Christmas and Easter celebrations and always discreetly answered any questions that came up.

“Jack gave it to me last night,” I said. “He said you gave it to him.”

“Oh, right,” Lao Wu responded. “I remember giving that to him. Want some coffee? I made a fresh pot.” He jumped out of his seat and disappeared into the kitchen area. I’d never talked to him about Christianity because I’d bought into Karl Marx’s theory, which I had been taught my entire life: religion was the opiate of the masses.

“He thought it might help me.”

“It might help you do what?” Lao Wu asked, cautiously.

“To be happy, to be less depressed!” I exclaimed.

“So, you’re saying,” he prompted, “it worked?”

I laughed when I responded. “It worked! I’ve seen the light!”

Lao Wu came out of the kitchen and handed me a cup of coffee. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked when he sat back down. “Tell me about this ‘light.’” He took a sip of his own coffee.

“I believe in Jesus!” I gushed. “I feel like the birds are singing just for me. I feel like God Himself is putting His arms around me. I feel joy where there used to be only sorrow.”

Lao Wu’s eyes narrowed. He’d known me for over a year, but he’d only seen me raid his pantry and play moderately good defense on the basketball court. I’d never shown an interest in spiritual things.

“Well, that certainly is interesting news,” he said, noncommittally. I suppose he wondered whether I had actually undergone a conversion to Christianity or if I was some sort of spy working for the government.

“How do I sign up?”

“You mean, how do you join Christianity?” Lao Wu laughed in spite of himself.

“Yes, how do I formally become a Christian?” I asked, very earnestly. “To join the Communist League, you have ceremonies. First you join the youth party, and then you’re sworn into the Communist Party. Is there some sort of ceremony?”

“Let’s don’t get ahead of ourselves,” he said, still very calm. “Why don’t you write down what you’re feeling? Just take a moment to reflect on what happened as you read the book.”

Lao Wu flashed a wary smile, but I didn’t really notice his hesitance. Because I wasn’t familiar with Christianity, I didn’t understand the inherent dangers that came with being a Christian in China. I simply knew I’d been bitter, sad, and ready to commit murder. Then, after I believed in Jesus, I wasn’t.

“Great idea,” I said as I grabbed my satchel and stood up. As I walked toward the door, I noticed bananas sitting on his counter. I grabbed one, peeled back the skin and took a bite, then looked at Lao Wu.

“May I?” I said, my mouth full of the fruit. I’d never had such exotic fruit in my hometown growing up.

“Sure,” he said, as he opened the door for me.

“When I’m done, I’ll come right back!”

I walked across the campus, my head spinning with thoughts of my new faith. Even though I’d made that journey many times, the stroll felt different now. I wasn’t alone. A loving God was aware of me.

“Good morning.” I beamed at my two special agents whom I noticed lurking behind a bush next to the building. They’d been waiting for me. “How are you today?”

They looked completely shocked that I would acknowledge them. They were supposed to immobilize me with fear, but they didn’t have that kind of power over me anymore. When I arrived back at my room of confinement, my deputy was already there waiting.

“Glad you finally decided to make it,” he said. “Quit delaying, and get in there to write your confession.”

“Sure!”

The deputy tilted his head, completely baffled at my quick agreement. I slipped into the room, got out my stack of paper, and began writing. I would have plenty of time to write my
so-called apology for my time as a student protestor. But first, I had to write something else.

“Last night, while reading a book, I believed in God,” I wrote. Even as I wrote the sentence, my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. My pencil flew over the paper, recording all of my many thoughts about my whole world, now that it had become more vibrant. Suddenly I had become aware there was a supernatural power, and that knowledge had miraculously replaced the hatred and anger I’d previously harbored against so many people. I smiled as I thought of the Communist special agent standing outside my door.
He just doesn’t know about Jesus
, I thought, as I continued to write. Even the animosity I had for President Ming disappeared. And I even felt compassion for my former friend Joseph, who had publicly advocated that I be killed. As I finished my first page, I realized I was humming.

The guard knocked on my door and barked, “What are you doing in there?”

“Sorry!” I said, and continued scrawling out my spiritual thoughts. Pretty soon, I’d need to continue my forced confession so my agent would have something to grade. I’d been under surveillance for three months now, but a joy bubbled in my soul that couldn’t be quenched by any government guard.

When dinnertime came, I almost sprinted to the cafeteria to find Heidi. I couldn’t wait to talk to her about my conversion. When I came through the door, my eyes found her. She was sitting at the table where we usually sat, alone. She waited for me every night, in a solemnly sweet ritual.

“Hello!” I said warmly as I sat down beside her.

“What happened to you?” she immediately asked. She was used to me oozing around the campus, head down, shoulders slumped.

“You won’t believe it,” I answered. “I am a Jesus follower.”

She looked at me blankly. “Really?”

“Yes, I feel like a mountain has been removed from my chest,” I explained. “Instead of sorrow, I feel joy.”

“Are you sure it’s ‘joy’ and not a fever?” She laughed. “I can take you to the infirmary, if you like.” I could tell by her sarcasm that she’d rather talk about anything else. But I persisted. “I’ve never felt better in my life!”

“Religion’s for the weak, the vulnerable,” she said, more seriously. “You’re much smarter than that.”

“I read this book,” I said as I pulled it out and laid it on the cafeteria table. “It’s about a man whose life was changed. He used to be sad and depressed too, but then he believed in Jesus.”

“Don’t you see?” Heidi said, with as much gentleness as she could muster. “People who are full of angst are not strong-minded. This man was weak, so he accepted this crazy religion.” She looked at me like I was sick, lying in a hospital bed and clinging to a false hope of recovery. “You don’t have to follow his path.”

“But I have so much love in my heart now,” I explained. “I don’t feel any bad feelings toward President Ming or Joseph.”

“Why not?” She practically spat out the words. “They ruined your life!” Implicit was the very distinct message that they’d ruined her life as well. After all, she and I had grown closer over the past few months, even as my other friends moved away from me. “The President has no backbone, and Joseph is an opportunist. The smoke over Tiananmen Square hadn’t even blown away by the time he had betrayed you, taken your position as a student leader, and advocated for your death in the newspaper!”

“These guys also need to find a new life in Christ. God can help them,” I said. “He can save them too.”

“Xiqiu, listen to me.” She slammed her hand against the table, and the water in my glass rippled. She picked up my book. “You are an intelligent man. You don’t need this kind
of intellectual crutch, and you don’t need to love people who want you dead.”

“So . . . you’re saying you’ll read it?” I asked, with a sly smile.

“You believed in Jesus last night, and already you’re an evangelist?”

Reluctantly, she dropped the book into her backpack.

“Let’s just eat,” she said, rolling her eyes, and we ate our meal in silence.

The next day, I knocked on the door to Lao Wu’s home after one of his classes. When he opened the door, he motioned for me to come in. “I was expecting you.” He smiled.

“I wrote it all down,” I said, plopping five pages onto his coffee table. “Just like you asked.”

Lao Wu sighed, put on his reading glasses, and picked up the papers. I felt nervous as he turned the first page, then the second. Were my feelings enough to justify a conversion? Was I, as Heidi claimed, simply being emotional because I’d gotten so lonely? But by the time my teacher flipped over the last page, he looked up at me with tears in his eyes.

“So, can I join?” I asked.

“Sure,” he responded, as he knelt down on the floor. “The first thing is to ask for God’s help—for God’s guidance.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “We need to ask for a directive from God.” I understood what I needed to do, but I didn’t have the right language to wrap around my ideas.

I spoke of spiritual things using the only language I knew. Because communism demanded we ask for “directives,” or authoritative instruction, from our government, I wanted a directive from God Himself. I wanted to be saved.

There, in his apartment, Lao Wu led me in a prayer.

“God,” I said. “This is life to me. I want to become a follower. I want to become Your child.”

I remembered one of the beautiful sentences in Xi Zizhi’s book.

“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come.”