I really enjoyed this book. Please watch my video review. I'm pleased it's one of a series because I'd like to read more of Brother Half-Angel's adventures as he fights evil and rescues those being persecuted.
Got 10 minutes? Listen to a fascinating interview with Martin Roth here as he discusses how his books deal with the largely unreported persecution of Christians in Egypt, West Africa and Asia.
Excerpt: Chapter 13
Fulang, China
“Can we come
to your room for a chat?” Daniel asked Ling as they finished dinner.
“Yes, of
course,” said the old man, who seemed relaxed and amenable. Nevertheless,
Daniel was wary. The old man’s reaction to Brother Shuei’s murder confirmed
that he possessed a side to his character that was volatile and unpredictable.
“I’ll tidy
up,” said Brother Yoon kindly. “You go off now.”
Ling led them
down the passageway to his own room, right next to his office. He offered them
chairs. Again, Daniel marveled at the spartan lifestyle of the man. A bed, a
table, a cupboard and the two chairs comprised the only furniture in the small
room. Much of the spare space on the concrete floor was occupied with cardboard
cartons. The crumbling and stained walls were bare, and Daniel could not see a
solitary item of decoration anywhere.
Ling switched
on an electric kettle. “One of our students gave me some very fine tea today,”
he said. “Let’s try it.” He opened the unmarked packet and poured some tea into
a pot. Before the water in the kettle came to a boil he emptied it into the
pot, waited a couple of minutes and then poured three cups.
Daniel took a
sip. It was rich and fragrant, slightly sweet, with the hint of a pineapple
taste. “This is excellent,” he remarked.
“Dragon well tea,”
said the director. “From down south. It’s supposed to help contemplation.” He
looked at the pair. “It is not comfortable when someone dies.” Daniel
translated for Jenny. “It makes us all uncomfortable. So we must persevere as
best we can. But I had forgotten that you are Americans. And American
Christians are used to a comfortable life.”
“That’s not
quite true,” said Jenny after her husband had translated. “We chose to come
here. We accept this style of life.” She waved her arm around the decrepit room.
“You aren’t used to being in a country where
Christians face persecution,” continued Ling, as if she had not spoken. “Where
Christians face death on a daily basis. I had forgotten that. So I may have
been a little abrupt in my behavior. Perhaps it seemed as if I were
insensitive. Or that I was not honoring the dead.”
“No, it’s not
that,” said Daniel.
“It is that,
Danny,” said Jenny, after he had repeated his words in English. “It is that.”
“I have seen
many deaths,” said Ling, again as if they had not spoken. “I was working in a
town in Sichuan province when a gang of hoodlums, inspired by the authorities,
came and set fire to the building where we held secret worship services. Eight
people burned to death. Four of them were children. A few years after that I
was in Hunan province when the police attacked a group of underground
worshippers with electric batons. Do you know what those do to you?”
Daniel shook
his head.
“It’s like
being lashed with strips of barbed wire. Just one touch of the baton is enough.
The pain is intense. Then after attacking the worshippers the police took away
dozens of them. Several never returned alive. When I was in prison the guards
used to take the Christians and place us in coffins, or make us stand naked in
unnatural positions for hours and hours, trying to make us recant our faith. I
never did. But not everyone was able to resist. And I know that many of the
brothers in prison with me never got out alive. So I am used to death.”
“What did you
mean when you said it was your fault?” asked Jenny. “That you are being
punished?”
“God
commanded me to establish this seminary and he placed these students in my
protection. I have failed. One of our students has been martyred.”
“You say
martyred. So you feel that somehow he was killed because of his faith? It
wasn’t just some gang trying to rob him?”
“It doesn’t
matter who might have done it. He is dead, a martyr. He is in his Home, with
God. That is all that matters.”
“But we might
all be under threat. Shouldn’t we be doing something to protect ourselves?”
“We place
ourselves in God’s hands. What bigger protection is there?”
“That other
house church. The one you told us about. Over on the other side of town. Are
they being attacked too?”
Ling stared
at Jenny. “That is a house of evil. They are a cult. You are not to have
anything to do with them.”
“But maybe
they are also being attacked,” persisted Jenny. “Maybe they have some
information about what is going on. Maybe…”
“They do not
teach the true word of God,” shouted Ling, not even waiting for Daniel to
finish translating. “They are a cult.”
“But if
they…”
“You are not
to have anything to do with them,” interrupted Ling, shouting even louder, his
face red. “Do you understand? You are not to have anything to do with them?”
An awful
silence now descended on the room. Jenny looked at her husband, clearly wishing
to leave. But Daniel did not want to walk out right after such an outburst.
“How are
Brother Shuei’s family taking his death?” he asked, sipping some tea as
casually as possible.
“Government
policy says Chinese parents can have only child.” Already Ling’s voice was calm
and relaxed. Daniel was amazed at the rapid transformation. “So when that child
dies it is quite devastating. Especially if you are poor - and many, many
Chinese are poor - because you expected that child, especially a son, to help
take care of you in old age. His parents are believers, and their pastor is
helping them understand that their son has died a glorious martyr. They do
understand that. But they will suffer. I am sure your church can send them some
money. And Brother Yoon’s church.”
“We feel we
have been sending you a lot of money,” said Jenny.
“A lot of
money?” He swept an arm around the room, as Jenny had done earlier. “A lot of
money? How many American Christians live like this? Tell me. How many?”
“He’s trying
to make us feel guilty,” said Jenny to Daniel, after he had translated.
“But he’s not
wrong. He’s got a point…”
“Danny, for
goodness sake. Our church has been extremely generous. We’ve sent money. We’ve
sent supplies. Our church has sent us. You and me. What more does he expect?
And we both know that Brother Yoon’s church has sent even more. So ask him
where it’s all gone, given that we’re living in a dump like this.” Now it was
her turn to sweep her arm again around the room.
Once again
Ling’s face was distorted. “Americans live in luxury and then send some crumbs
to their poor, suffering little brothers and sisters in China. And then they
complain when we don’t grovel and kiss your feet.”
“No, that’s
not entirely fair,” said Daniel. He turned to Jenny. “I think we should go back
to our room. Everyone’s pretty tired.” He gave an exaggerated yawn, then looked
at the director. “Maybe we can talk some more in the morning…”
“Yes, get
out,” said Ling, rage in his face, though his voice remained calm. “Get out
now.”
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