It was shaping up to be a pretty ordinary Sunday. Rae and I planned to worship at 10 A.M., and then I expected to stop at a supermarket on the way home and pick up a few groceries. I was looking forward to cooking dinner for a colleague and squeezing in a little lesson planning, maybe even a load of laundry. Just an ordinary Sunday.

After mass, we lingered in the lobby of the church to chat with our English-speaking friends Gao Wei and Wong An Ping, along with a small cluster of people we don’t know by name. Among them was a cute teenage girl in a blue sweatshirt who was being especially tolerant of my limping Chinese. Just as we were about to leave, someone tugged at my sleeve and said in English, "The Bishop would like to meet you." I turned and found myself facing a smiling clergyman wearing a suit coat, v-neck sweater, and dark striped shirt with a loosely fitting clerical collar. We shook hands, I bowed awkwardly, he smiled more broadly. Someone indicated that he would like to chat with us in his office, and we all trooped upstairs to the third floor of the church complex.

On that level, one wall of the corridor is all windows lined with flowering plants; the office doors line the other wall. The Bishop’s office was dimly lit and pleasantly cluttered. A large desk filled half of the room; Rae and I sat on a sofa so deep I wondered how I would ever get up again. The young girl in the blue sweatshirt sat beside me, a reassuring presence. Gao Wei and Wong An Ping had come along, apparently to interpret. The room got crowded. Other adults who came in took tiny plastic chairs from a stack near the door.* Tea was made, fruit and candy passed. The conversation lurched forward.

I had been concerned that our very conspicuous presence in the community might be causing some angst among the clergy. Every Sunday we receive communion. Although the clergy staff is large, they must all know by now that we never go into their confessional. They must wonder if we’re even Catholics; as you well know, we are not. I was not surprised when the talk turned, after we established our nationality, to our faith. The Bishop tactfully asked us (through our interpreters) if we understand that there are two branches of Christianity in China, Protestant and Catholic. We responded in the affirmative, and told him that we prefer the Catholic faith in China. OK, I am the first to admit, we equivocated. It was a half-truth. The Bishop seemed satisfied; I felt both guilty and relieved.

The Bishop (sorry, I truly didn’t get his name – but I will work on that! – in addition I don’t know if the parish itself has a name, or if Chinese churches have names at all . . . ) had one other thing on his mind. He wanted to recruit us to teach English in a middle school in Zhangye, a city about 12 hours northwest of here by train. I hope he understood our explanation that we are committed to the Amity Foundation and that they plan our teaching assignments. I will tuck an Amity brochure in my bag and give it to him next week; it was unclear whether he knows of the organization. In a conversation facilitated by good-hearted amateur interpreters, it’s impossible to tell how much anyone on either side comprehends!

Next, we were invited to lunch with the Bishop. We dined in a modest local restaurant owned by a parishioner; some women from the church joined us. Sweet Blue Sweatshirt drifted away; Gao Wei and Wong An Ping came along. One of the best things about Chinese people is their playfulness. Chinese adults are fabulously uninhibited in public. It’s a joy to be around them when they sing, dance, and clown spontaneously. So it was only a mild surprise when the Bishop inflated the wrapper from his chopsticks and exploded it with a "bang." We all tried to imitate his performance, but failed. If I ever have the privilege to lunch with an American bishop, I’ll watch to see if s/he tears off one end of the drinking straw wrapper and then blows into the straw to sail the wrapper across the room.

Our lunch was predictably abundant and delicious. There was, among many treats, a cold dish – medallions of lean, smokey-tasting meat.
Gao Wei asked, "Have you tried this? Do you like it?"
"Yes!" I said, "It’s delicious!"
"Glad you like it." he replied, "It’s donkey."

* I was not surprised to see child-size chairs in the Bishop’s office. One of my favorite things about this parish is the involvement of the children and youth, as acolytes, ushers, lay readers, and prayer leaders.