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Johnny
Yue's passion at the pulpit speakers. As he begins, English and Chinese Bibles open to Philippians and people straighten up in their seats. After reading about a dozen lines on the theme of generosity, he moves into a forceful but gentle sermon liberally interspersed with humor. Occasionally, his wisecracks make people double-over, clap and cover their howling mouths with clasped hands. A professional comic would be thrilled to get the laughs Pastor Yue does throughout his 45-minute sermon. Yue is animated on the altar, but he doesn't break a sweat, pound his fists or show urgent emotion. He gets serious, his speech becomes quiet, his tone sincere and thoughtful, almost solemn. But the punchline is never far away. As Carol translates, the congregation cracks up at Pastor Yue's prodding. "Husband and wife, you should talk to each other ... and don't try to bring up yesterday's problems. Do what you need to do today, but don't worry too much about the future," whispers Carol as the pastor speaks. "Don't worry about things that you can't control." Other than their shared Chineseness, the congregation is a diverse crowd. There are families with children of all ages, married couples without kids, elderly folks, single people and even a few small groups of teens unaccompanied by an adult. Some are very fashion-conscious, decked out in the cutting-edge of hip, and some are far from it. One man wears a soiled Yellowjackets ball cap through the entire service. There is nothing ineffable or awe-instilling about the physical quality of the church. Like Pastor Yue's message, the feel here is utilitarian. The sanctuary is actually an auditorium, part of the Chinese Christian Schools 10-acre complex, where about 700 children attend kindergarten through grade 12. The multipurpose facility is used for assemblies and extracurricular activities during the school week. The pews are composed of perfectly arranged rows of more than 200 sturdy, well-padded, salmon-colored chairs atop the ubiquitous dull gray-and-white squared commercial flooring tile. A simple, unadorned, black metal podium serves as the pulpit on a raised stage at the front. The only religious iconography consists of two white tarpaulin banners hanging from the ceiling on either side of the altar, which bear the church's logo: written in English and Chinese over a large pink heart, "A Passion for God, A Compassion for Chinese." "A lot of Chinese try to keep everything in their hearts," Carol paraphrases Pastor Yue's words, "and that may lead to an explosion. It's not good to close things up." And that is what Pastor Yue does for his flock. He brings them out of themselves for a morning. "Talk more openly," he admonishes before completing his sermon," bring out questions, discuss things so you don't let it get worse inside." |
Pius
Lee Peter
Louis Phoebe
Man Martin
Yan
Coming soon |
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The
Pacific is produced by students at the UC
Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism
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