It all started when Max asked me about the tradition of eating "God Food." He, Forrest, Shawn, and I hatched the idea of going to church together so they could translate for me and I could explain rituals to them. But a few days later, I remembered the emphasis my contract places on not becoming involved with religious matters, so I thought I'd better run the idea past the waiban first.

Given that the government-sponsored TV programs go on and on about China's religious freedom since 1979, I was surprised by the waiban's response. Although they assured me that I was free to attend church whenever I wished, it was less clear whether my students also enjoyed that freedom. But it was *very* clear that under no circumstances could I take students to church. I never actually asked them about going with an adult, such as my friend Zhou Xueying, and decided that was a question I might not get around to asking. I let the idea brew for a few months.

Then a couple of weeks ago, I found myself inexplicably attracted to the idea of attending a Palm Sunday service in a place where palm trees actually grow. Thus inspired, Zhou Xueying and I set off for Kunming's Catholic Church altogether too early on Palm Sunday morning,.

The really great thing about China is that *nothing* is ever as I imagine it will be. So why was I surprised to find a tree-sized poinsettia blooming over the entrance to the church? Why did it strike me as funny that instead of palms they were giving out sprigs of the same juniper I use for a Christmas wreath in Cambridge? What holiday was this anyway?

The Catholic Church is often criticized for spending more money on glorious cathedrals than on the poor, but Kunming's church cannot be blamed. This was probably the most modest church I've ever set foot in. The word dingy comes to mind. There was a concrete floor and not very recently painted walls. The ecclesiastical textiles were purple nylon with cheap lace edging. The wooden pews were almost as beat-up as our college's desks. It was a recognizable church layout, albeit with some Chinese architectural ornament.

Nearly every seat was taken, and I estimated there were slightly over 200 present. Of these, five of us were westerners, and there were also five Chinese children. The vast majority of parishioners were older working class women wearing clean but frayed clothing. Let's not even use the word "fashion."

Given the average age of the worshipers, it seemed odd that the seven priests were quite young. One was still suffering from acne and adolescent gawkiness. They wore thin white robes with red stoles. The day-glow orange surplice of the head priest was reminiscent of the vests municipal street sweepers and traffic guards wear. Given that priests perform the same rituals over and over, it seemed odd that these guys did not seem to have the routine down pat. They fumbled over page numbers and eyed each other for confirmation of whose turn it was to read. Zhou Xueying was profoundly disappointed in their lack of dignity, never mind charisma. (Of course, she remembers Mao, who is apparently unrivaled in the charisma department.) When I told her I couldn't understand anything except the Bible reading, she assured me, a little scornfully, that was because they spoke with such heavy local accents.

Since I am not Catholic, I can't be sure just how much of the mass differed from its American counterpart. I did notice that when we entered, there was a long line of people for confession. The service began before they had all been heard, and yet practically everyone took communion (wafer usually placed on the hand, not on the tongue) and the line for confession resumed when the mass had ended. I didn't recognize any hymns.

Of China's 17 million Christians, 15 million are Protestant. Unlike in America, China has no Protestant denominations. It considers itself to be "Post-denominational." Therefore, the Protestant church on Jinbilu is just Protestant, not anything more specific. Not surprisingly, it is a larger building than the Catholic church, and offers Sunday afternoon as well as morning services, plus a Thursday night Bible study.

Therefore, I expected bigger and better, but not *that* much bigger. At 8:50 Easter morning, when Zhou Xueying and I arrived for the 9:00 service, it was already underway. Not only was every pew jammed, but people squatted on little plastic stools or stood in the aisles, in the stairwells, on the steps, in the corridors. Both balconies were so crowded that I couldn't help wondering about how much weight they were designed to hold. There were even people sitting on the front steps and in the alleys on either side of the church, listening to the service over loudspeakers. Since I couldn't even see everyone, I couldn't begin to guess how many were present. Zhou Xueying estimated 2,000.

We wormed our way upstairs to the first balcony and stood at the back. It was as jammed as any subway at rush hour. This was a much more diverse crowd that at Kunming Catholic. Not only was there a wider age range represented, but many different economic levels as well. There were yuppies in nice suits with jade crosses dangling around their necks, urban laborers in drab jackets, and old women from the countryside wearing traditional head coverings, embroidered aprons, and cloth shoes.

What I did not see was another foreigner. Apparently no one else did either because I received a lot of curious looks. The little boy next to me repeatedly stroked my arm, knee and hair in wonder, despite his mother slapping his hand away. One old rural peasant spent more time with her head turned to openly gaze at me than she did watching the minister. I heard the guys behind me speculating if I could be a teacher, and I turned around to assure them that yes, they were right. After a half hour or so, the novelty of my foreign presence even won me a plastic stool!

This church, though not lavishly adorned, was freshly painted and enjoyed maroon velvet curtains, spangly mylar Christmas garlands, and flower arrangements that would have been at home in an American church. Neither person conducting the service wore a robe, nor even a clerical collar. Maybe they had not been ordained, although according to CCTV, China's 18 seminaries have churned out 7,000 ministers and priests. You would think that would be enough for China's 1,300 churches and 8,000 less official places of Christian worship.

I may have gotten bored during the 40-minute sermon (read from a prayer book that most people followed) , and Zhou Xueying may have found it to be disappointingly similar to a mandatory political meeting, but the people around us seemed attentive. "Pious," observed Zhou Xueying. I taught her what I perceive to be the difference between "pious" and "devout." I don't think anyone becomes a Christian in China because it's easy or because that's the way he or she was raised. There may be more religious freedom than before, but 17 million in a country of 1.3 billion is not a lot. I think the people around us fervently believed, and I envied them their faith.

There was lots of singing including some familiar hymns. The second, and clearly superior, choir entered to "Amazing Grace," then sang "Onward Christian Soldiers" and "Jesus Christ Is Risen Today." Zhou Xueying, who would be the star alto in any choir herself, heartily approved of their skills. They exited to an instrumental version of "Tis a Gift to Be Simple." The choir members wore robes that were simple, but more substantial that those of the Catholic priests.

At there end, a woman came to the pulpit to give an Easter report. I actually understood most of this because it was not unlike my conversations in the market. She announced that as they exited, everyone would receive an egg. They would be all the same size, so please don't ask for a bigger one. Yours would not be any smaller than the next person's! Take only one! You can't bring one home for anyone else, even if they are sick in bed. Zhou Xueying and I both found this admonition very amusing. Indeed, people didn't push and shove to get their plain, brown, hard-boiled eggs, and I didn't see anyone ask for a larger one.

I've heard there is a third church in Kunming that a teacher in one of my classes attends. However, I'm looking forward to sleeping late this Sunday.

As far as other religions go, Judaism has no presence in China, largely because the religion places no emphasis on proselytizing. Kaifeng, a city in Northern China, has a small community that seem to have centuries-old Jewish roots, but obscure origins. They no longer practice the religion, but do maintain Jewish customs such as not eating pork and lighting candles on Friday nights.

Kunming has a sizable Moslem population and several mosques. Moslems are called Hui, and are considered one of our ethnic minorities. Even in Bailongsi we can see a few women wearing traditional Moslem head coverings, and a couple of blocks away is a halal restaurant. I could be wrong, but based on one English teacher here who is Hui, I get the impression that in China Islam resembles secular Judaism in America: the cultural rather than the religious aspects are treasured and preserved.

China proudly voices its religious freedom, and I think that as far as Christianity goes, there is truth to the Party line. All we have to do is consider Falun Gong to see the extremes to government will take to eliminate religious activities that don't meet with its approval. But *that's* a whole other topic!