Freedom at Last!
One evening I took the bus to Honkow Road, Tsim Sha Tsui.
I checked the envelope in my hand for the address I was looking for, then finding the right building, climbed the stairs to the 4th floor.
There was no one in the passage, but it was well lit so I had little difficulty in finding Room #423.
A simple sign hung over the door.
"F.E.B.C." it read.
I hesitated a second, then rang the doorbell. A girl opened the door, and I handed her the letter of invitation I had received.
She glanced at it, and before I had time to introduce myself, exclaimed, "Oh! You are Mr. Yi-lin! Do come in; we have been waiting to see you ever since we received your letter!"
She turned and shouted, "Mrs. Lin, Mr. Yi-lin has come already."
Passing a recording studio where I saw a lot of equipment, and an office containing many desks and bookshelves, we finally came to a small reception room.
"We were so glad to get your letter," Mrs. Lin said with a smile. "Did you have a hard time finding our office?"
We sat down.
"By the way, when you wrote to us, how did you find our address?" the girl who had opened the door asked me eagerly.
"No problem," I said. "I memorized the post office box number you gave in your program. So, you see, it was
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actually you who told me . . .!"
We all laughed.
"You mean you listened to our radio broadcasts when you were still in China?"
I nodded, somewhat surprised at their excitement.
"Can you tell us something about how well you received our broadcasts? For example, how did you know about our programs, and when did you start listening?"
Their questions took me back to days long past.........
The time: one autumn evening in 1960.
The place: Canton, China.
A small schoolboy of about eleven was turning the dial of his radio slowly but skillfully, his ear close to the speaker, as he strained to listen to broadcasts on the shortwave band.
His face revealed some measure of frustration. Although he listened to many stations, he couldn't find anything that really satisfied his innermost needs.
However, the fact was that, after he discovered that his Chinese-made radio could receive all kinds of radio waves from around the globe, he would sit by it night after night, listening.
The inestimable pleasure and knowledge he derived from his radio led him to believe that he was sharing the same experience as Alice when she found herself in "Wonderland."
His joy was beyond description.
In spite of his age he took care not to let his classmates know — not even his best friends — that he was listening to shortwave broadcasts. To do so would be too risky. It was not uncommon to see, posted on public notice boards details of those arrested for listening to foreign broadcasts.
He knew, too, as an officer in the Young Pioneers, that he shouldn't be listening to shortwave broadcasts.
One night, as he was tuning across the band, he couldn't
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help but take notice of a station he'd never heard before. The tone was different from that of the government's Peking broadcasts. As he listened to the broadcaster speaking in Mandarin he became absorbed in what he was hearing, things that he had never heard before about the world, about other countries, and even his own country — mainland China. It came as a shock to hear someone talking about world affairs, China, the arts and literature, from a non-communist viewpoint.
You see, in his country, all media — newspapers, magazines and broadcasting stations — were entirely monopolized by the government and committed to spreading communist ideology and propaganda.
For political reasons much information was withheld from the people. Only what was favorable to the government was transmitted. Thus it was that in 1969 the Chinese people knew nothing at all of Neil Armstrong walking on the moon, since the Communist Party of China in those days considered the United States to be a ferocious imperialist country, the chief enemy of China.
And so it was, through listening to shortwave news broadcasts from Voice of America, the British Broadcasting Corporation and other foreign broadcasts in Mandarin, that this small boy learned with delight of this earthshaking event.
But soon he discovered that he was not alone in knowing this big "secret." Others also shared his "Wonderland."
The people in that ancient country of China, whose door until recently has remained so tightly shut, are not the kind of people that the world generally thinks about. For their part, they are not willing either to be blindfolded or to become a mere cog in their proletarian society. They, too are human beings just like those in other countries and, as such, they have a hunger to hear more than communist propaganda day and night.
They need more news, more information about themselves, their country, and the rest of the world. they are just like children who want to hear more than just their
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parents' instructions, and are eager to learn from teachers, friends and others in order to be able to judge for themselves what is right and wrong.
Thus, through radio waves, they were afforded an unprecedented opportunity. In fact, the government had given orders for large numbers of inexpensive, yet high-grade, radios to be manufactured so that every family could have have at least one. They wanted everyone to listen to programs of communist ideology in order to correct any mistaken ideas brought about by bourgeois thinking that was infiltrating their society.
But while the government was thinking that everyone listened to Peking, they were, in fact, using their radios to tune in to news from around the world.
The Great Wall of China had been built to protect her against invasion in ancient times. But now it was powerless to prevent the incursion of electromagnetic radio waves. Neither an Iron nor a Bamboo Curtain could do this, so, even though listening to foreign broadcasts was strictly forbidden, people continued to do so.
It will never be known how many countless Chinese can be found at the midnight hour by their radios, using earphones to listen to radio signals from faraway places. They listen to current affairs, music, drama . . . always in search of something to satisfy.
But programs simply about other nations and other people cannot meet their deepest needs. Even jazz music gets on people's nerves eventually. There had to be something more to fill their empty hearts, especially in the years following the Cultural Revolution, and again after Mao's death some eight years later . . .
And so it was, one autumn evening, our young friend was busy turning the dial of his radio. He suddenly stopped as strains of the most beautiful music and songs reached his ears. The music was so soothing that, as he listened, a sense of peace, such as he had never known before, overwhelmed him.
His face brightened. Following the music came a story
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which seemed to stir the depths of his being. The boy was struck with admiration.
". . . Be devoted to one another with brotherly love!"
"I say unto you, love your enemies. . ."
". . . You shall love your neighbor as yourself."
"We need to love one another." The message came through clearly.
Now "love" was a word in many ways familiar to him but, at the same time, it was also a rather strange concept.
Ever since kindergarten he had been taught to love the Great Leader, to love the Communist Party of China and to love his proletarian brothers.
But "to love your neighbor as yourself" was quite another matter — easily spoken but not so easily put into practice.
Besides, he had been strictly taught not to love the landlords, capitalists, or class enemies — even one's parents if they were any of these — but rather to hate them. So "to love your enemies" was a sheer impossibility! In the classroom they had been taught that China had many enemies — the National Party in Taiwan (KMT), the Japanese, the U.S. Imperialists and the Soviet Revisionists. They must hate them!
Hate! Fight! Resist! and repeat . . .
Yet the broadcast from that station had told him to love, and how to forgive and be forgiven. It had told him to love everybody, including his enemies. What new teaching was this?
The broadcast had also told him that "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have eternal life."
This new definition of "love" and the phrase "the begotten Son of God Who loved the world," were quite incomprehensible to the small boy.
But in spite of that, that simple message of love set his young heart throbbing. As a seed finds soil in which to grow, so he loved that broadcast.
One day he felt he could keep the secret no longer, so he
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told his best friend about that "love."
"Oh, you mean you've been listening to the Far East Broadcasting Company, the 'Voice of Friendship?' "
"Yes! You mean you listen, too?" His eyes grew wide with astonishment.
"We've been listening to them for a long time, and we know many of our friends listen too. We all know about the 'Voice of Friendship.' "
Apparently his "secret" was not such a great "secret" after all!
Ten years later that same boy, now a young man, was sitting in his shabby mud hut by the dim light of an oil lamp. He was again tuning his radio in search of the signal that brought that same message of love he had heard so long ago.
"O, my old friend, it's been so long! How I miss you!" he sighed.
Although for those many years he had not listened, that message of "love" had not changed.
But the one who listened had changed — a lot. When he had first heard that broadcast he had been a Young Pioneer, proud to wear a red scarf around his neck. He was later to become a high-spirited and energetic Red Guard wearing a red arm band.
Now as he listened again he had aged considerably. His hands, once soft and supple, were now blistered from overwork. And he was depressed.
Years ago it seemed as though he had a clear picture of what the ideal society might be — a communist society. But now, in place of that beautiful picture he saw nothing but darkness. He felt as though he had fallen headlong, seriously injuring his whole body and soul.
So, as he listened to this message of love again it found a new place in his heart. Although he still couldn't understand the real meaning of this "love" or the term "begotten Son of God," nevertheless he felt deep down that this was the very thing he needed.
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More than once he had asked himself, "Who can offer love like that, so rich and free? And who can be preaching that message?"
Now he had passed through the waters. He had gone through a great ordeal, but had survived.
The Chinese have a saying, "Good fortune awaits those who survive great calamities."
Maybe "good fortune" did lay just around the corner for him, but he surely had not found any happiness yet in this so-called "paradise" of Hong Kong. On the contrary, he had met more trouble. For him that "paradise" had turned to "hell."
Now, in his desperation, his thoughts turned once again to that "begotten Son," that "Saviour" he had heard about. When a drowning man finds a piece of driftwood amidst the swirling torrent, he clutches it and hangs on to it for dear life.
"Maybe this 'Saviour' could save me and rescue me from this bitter sea . . ."
Now, at last, he found himself sitting in FEBC's Hong Kong studio together with the very people who were broadcasting that message of love.
* * * * * * *
I looked at them carefully.
They were so friendly, so amiable . . . but could they help me? Could they possibly know that the one who sat facing them was a man who had lost faith in life and who no longer had regard for men's wisdom nor respect for any human society?
"Have you ever considered where you might go after you die?" one of them asked.
"Die?" I was mystified. "I've never thought of that, but I did 'die' once when I was in the sea."
There followed a moment of silence.
"Then do you believe there is a God?"
I thought for a moment, then answered, "I don't know."
"Is it true to say that you don't find any peace in your heart?"
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Yes, it was quite true. I had faced so many unpleasant things. Now I was suffering from all kinds of sorrow. Many times I felt totally lost, and the agony I suffered nearly drove me mad. And so, I poured out my sorrows to them, forgetting that I had known neither of them for more than two hours.
"You see, this world is full of sin — all of us have sin — and that's the reason why you don't have any peace in your heart."
"Sin?" I questioned.
Mrs. Lin nodded, her expression full of sincerity and sympathy as she spoke. "Every one of us has sin because all of us are born in sin!"
Seeing the puzzled expression on my face she continued.
"Of course 'sin' here does not necessarily mean murder or other crimes, but rather that men have strayed from righteousness and from the One Who upholds righteousness and created the heaven and earth."
I could feel my heart throbbing, and my eyes brightened as I saw again the blood, the fire and all kinds of filthiness and hatred before my eyes. Now they all appeared devilish to me. They were all sin.
This world has sin. Each of us has sin. And I had been living a life of sin!
My burden of sin was slowly pressing me to my death!
Mrs. Lin opened a book she was holding and read from it.
" 'Come unto Me, everyone who labors and is heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' "
Then she added, "There is Someone Who has taken away all our sin — that is Jesus Christ. He died on the cross for us and washed away all our sins with His precious blood."
Was that so? Could it be true? Could He really wash away my sin? But what a heavy load mine was!
"Now I need Him! I really need Him!" my heart seemed to cry out. "I must have my sin removed! I never knew what had been pressing me so hard before, but now I know. It's my sin!"
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It was the same voice that I had heard in the sea, speaking to me again. "You've arrived!"
"We believe in a living God. He is our heavenly Father, and we believe in His only Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ," Mrs. Lin explained. Then, after a short pause, with eyes full of sincerity, she looked at me and added, "Do you want to receive Him as your Saviour?"
I did not say a word. Saviour? Receive a Saviour? Should I truly place all my confidence in Him?
Since my childhood I had placed all my confidence in the "Great Leader" whom I took to be a "saviour." For twenty years I had placed my confidence in him, but for having that confidence I had had to pay a very high price in the end. It nearly cost me my life. . . .
"We don't want to force you into believing; you should think it over first, then make your decision."
I paused for a moment.
Then, lifting my head, I said calmly, "I have decided. I believe in Him and wish to receive Him, right now."
At that very instant everything changed. The darkness in my life vanished, and I was overwhelmed by warm golden rays of light, full of deliverance. My burden of sin had been rolled away and vanished completely.
At last I had arrived at the place of true freedom, the freedom given to me by our heavenly Father! My heart, my soul and every cell in my body rejoiced. I was saturated in our heavenly Father's love.
Like a sheep that had strayed for a long, long time, I was now back in the arms of the loving Shepherd and enjoying His loving kindness. I had come home!
"Heavenly Father, You know for many years I have wandered far away from You. How sad I was during those years of wandering. But, since long before I was born, You chose me in 'love' to be Your very own, and now that deep and moving love draws me to Christ above. I will never, never leave You again, but will follow You . . . follow You all the way."
Outside again the world was still busy as usual. The neon
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signs shone brilliantly in bright reds, greens and blues; the air hung heavy with pollution; the traffic bustled noisily, and music blared from the record shops.
But none of these bothered me since I knew I was in the Lord's hands.
I went home walking on air and with great joy in my heart. Tseng was not home yet, so I sat and waited for him. Then he came.
"What on earth has happened to you? You look a different person!" he exclaimed in astonishment.
I looked at him and smiled.
"Tell me the good news!" He couldn't help but smile, too. So I told him the whole story.
When I came to the place where I was asked, "Do you want to receive Him?" Tseng butted in, "Well? What did you answer?" He, too, was caught up with my excitement.
I kept smiling.
"You said 'yes,' didn't you?" he asked, putting the words into my mouth. His eyes were filled with amazement.
I nodded, my face flushed, as I felt like a child being praised in front of his classmates.
How happy I was!
