Walled City

Crossing the Line - part 25

Walled City in 1988

Two things strike everyone who went to Walled City.  It is always dark and it always rains. 

One of its nick-names in Cantonese is Haak-nan which means darkness.  It was always dark at ground level because the buildings lean together at the top, allowing no natural light to permeate to the alleys between.  Then just above head height in the alleyways were a mass of tangled pipes; pirated electricity, water, and phone cables.  Pipes leaked, and waste water was thrown out of windows along with bags of rubbish.  The water then dripped its way through the rubbish and cables to the alleys and the open sewers which ran through them.  There was no sanitation system and even in the 1980’s there were only a handful of public standpipes with clean water for a community of 50,000 people. 

Walking through the maze of passageways was always an experience, especially when you add the rats which ran at will around your feet and sewer spiders as big as your hand.  Bobby led me in.  In an instant we went from blue skies and sunshine to a murky underworld past makeshift shops, and units preparing ‘dim sum’ for restaurants in the street around Walled City.  Alongside the drug dens, brothels and gambling houses, there were tens of thousands of residents simply trying to eke a living.  He took me in through the closest entrance to our meeting room and I tried to remember the turnings which led us there.  Right, left, right turns and then a dog leg into the passageway which led to the entrance.  He told me to be careful on the duck-boards beneath our feet. “You don’t want to fall into that!” he said pointing towards the sound of gurgling liquid not far below. 

Our meeting room was a haven of light, love and prayer.  Light shone out through the door as we arrived to find that there were already about 20 people there.  Some were helpers and brothers who now inspired others; others were addicts looking for help.

They came because they heard that there was a god called Jesus who helped heroin addicts.

The entrance to our meeting room

I found two wonderful ironies in this.

First, I was always struck by the image of Jesus as god of the heroin addicts.  It is so different to a sanitised western picture of gentle Jesus, meek and mild, floating on a Sunday school fuzzy felt board.  If we really read the Gospels of course, we find a very different image.  Homeless at his birth, his family were forced into exile as refugee asylum seekers; he was brought up in obscurity until his presence, teachings and example sent shock-waves across respectable religious society; he was often criticised for spending too much time eating with ‘sinners and outcasts’; often at odds with those who knew about religion, politics and power until his brutal death on a cross.  Yet somehow we have given him flowing wavy hair and beard, perfectly conditioned and styled, and a pristine white robe – hardly realistic for the Son of Man who had no-where to lay his head on the dusty roads of Palestine.  All too often in the West we have made him god of the middle classes, but here he was god of the heroin addicts!

Second, was the way in which this god called Jesus drew people who needed help to Walled City. The place of darkness had become the place of light and healing for addicts from across the whole colony.  The place which had acted as a magnate for those wanting to buy drugs had now also become the place where those enslaved to heroin came to find faith and healing.  What wonderful redemption.

Darkness in the middle of the day

When Jackie first came to Hong Kong in the 1960’s Walled City was at its most violent and dangerous.  In those days, one of the first tasks of the day was to throw out the bodies of those who had died the previous night from drugs, violence and natural causes.  By the 1980’s it was undoubtedly a much safer place to be, and those who were with ‘Poon Siuje’ (Jackie’s Cantonese name) shared the safe-status which she had earned over the years.  Only once during my time there was there any palpable danger when one local triad leader flew into a drug-fuelled rage and threatened to kill any ‘pale devils’ (westerners) who crossed his path.  Those of us who were westerners in The Well that day were taken out of Walled City one my one, surrounded by a scrum of Chinese brothers so no-one could have got near us, even if we were spotted.  But that was the exception and it all blew over in a couple of days.

Nevertheless, Walled City retained its reputation.  When Peter, a member of my parents’ church in Sutton came over to Hong Kong as guest of the Chief of Police, I offered to take him to the outreach meeting in Walled City.  His host was horrified and said that he could not allow this – it would be much too dangerous for a guest of the Hong Kong government.  When Peter insisted he wanted to go, the Chief of Police felt he had no option but to arrange a trip around the harbour on a Chinese junk with the promise that he would be back in time.  Needless to say, he found himself miles from shore at the time we had arranged to meet with no way of getting to land!

Later in my year there I was given a job to do in Walled City each Wednesday.  I was given the keys to the meeting room and asked to unlock and clean it before the meeting started.  That meant walking across the duck-boards above the sewers alone in the darkness, feeling for the padlocks and bolts to open the door; then reaching my hand around the corner to the light switch and flinching as the lights flickered on, causing the spiders, rats and cockroaches the scatter before my eyes.  Then I would sweep up the dead ones, disinfect the floor, and make the room ready to welcome everyone.  Those of you who know my fear of spiders may not be surprised to know that this was by far the scariest thing I had to face in Walled City!  Nevertheless, being entrusted with the keys to the meeting room in Walled City is possibly the greatest honour I have ever been given, and through it I learned to overcome my fears.

Prayer ministry in Walled City

Back in the meeting, as each new addict arrived they were not preached at or told what to believe.  They were simply gathered up in prayer, with brothers and helpers asking the Holy Spirit to fill their empty lives with God’s love and power.  I quickly became aware that this prayer was almost invariably answered within minutes.  Here were tough triad members, addicted to heroin who were being visibly filled with the Holy Spirit.  Most spoke in tongues within a few minutes, receiving a prayer language as naturally as drinking from a cup.  Experience of God was taken for granted in Hong Kong.  This was no theoretical theology of the mind.  Pained faces melted into smiles or released tears of healing and joy.  Addicts high on heroin spoke in tongues before they knew what speaking in tongues was.   Gentle prophecies gave encouragement to those being prayed with and even those who had tried and failed before were used by God to bring this outpouring of his presence into the lives of new brothers.  They came with nothing and received the riches of God’s grace.

From the moment we arrived I was encouraged to join in.  There was no room for passengers in Walled City meetings.  If you were there, you were there either to be ministered to, or to minister to others.  Joining a small group praying with a young man, I prayed in tongues for him.   Given the language barrier and my lack of experience, I had little idea what to pray for, so entrusting my prayers to the Holy Spirit was the most natural thing in the world to do.

Worshipping together in Walled City

After about an hour, there were about 40 people crammed into the room and the formal part of the meeting began with worship songs.  I knew many of the songs although singing them in Cantonese was a skill which took time to acquire.  The song books had three versions of each song – Chinese characters, English and ‘romanized’ Chinese, where the Cantonese was expressed phonetically in the western alphabet.  After about 30 minutes of worship, there was a bible reading and message which Jackie gave. Then more prayer ministry, with everyone ministering to each other rather than queuing up for the ‘experts’.  It was remarkable. The whole meeting took 2-3 hours but the time flew by.

At the end of my first meeting I was introduced to Deri and Chen (both English helpers at Tai Tam, the First Stage House I was bound for) and Tony, a Chinese brother who was translating for them.  They had a new brother with them too.  He had been coming to Walled City meetings regularly for some time and now he was ready to come into a house and come off drugs.  He was both excited and apprehensive, having tried to come off heroin several times before but always failing.  “This time Jesus help me” he said, in broken English with a nervous smile.  “Before, no Jesus. This time, Jesus.”

Leaving Walled City I found that the sun had set and it was now night-time.  We all ate noodles at one of the street cafes outside Walled City, transferred my luggage to their minibus and began the drive over to Tai Tam.

Deri (left)

Chen was a few years younger than me.  Deri was a few years older and in charge of the First Stage House at Tai Tam.  Most of the ministry leaders at St Stephens Society were women.  This wasn’t some kind of reverse sexism.  It was simply that for the brothers, it was easier to be challenged by a woman than a man.  With men, there was always the risk of an authority clash, and some of our brothers had been senior Triad members who were used to telling others what to do.  They often found it difficult to be told what to do by a man.  Ego and the risk of losing face were high stakes for any self-respecting Chinese man.  Any confrontation with another man could involve someone losing face whereas being challenged by a woman did not carry such risks, especially if done with a smile.  In time I learned that male helpers like me had to be twice as gentle as women to gain trust and respect, which was completely counter-intuitive to my 25 year-old male macho mind!

We drove through the Cross Harbour Tunnel to Hong Kong Island and along the coastal highway past Causeway Bay, Tai Koo Shing, and on to Chai Wan.  There the multi-lane dual carriageway and the street lighting ended and we climbed the twisting road into the mountains. As we started to go down the other side I could see reservoirs glinting in the moonlight and shortly after crossing a dam wall, turned off onto a single track road down to sea level again.

We arrived at the Tai Tam around 10pm and all was quiet apart from the noise of the crickets. With the sea on one side, and jungle on the other, this wasn’t quite what I had imagined for life in Hong Kong.  This was to be my new home.

Click here for part 26 - Tai Tam

Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line

Touch Down

Crossing the Line - part 24 

Flying into Hong Kong in the 1980’s was always a striking introduction to the colony.

The only airport was Kai Tak whose runway was a narrow strip of concrete built out into Victoria Harbour.

If the wind was from the South or East, the pilot would, quite literally aim the plane at a large orange and white chequerboard painted onto a cliff.  The automatic landing system would guide the aeroplane directly  towards this rock face until the plane reached an altitude of little more than 500 feet, at which point the pilot had to take manual control, bank sharply to the right and look for the runway.  Having located the finger of land jutting out into the sea, the pilot would then have less than 30 seconds to line up with the runway, level the wings and touchdown.  Passengers on the right hand side of the plane could, quite literally see people eating rice or noodles or watching television in apartment blocks as the plane banked over.

For my first flight into Hong Kong the wind was blowing the other direction so I was spared this.  Landing from the ocean side was not without excitement though, as the only thing passengers could see beneath the plane was sea until the very last second before touchdown, when the runway finally came into view and the wheels hit the concrete.  While I was in Hong Kong, one China Airlines plane landed in a squall from this direction and slid off the runway into the harbour.  Flying into Hong Kong was regarded as one of the most challenging airports in the world for pilots until it was replaced by a new one in 1998.

It was a warm and sunny winter’s day when I flew into Kai Tak with my luggage and guitar.

Joining Jackie Pullinger’s work at St Stephen’s Society was a great honour, and I knew that there would be challenging times ahead.  The most prominent part of their ministry was with heroin addicts in the British colony, of whom there were many thousands but St Stephen’s Society also worked with all the poor of Hong Kong.  They fed the street-sleepers and set prostitutes free, providing men and women with a home, food and hope through practical ministry, prayer and a church where everyone was welcome.

The week before I arrived, they held a lunch for street sleepers and catered for 300.  When the time came, more than double that number arrived and the kitchen were more than a little worried.  There was nothing they could do with the food – they had already prepared everything that they had.  So they prayed and started to serve the food to the waiting crowd.  In a scene reminiscent of the feeding of the 5,000 everyone was fed and they ended up with plenty left over.

For those who don’t know, Hong Kong was established as a British Colony specifically to support the trade in opium during the Opium Wars of the 19^th Century.  British trading companies shipped in opium from India to sell in Canton and when the Emperor reacted to the enslaving of their people into drug addiction by banning the trade, Britain went to war to defend it. After winning the 1st Opium War, the treaties which followed ceded Hong Kong Island and then the Kowloon peninsula to Britain in perpetuity as a military base from which we could further our greed and protect our colonial drug dealers.  In 1898, the New Territories were added on a 99 year lease, including over 200 islands and expanding the colony to over five times its original size.  Not exactly a glorious part of British history.

Jackie Pullinger had already been in Hong Kong for 20 years and the strategy for heroin addicts was simple.  Introduce heroin addicts to Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit; then pray them off heroin and help them build a new life.  Over the years Jackie had seen many heroin addicts come off heroin by concentrated prayer and the healing power of the Holy Spirit without the usual pain or cravings which withdrawal brings.

Their outreach at that time was focused on the Walled City, a lawless anomaly which housed around 50,000 people in a little over 6 acres and was run by various Triad gangs (China’s version of the mafia).  Until the treaty was completed between the UK and China for the handing back of Hong Kong to China in 1997, neither side governed the enclave.  Diplomatically it was still part of China and so any police action there would have been seen as an act of aggression by China.  The ancient walls had long gone, replaced by precarious blocks of flats up to 12 floors high which leaned together at the top like a house of cards.  In the legal vacuum, the Triads flourished and it became a mecca for drug dens, brothels and gambling, as well as unregistered doctors, dentists and those fleeing the law.  Jackie lived in Walled City and had a small meeting room which provided a place for prayer, worship and hope every Wednesday and Saturday.

Beyond that, there were two ‘Frist Stage Houses’ in more rural areas of Hong Kong where addicts came to withdraw from heroin and lived for several months, growing in their new lives as Christians. When ready, they then went to Hang Fook Camp which housed the main base for the ministry and where the church met for Sunday Services.  Here ex-addicts would work out what to do with their lives; find work, return to their families, or join the continuing ministry of St Stephens.

I was met at the airport by two western helpers from St Stephen’s Society.  They had big smiles on their faces and made me feel welcome.  We put my luggage in the van and they drove me through the busy Hong Kong streets to Hang Fook Camp for my introduction into life and work there. 

The camp was a former refugee camp for Vietnamese boat people.  It consisted of rows of wooden huts with metal roofs, a makeshift sanitation system, together with a large central kitchen and meeting place.  When the mass-migration from Vietnam started to slow, the camp was no longer needed for refugees and the Hong Kong government offered it to Jackie for her work with heroin addicts and the poor.  It was located in Cheung Sha Wan, a mixed industrial and residential area in Kowloon and it became a focal point for Jackie’s ministry.  Her church met there on Sundays and the kitchens produced food for both residents and street sleepers.  In addition to providing accommodation to a community of around 100 people, there was a small T-shirt factory where some of the brothers worked, a vegetable garden, sports area, and the office for St Stephen’s Society.

Arriving at the camp, I met Jackie almost immediately – by coincidence not design.  I don’t know who was more taken aback.  For my part, I was in awe of her.  For hers, she saw my long hair first, and was worried.  Long hair on men was not an acceptable part of Chinese male culture then and as I learned later, could provoke irrational negative reactions among the brothers.  After a brief conversation however, she concluded that I would be OK.  Apparently, there was something in my eyes.

It was now early evening and I joined the community for food, eaten together around large communal tables with rice and various communal dishes shared and devoured at speed, particularly for a chop-stick novice.  I met some of the brothers (ex-addicts) and tried to understand snippets of conversation where I could.  Then I spent a while playing guitar with John To (who later married Jackie).  John had come off heroin some years ago and was the main worship leader for the camp and church. He wasn’t that impressed with my guitar skills, but then I had a lot to learn and I knew it.  Worship songs flowed at Hang Fook Camp in an effortless way which required both spiritual discernment and the musical ability to move from one song to another without written music in front of you to tell you what to do.  Although I was ok at playing guitar with music, this was beyond me and I wasn’t at my best after the long journey.  Later in the year we would lead worship together every other Sunday but that’s another story.

Around 9pm, I was shown to a bunk bed in the huts and advised to get some sleep for the next day, but I couldn’t sleep.  I was far too excited and jet lag hadn’t hit me yet.

By 10pm I had got dressed again, left the camp and began to walk.  Heading back towards the Kowloon peninsula I walked the 3 miles to the Star Ferry opposite Hong Kong Island, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of this new continent.  I was mesmerised.  Everything was different.  The huge housing blocks, the flyovers, the street vendors and street sleepers in their box-homes under bridges and roads; the lights, the skyscrapers, the constant sound of traffic, ships and people, even in the early hours.  It was intoxicating.  As I stood at the end of the Star Ferry pier, I could see Hong Kong’s spectacular skyline across the water and feel the warm breeze of the ocean.

Arriving back at Hang Fook Camp about 3am, I finally got some sleep.

I don’t really know what I expected for the following day.  Perhaps a gentle introduction to routine life in camp?  Perhaps a few days to acclimatise?  I certainly didn’t expect to be entrusted with anything significant for a while.  I was a novice rookie in a brave new world.

What I didn’t expect was to be thrown in at the deep end.

Bobby at Hang Fook Camp

That morning, Bobby was assigned as my mentor for the day.  He was a lovely, gentle American with a wicked sense of humour who had served in Vietnam during the war and had been with St Stephens Society for some time.  He introduced himself and took me out to brunch at the American Café on Hong Kong Island.  He showed me how to use the MTR (Hong Kong’s underground) and told me the plan. 

I wasn’t going to stay at Hang Fook Camp.  I had been assigned to live and work at Tai Tam – the first stage house on the far side of Hong Kong Island.  To get there, I would be going to the Walled City meeting that afternoon where I would meet Deri who was in charge of Tai Tam, and then travel back with her and a new brother.

Now I was amazed.  The first stage houses were where new bothers came off heroin with nothing but prayer for support.  Along with Walled City, they were the sharp end of the ministry.  What were they doing, letting a rookie like me anywhere near this hallowed ground?  Bobby just smiled and said “You’ll be fine.”

After going back to Hang Fook Camp to collect my guitar and luggage, Bobby drove me to Walled City for the meeting.  I saw the blocks of concrete flats leaning together at the top because they had no foundations.  I saw the darkened alleyways which acted as gateways and streets.

Less than 24 hours after landing, I was led into one of the most notorious places on earth.  There was no going back now.

Click here for part 25 - Walled City

Click here for an introduction to Crossing the Line

Healed to Pray

Part 2 of the amazing things God did during my recent trip to Hong Kong for a celebration of Jackie Pullinger’s ministry.

Jackie’s Jubilee celebrations were a joy and a delight.  It was almost 30 years since I was a helper at St Stephen’s Society and yet as I walked into the worship marquee on the site of the old Walled City, the sense of praise and worship was just as strong, just a vibrant as all those years ago.

God did some amazing things in me during the weekend.  I have already written about one strand, but there was more.  Another special thing God did, was to heal me of a deep scar which had been inhibiting my Christian life and ministry for over a decade.

Thirteen years ago, when I was a vicar in Brixton, London, my wife Mel suffered a horrific road accident.  She was dragged under the wheels of an 18-ton truck while riding her bicycle and when the truck came to a stop, her pelvis was shattered, half of one thigh was missing and she had huge wounds.

Mel was blessed to survive for which we thank God, but the accident led to months and months in hospital, scores of operations, and immense pain.  Even with all the medical technology available, it took 3 years for her wounds to finally close, with painful daily dressings, procedures, and infections all adding to her agony.

For me it was almost unbearable, to watch her going through such pain. Even when maxed out on morphine and other pain relief, the pain was more than she could bear.  So I sat with her, holding her hand and praying for God to take away (or just reduce) the pain.  I did this day after day, week after week, month after month.  Around the UK, hundreds of people were also praying for the same thing. I don’t know why, but our prayers were not answered.  Her agony continued unabated.

The effect of this on my faith is hard to express.  In Hong Kong thirty year ago, I had prayed every day for new brothers coming off heroin and I had seen God do wonderful things.  After a while I had to remind myself that we were seeing miracles almost every day as God took away their pain and suffering.  Yet now, for the person who I loved more than anyone else in the world, those prayers went unanswered.

As the weeks and months rolled on, a kind of fatigue set in.  It became harder and harder to pray for healing, until one day I realised that I couldn’t minister to people in prayer anymore. I could say prayers for them – but I couldn’t minister to others in prayer like I did before.

As a vicar, this was really difficult.  People often ask vicars for prayer for all kinds of different things.  Before Mel’s accident I would instinctively say “Right – lets pray then!” and spend time with them, seeking God and ministering in the Holy Spirit.  Sometimes I saw God act directly, sometimes not, but now I found myself unable to do that anymore.  I was even frightened of people asking me for prayer.  If they did, I would often promise to remember them in my prayers, and even say a short prayer, but there was no expectation – it had all been drained away.  I knew this wasn’t right.  It was like a dark cold wall cutting a part of me off from God and the ministry he had called me to.

Walled City before its demolition

So as I came back to Hong Kong for Jackie’s Jubilee, I came with both hope and fear. 

Hopeful that God would do something in me but fearful that he wouldn’t, that the dark cold wall would remain.

Over the weekend a wonderful thing happened.  In the praise and worship, in the prayer ministry I received and in the profound sense of God’s presence there, God melted that cold dark wall.  I didn’t even realise it was happening at first, but by the second day, I remembered the principle we were always encouraged to embrace at St Stephen's Society.  If you aren’t receiving ministry, go look for someone else who needs ministry and pray with them.

After so many years of not being able to pray for others, I suddenly realised that I was ministering to others again.  I was laying my hands on them, and expecting God to speak and act.  I had my eyes open again, looking for what God was doing.  I was listening for God’s prompting again.  I couldn’t believe it and tears of gratitude came to my eyes.

Walled City Park today

God melted my cold dark wall of pain on the site of the old Walled City.

I still don’t know why my prayers for Mel went unanswered.  I am not sure that I ever will.  But I know that God’s love has set me free from needing to know and from the paralysing scar which had become a part of me.

On the last day of the Jubilee, I sensed God wanted to speak to me, and I wrote down these words.

You thought that you had lost, but in fact, you have won.

You have come through the fire

and you have stood fast in the days of darkness.

Now my refining fire comes to cleanse and heal you;

not to burn you, but to bring out your inner beauty

and enable you to shine with my glory.

You are my child, and I am your Father.

To God be the glory.

(Part 1 can be found here)