Old Pastor and Local Bureaucrats: Recasting Church-State Relations in Contemporary China

Theoretical Considerations

Partly because of the tension between the state and Christianity in the Maoist era, some scholars overemphasize state dominance and how churches, through avoidance or defiance, resist the state (Kindopp, 2004; Wenger, 2004; Zhao and Zhuang, 1997). Such studies are often inclined to view the Three-Self structure as a governing tool of an overly restrictive regime (e.g., Koesel, 2014: 45–47; Fenggang Yang, 2012: 81–82). Similarly, the religious revival in reform-era China is often regarded as a response to the repressive measures of the Maoist state (Fenggang Yang, 2012). Both of these paradigms overlook the fact that religious groups and the state enjoy many areas of common interest and are not simply entrenched on opposite sides of religious issues. Recently, a growing number of scholars have realized that such an approach fails to capture the social complexity of the religious dynamics in the country and that it oversimplifies the complicated interactions between multiple actors, especially at the local levels. There is a growing consensus that religion in reform-era China cannot be properly understood unless the dichotomous approach is buttressed with greater local-level analysis and an acknowledgment that dominance and resistance are not the only actions in church-state relations (Ashiwa and Wank, 2009; Cao, 2010; Huang, 2014; Koesel, 2014; Liu, 2017; McLeister, 2012; Palmer, 2009; Vala, 2018; Ying, 2003).

Of particular relevance to our study is Yoshiko Ashiwa and David Wank’s (2006) analysis of local religion/state interaction at a Buddhist temple in Xiamen. Borrowing from research on social organizations 社团, Ashiwa and Wank suggest that religious groups, like other organizations, have leaders that are “amphibious” (Ding, 1994) in that they are connected to state organs but also are loyal to their constituents and lobby on their behalf. David Palmer’s (2009) framing of religious affairs management as an institutionalized danwei 单位 is helpful, but, as he and Vincent Goossaert readily acknowledge, the institutional logic is “negotiated through the guanxi culture of relationship management, which pervades religious institutions as much as any secular institution” (Goossaert and Palmer, 2011: 319).

While this article centers on the negotiations that occur between church leaders and local officials, it is important to acknowledge at the outset that the background of religious-state relationships is an unequal distribution of power. The interactions between religious leaders and local cadres exist beneath the canopy of state transcendence, but this does not mean that the networking of the church and state should only be viewed through the paradigm of state power. We in no way hope to be apologists for government intervention in or control of religious life in China, but we think the conversation should move beyond a sole, or even primary, focus on governing from above, often framed as repression. It should be recognized that churches (and other religious groups) have resources to offer the state, such as stability, loyalty, and a moral community, to name a few. The power between the two sides is imbalanced, but it is not only in the hands of the state.

Liang Yongjia (2013) refers to the preeminence of the Chinese state involvement in religious affairs as “hierarchical pluralism” in which the state assumes a religious identity that hovers above other, subservient religious groups. Regardless of whether or not state power and claims can be classified as religious, the idea of state transcendence is useful, but discourse on religion-state interaction should not stop at this level. It should also include the possibility of things such as personal relationships, or what we refer to as “negotiating capital,” being able to influence discussions between church and state, especially at local levels. Bourdieu’s (1986) influential analysis of social and cultural capital focuses on how these can be converted from economic capital (and vice versa) and how this creates and affirms distinction in a society. Our use of “capital” in this article differs in that we are not concerned with Pastor Wen’s social status and his economic capital is very limited. What we hope to show, though, is that church leaders often accumulate various forms of capital, including social and cultural capital, but also spiritual and political capital that can be amalgamated and converted into negotiating capital, or a sum of the resources they bring to the table in interacting with local officials. In this article, then, we take the nation-state’s dominance over religion as a given, but we hope to further the discussion on church-state relations by analyzing how local officials and church leaders may interact at lower levels and how church leaders’ negotiating capital can influence policy implementation.

The Three-Self Patriotic Movement (TSPM) developed the missionary-inspired three-self (self-managed, self-propagating, and self-funded) ideology into a formal organization in the 1950s. Since the reopening of churches in the reform era, the TSPM has worked with the China Christian Council (CCC) in developing and managing registered churches. Together, the TSPM and CCC are often referred to as the lianghui 两会, or “two committees,” and are largely responsible for dealing with local, provincial, and national Religious Affairs authorities. The state approval bestowed upon Three-Self churches offers legitimacy to registered congregations, but equally important is that by endorsing such groups, the state is encouraging dialogue, even negotiations between authorities and the church (Dunch, 2008: 156). Such legitimization occurs not only at an institutional level but also personally by the individuals involved. Church leaders, at times, increase their personal prestige and social capital through their connections to officials, and dealings with local leaders mean that they are not just spiritual leaders of congregations but also managers of the church in a more general sense.

Legitimization, however, is a two-way street. P. Steven Sangren (2000: chap. 3) has shown how official recognition of a temple enhances the status of the site, but also reaffirms the state’s rights to proffer such recognition. By displaying an official plaque from the state, temples acknowledge the state’s authority to give such a plaque. In his research on the revival of a Black Dragon King temple in northern Shaanxi, Adam Chau (2005) describes how a religious leader developed strategies, such as a reforestation project and establishing a primary school, in order to obtain official Daoist endorsement and status as a “cultural treasure.” Such recognition is also true for churches, which offer the state legitimacy simply by interacting with officials. Any analysis that highlights state cooptation of religion without acknowledging the reverse is one-sided and most likely a reflection of the author’s own biases (Ashiwa and Wank, 2009: 4).

Decisions from local governing officials are more likely to overlap with the interests of religious groups when officials are members of “solidary groups.” Lily Tsai (2007) explains that when officials are both bureaucrats and members of a specific community, such as a lineage group or religious network, they are more likely to act in the interest of the community as a whole even in the absence of democratic checks on their authority. Tsai further argues that when formal accountability is weak, “it is the groups that embed government officials that have a positive impact on local government performance, not the groups that are autonomous from the state” (2007: 17). In terms of the Protestant church, Carsten Vala (2009) provides an interesting example of a seminary student in China’s northeast who, after finishing her theological studies, found a position in her local RAB as a cadre. After two decades of working with religious groups on the state side, she left her position and was ordained as a pastor in a registered church. In such a scenario, we can expect that relationships with church members before taking a position in the RAB were not severed because of her job as a government official just as connections to her colleagues in the RAB were most likely not broken after becoming a pastor. Local RAB leaders are not typically church members, but they often know church members or may have relatives that are Christian and thus they are commonly linked to congregations not only through their role as representatives of the state, but also through their social networks. ²

Linliang Qian’s recent research on religious beliefs of workers, including bureaucrats, at a state-run orphanage in Zhejiang reminds us that state officials are also “ordinary Chinese people” (2016: 91). This reminder is also evident in Huang Shu-min’s (1989) ethnographic account of a village party secretary in The Spiral Road. The belief in and reliance on fengshui by Party Secretary Ye, the main character in Huang’s account, shows how local representatives of the party-state are also citizens embedded in local structures and traditions, even though they are meant to reflect and enact state policies regarding religion.

One point we hope to demonstrate in our discussion of Pastor Wen is that as the church becomes embedded into the local state, a process we argue is bilateral, space for religious activity actually increases. That is, at least to some degree the closer the church is to the state, the less the state is concerned about the church and the more freedom it has. Party-state anxiety regarding defiant or underground groups translates into greater flexibility in religious policy implementation at the local level for communities that offer, at least ostensibly, compliance. Liang (2013: 66) demonstrates how religious groups’ deference to the state can result in greater freedom in the example of a monk visiting a low-level police station near Dali, Yunnan, just before the local temple held an annual festival. This nod to the authorities’ power helped ensure that the local police would not interfere in the religious activities planned by the temple. Similarly, many Protestant church leaders are adept at navigating connections to official organs in ways that enlarge religious space and benefit the church’s interests. This is often accomplished through the superficial adoption of state concerns. For example, a major concern that local officials have with church activities is safety, specifically preventing fires or other potential disasters (Huang, 2014). Such a calamity would not only be detrimental to residents and the city in general, it could also spell the end of officials’ careers. Church leaders are aware this is a concern and when interacting with the state, frame their requests as promoting safety. One church leader near Xiamen hoped to build a parking lot on the church property. The church owned the land, but the path leading to the lot was too narrow for cars. The preacher emphasized the potential risks of having a gathering of hundreds of church members without being able to exit the church in a timely manner in an emergency. Local leaders are now in the process of widening the path, which will enable the church to use its extra land as a parking lot.

The ability of religious groups to successfully navigate bureaucratic mazes through the use of personal connections and social networks is often dependent on respected individual religious leaders. Chau (2011: 9) describes such individuals as nengren 能人, persons capable of making things happen. His description of Lao Wang, the temple boss involved in the revival of a Black Dragon King Temple, is an apt example of a religious leader skillful at interacting with state bureaucracy (2006). Stephen Feuchtwang and Wang Mingming (2001) provide case studies of religious leaders with charisma who have had success in negotiating with the state while also accruing influence within local religious communities. Many such individuals have experience working with bureaucrats, either in previous business dealings or as retired bureaucrats themselves. However, there is often an assumption inherent in contemporary analysis of Chinese religions that Muslim, Catholic, and Protestant groups are not as close to governing authorities as Buddhist, Daoist, or what may be termed folk religious groups (Koesel, 2014: 8, 115). It is true that religions that have historically (recent history, that is) had close connections to overseas religious groups, like Muslims and Christians, incite greater official suspicions, but at the local level, this does not necessarily preclude such groups from developing sustained relationships that focus not on control, but rather cooperation. Cao Nanlai’s (2010) research on “boss Christians” as “resourceful negotiating agents” in Wenzhou churches shows that Protestants are also adept at cultivating relationships and traversing the bureaucratic landscape. However, the subject of much of Cao’s research is church members who have status with local leaders largely because of their economic success and the fame of the “Wenzhou model” promoted by the reformist state. The Wenzhou boss Christians are courted by bureaucrats because they are “bosses,” not because they are Christians.

Pastor Wen, on the other hand, has attained his status through his position in the church, where he has proven himself to be a charismatic nengren through guiding his congregation and the larger Christian community in Xiamen to increased independence for the church. Soon after the reopening of Grace Church in 1979, Pastor Wen courageously resumed Sunday school classes for children. This was in the early 1980s and churches in the region were loath to challenge the state policy mandating that children should not receive religious instruction in churches. ³ When RAB leaders brought this up to Pastor Wen and criticized the Sunday school classes, he simply replied that he was merely trying to keep order and stability during church services. Allowing children to run around the sanctuary would make for luan 乱, or chaotic, services. By framing the Sunday school classes as preventing luan, Pastor Wen appealed to the greatest concern of RAB officials, stability. The ability of Pastor Wen to successfully resolve issues with the state in favor of the church has endeared him to the Grace congregation where he is respectfully referred to as “Old Pastor” 老牧师. More than a reference to his age, such a title reflects his leadership positions within the Xiamen Christian community and his overall experience in dealing with the state. Pastor Wen’s interaction with the state, however, has not always been positive, but as outlined in the following section, his experience is integral to his social connections in the church and with the state.

Background on Old Pastor

Born into a Christian family in Xiamen in 1930, Pastor Wen has served in the church for most of his life. His fate was doomed to be intertwined with the country’s political and social changes. When the People’s Republic of China (PRC) was founded, Wen, at the age of nineteen, worked as an apprentice in his uncle’s dental clinic. He actively volunteered at the Xiaoxi Church in rural Pinghe county, being placed in charge of the youth fellowship and choir. During the initial months of the new nation, church members in Pinghe were still cheering the long-awaited peace, unaware of the forthcoming suffering. There was no sign of harassment of Christianity until the sudden arrest of five church members in 1950. Among these five people, one was a pastor and others included a school principal and elders and deacons. The morning following the arrest of these Christian leaders, all of them were executed for “collaboration and counterrevolution” 通敌反革命. ⁴ Subsequently, Xiaoxi Church was raided by public security authorities and forced to close. As the church was shut, Wen went to the countryside to lead house worship. He was so young and inexperienced in preaching that, in his words, all he could do was teach the peasants to read the Bible and sing hymns. “Thanks to my inability to preach,” Wen smiled and explained, “I was not arrested for counterrevolution. Even though I was later told that there were two plainclothes policemen following me.”

In 1953, Yanjing Theological Seminary and Nanjing Theological Seminary held entrance examinations. Wen was eager to study at Yanjing, which, according to him, was more “spiritual” than Nanjing, but he was not able to afford the transportation, tuition, and living expenses. Fortunately, he met Zhang Hanqing 张翰卿 (1903–1992), then a pastor of Grace Church, located in a small community adjacent to the urban district of Xiamen. The elder pastor appreciated this young preacher who was serving in Zhang’s hometown of Pinghe, and his dedication to the church in such tough times in particular. On Zhang’s recommendation, Grace Church agreed to sponsor Wen’s theological education on condition that he serve Grace in return after graduation. With this sponsorship, Wen finished his study at Yanjing and returned to Xiamen in 1956.

It was this same year that Mao Zedong and the Communist Party launched the Hundred Flowers Campaign, encouraging “New China’s” citizens to openly express their opinions on the newborn regime. After this brief period of liberalism, Mao abruptly changed course, initiating a crackdown that continued through 1957 with an Anti-Rightist Campaign against those who were critical of the party’s regime and its ideology. It was under these political circumstances that Wen started his preaching service in Grace Church. In the early years of Communist rule, harassment of Christianity and Christians nationwide aroused a great deal of fear. Inspired by Mao’s urging, religious figures vented their anger and complaints. Wen complained bitterly that the freedom of religious belief that was stipulated in the constitution was in fact a useless flower vase. He advocated that the wrongly killed should be immediately rehabilitated. In addition, he contended that because of state policies the prospect of developing the church through the congregation’s youth was bleak. Wen complained that the youth were frequently mobilized to participate in agricultural production on Sundays, so they could not keep the Sabbath. Additionally, the authorities encouraged young Christians who behaved extraordinarily well to join the Communist Youth League or the party. While those who refused such offers were regarded as politically backward, those who were recruited to the political organizations were required to recant their Christian faith. Finally, those who wanted to enter college needed to specify their religious background in political censorship procedures, which tended to reject Christians.

Wen’s criticisms put him in a difficult situation and when the political tide suddenly shifted, he was denounced as a Rightist. In the spring of 1958, over the course of a month, the Xiamen TSPM criticized Wen in the name of “consolidating a patriotic front” 巩固爱国阵线. Xiamen Daily published an article targeting Wen’s “anti-Party fallacy” 反党谬论, stating “[Wen] is opposed to the religious sector’s acceptance of the party’s leadership. He spreads his fallacy that atheists cannot understand religion and will find it difficult to lead the religious sector” (Xiamen ribao, 1958). For such transgressions, Wen was sent to the countryside to receive “reform through labor” (laodong gaizao 劳动改造, or laogai 劳改 for short) where he was forced to participate in different infrastructural construction projects, such as a railway, highway, saltworks, and reservoir. During the Cultural Revolution, Wen again was singled out, being paraded through the streets wearing a tall dunce hat and a wooden placard hung round his neck, inscribed with phrases “running dog of the American imperialists” 美帝国主义走狗 and “ox ghost and snake spirit” 牛鬼蛇神. However, during this time Wen did not cease his Christian activities: at the risk of further persecution, he preserved Bibles, circulating them among fellow believers, and organized secret family gatherings at night. In May 1979, his status was finally redressed as the “rightist” label was taken away. Wen’s experiences during the first three decades of the PRC are extremely important for explaining the credibility he has amassed within the Christian community. Because of his early work in rural districts, and even more so the sufferings he experienced for his faith and his clandestine activities during the Cultural Revolution, topics he frequently speaks on from the pulpit, Pastor Wen gained a high level of respect, which naturally converted into a large amount of spiritual capital within the local Christian community.

Old Pastor’s influence within the Xiamen Christian community partly originated from his 22 years of suffering, a common theme found in many studies of China’s Christian communities. Richard Madsen (1998) and Henrietta Harrison (2013), in their research on North China’s Catholics, point out the centrality of the virtue of loyalty to the faith in the moral imagination of Catholics. As they each show, many who uncompromisingly opposed the political regime during harsh political circumstances naturally claimed moral superiority. Alan Hunter and Kim-Kwong Chan (1993) provide similar findings, showing that some Protestants believe they received more blessings from the Holy Spirit than others because they suffered more. This notion has encouraged some to break government regulations because of a strong sense of spiritual superiority or a martyr complex. Unlike the experiences of church leaders in the aforementioned studies, the suffering experienced by Old Pastor did not lead to his opposition to the secular regime; in contrast, it actually provided a platform to actively interact with government officials and allowed him to seek more space for the church. Pastor Wen’s background is not only known to the Christian community but is also familiar to local bureaucrats. His perseverance and faith during an era which even the state admits was overly harsh has garnered respect from local cadres as well as Christians. The fact that he has decided to work with a new generation of representatives of the state has further elevated Pastor Wen’s status in the eyes of Religious Affairs bureaucrats.

Both Old Pastor’s education and suffering during the Maoist era have resulted in greater negotiating capital in the eyes of both the church and the local state. At the end of the Cultural Revolution, due to the decades of interruption in theological education and pastoral training, the church community in Xiamen, as elsewhere in China, had a shortage of trained clergy. Wen’s orthodox education and previous experience as a preacher endowed him with an opportunity and sense of responsibility to revive Grace Church and Christianity in Xiamen after 1979. His social relations with the government and other church communities within and outside China have also been instrumental over the past decades. The merging of Old Pastor’s cultural, social, and spiritual capital produced political capital as he began to serve in official leadership positions in the lianghui and local government. Wen first took the position of secretary general of the Xiamen TSPM in 1988 and was promoted to the vice-chairman of the Xiamen TSPM and vice-president of the Xiamen Christian Council in 1993. He later held leading positions in lianghui organizations at both prefectural and provincial levels and this enabled his wider participation in church affairs. In the 1990s, he was even placed on the standing committee of the Xiamen Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) and selected as a deputy of the people’s congress of his district.

Old Pastor’s Political Tactics

As Deng Xiaoping rose to power over the party and the state, China embarked on an era of “reform and opening” which included the gradual reopening of churches throughout the country. At the same time, those who were wronged began to receive redress. After being “reformed” for 22 years, Wen resumed his church work in 1979. His two decades of misfortune during the political unrest furnished him with experience in dealing with authorities and made him a resourceful representative of the Xiamen church. “As shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves” has been an oft-quoted phrase by Old Pastor. ⁵ He insists that church members need to master tactics to deal with government officials; confrontation is not always the best option. Instead of avoiding contact with people of official backgrounds, as he attempted to do in the Maoist era, Wen actively cultivates good relationships with the government.

In discussing how he deals with local bureaucrats, Pastor Wen summarized one of his tactics as presenting officials with a fait accompli, a strategy interestingly enough suggested by a local RAB leader. At the beginning of this century, Grace Church started to establish branch meeting points in other sections of the city. Banyan Village, a fishing village near the main university, was targeted as a site to develop a new congregation. Under current regulations, constructing a new church is a very complicated ordeal. Before the ground was broken, believers needed to get approval for a “venue for religious activities” 宗教活动场所, first from the lianghui and then from the RAB at both the prefectural and provincial levels. In order to avoid some of these cumbersome steps, Grace leadership decided to first establish a meeting point—a congregation of believers, but not a church building. However, even this would require permission from prefectural authorities. Old Pastor consulted with the director of the Xiamen RAB in private. Instead of straightforwardly responding to Wen’s request, the Religious Affairs official told him the following short story:

There was a person who found rat holes in his house. It happened that his neighbor was constructing a new house. He then asked a mason working at his neighbor’s house for cement in order to plug the rat holes. His direct request put the worker in an awkward position. The mason said: “What am I supposed to answer you? You should have just taken some without letting me know. Since you have asked me for the cement, I’ll have to ask my boss for permission.”

Through this story, the Communist cadre implicitly indicated that Pastor Wen could carry out his plans without prior report. “It was an inspiration,” Wen explained. He realized that local officials would prefer to consciously overlook most church activities. In general, RAB cadres tend to avoid confrontation with the churches as long as church activities do not harm their political future. Therefore, in the absence of written reports, officials are happy to pretend to not know about particular affairs. Such plausible deniability is often key to officials’ support of measures favorable to churches. When local officials employ extralegal measures in their management of Christianity in China, it is often assumed that such tactics are hostile or repressive. Many a time they are. However, church-state interactions at the local level may also enhance religious space when officials employ flexibility in their oversight of church groups. Extralegal measures may benefit churches and religious believers, just as they may limit them. Several years later, after Banyan Village developed a congregation of over 200 young people, Wen approached the official again, explaining that “cooked rice cannot be uncooked” 生米煮成熟饭—what’s done cannot be undone. The official was cooperative and happy to consent to the proposal to build a church.

This is an interesting incident not simply because RAB officials practiced what Robert Weller (2012) has termed “blind-eye governance” in dealing with Pastor Wen’s initial plans for a new congregation, but also because of the support given by RAB leaders in dealing with other government departments. Much of the analysis of church-state relations in China fails to recognize that churches do not deal with “the government” as a monolithic whole, but rather with particular branches and specific individuals in various departments. It is important when discussing church-state relations on a more micro level that the local state is not reified as a homogenous group. In dealing with religion, the state, as a collection of agencies and individual agents, acts not only upon religious groups but also upon itself. Chau (2006: 238) refers to the simultaneous interaction with various state agencies as “channeling,” in which we can imagine linkages like tubes between the church and different government offices. However, we should also add to this metaphor that various departments within the local state are also connected through such channels and the tubes linking local state offices are often much more effective than those leading indirectly to the church.

A specific example may help illustrate this point. After receiving permission from local RAB authorities to proceed with plans for the new Banyan Village church, the city’s Construction Bureau intervened, requiring a barrage of documentation to be submitted and numerous hoops to be jumped through. It is common that in constructing a new church, especially in urban areas, permission is not simply given by the local RAB, but urban planning and construction bureaus are also involved, as may be other government agencies. Each government office would normally present its own requirements and approval for such a project could easily be held up at any point in the process, as was the case with the Banyan Village church when the Construction Bureau stalled the plans to erect a church building. ⁶ Other religious groups have successfully navigated these restrictions by bypassing the RAB and registering their building with another government bureau. Yang Der-Ruey (2012), for instance, details how a fully functioning Daoist “temple” in Jiangsu registered directly with the Bureau of Cultural Heritage Preservation instead of as a site for religious activities, though this is what it actually is. There are fewer creative options for Christians hoping to register functioning churches under the guise of tourism or heritage like some Daoist and Buddhist temples have done. Instead of trying to bypass the RAB to build the Banyan Village church, it was at this juncture that cadres from the bureau came to the defense of the church and negotiated with the Construction Bureau, helping to pave the way for Old Pastor and Grace Church to obtain the necessary approval to begin construction.

The support from local RAB officials in the face of challenges presented by the local Construction Bureau points to the good relationship Pastor Wen has with the RAB, but also may reflect an intra-governmental flexing of muscles. In general, officials in the RAB have rather limited status in the bureaucratic pantheon. Working within a local RAB would not be an attractive position for a bureaucrat hoping to move up the ranks of governing as such cadres often have little influence outside of their restricted sphere of governance and are given few opportunities for career development (Ashiwa and Wank, 2006: 345n13; Hunter and Chan, 1993: 54; Sun, 2017: 1697–98; Vala, 2018: 43). Such positions are normally assigned by local governments, not the national RAB (referred to as SARA—State Administration for Religious Affairs—at the national level) or United Front departments, resulting in these cadres feeling more accountable to local administrators and leading to a less centralized and more variegated application of religious policy (Goossaert and Palmer, 2011: 329). In the early years of the reform era, bureaucrats staffing local RABs were commonly demobilized soldiers with little knowledge of the religions they were tasked with overseeing (Ashiwa and Wank, 2006: 344). As a result, according to Kim-Kwong Chan and Eric Carlson (2005: 7), religious persecution tended to occur at the lower levels of government where “cadres often lack professional knowledge on religion and religious policy.” This gradually changed over the following decades as better-trained officials increasingly staffed RAB offices (Chan and Carlson, 2005: 7–8). During a recent celebration marking the eightieth anniversary of Grace Church, a local RAB cadre was asked to share a few remarks on stage. The church was packed with members and representatives from other local congregations as the official gave a short speech peppered with Christian terminology. During his talk, which was about five minutes long, this official, who had been educated in religious studies at Peking University, quoted scripture, talking about “spiritual food,” “fragrant manna,” and Christians being “salt and light” in the local society (Liu, 2017: 93–94).

One could explain some of the government control, even periodic repression of religious groups at local levels, as a display of power by generally weak RAB bureaucrats. However, another way RAB officials may wield their limited clout could be in support of religious groups. For instance, in the intra-governmental interaction in the Banyan Village church case, the local RAB demonstrated strength not by limiting church activities, but through supporting these in the face of bureaucratic challenges from other government offices. As an interviewed cadre explained, when Old Pastor and the Protestant community were faced with the threat of losing an old Christian cemetery (discussed below), officials from the RAB assisted with securing the appropriate paperwork. According to this official, “The RAB stands on the side of protecting the rights of religious groups.” Palmer (2009: 21) echoes this self-assessment when he explains that “within the government [RAB officials] see themselves (or are seen) as defenders of religious interests.” While this is, of course, not the only mandate of the party-state’s Religious Affairs officials, it is part of their responsibilities.

While Old Pastor usually kept church activities low-profile, he once mobilized Christians in a public protest at the risk of outraging municipal leaders. In August 1992 an announcement of a plan to remove part of an old Christian cemetery appeared twice in the Xiamen Daily (Xiamen ribao, 1992a, 1992b). The land was scheduled to be appropriated as part of the community’s expanding subtropical botanical garden. Relatives of the deceased buried in the cemetery were required to claim their ancestors’ remains within fifteen days; those graves that were not claimed would be dealt with as ownerless. The Christian cemetery, with about four hundred graves of pastors and lay believers, means a great deal to the church community. Some of those buried in the cemetery were major figures in the local Christian history. For instance, Ye Hanzhang 叶汉章 (1832–1912), one of the first two Chinese pastors ordained in the Xiamen area (White, 2017: 128–31), and Lu Gangzhang 卢戆章 (1854–1928), pioneer of a romanized writing system for Chinese (Qiu, 1998), were buried in the cemetery. Many descendants of these deceased have emigrated abroad but still have connections with the Xiamen church. Pastor Wen, on behalf of the Xiamen lianghui, petitioned the Xiamen Municipal Government, Xiamen Committee of the CPPCC, the State Administration for Religious Affairs, and even the State Council of the PRC, but to no avail. Ye Zhiming (David Yap), grandson of Ye Hanzhang, published comments critical of this plan in a Chinese-language newspaper in the Philippines. ⁷ As a significant qiaoxiang 侨乡 (villages or districts with the tradition of numerous emigrants) and an early Special Economic Zone, Xiamen hoped to attract investments from overseas Chinese; consequently, the government paid close attention to its image among Chinese abroad, especially in Southeast Asia. A minor official in the Xiamen Office for Overseas Chinese who also happened to be from a Christian family was asked to draft a proposal on handling the issue. This official, unsurprisingly, encouraged planners to spare the cemetery under the pretext of preserving good relations with overseas Chinese.

However, the notice reappeared in Xiamen Daily on January 15, 1993 (Xiamen ribao, 1993). In addition to officially petitioning the municipal leaders, Pastor Wen this time mobilized the congregation of Grace Church to guard the cemetery against sudden demolition. Before this, Wen informed the religious authorities that he would take action to protect the church property. Wen asked people to carry banners which read “Xiamen Christian Cemetery” and arranged for the church’s kitchen to prepare food for the guardians. The Christians’ collective protest was reported to the mayor as a revolt against the Communist Party. When the municipal government contacted the RAB, the director was scared of being punished and blamed Wen for creating so much trouble. The mayor was quite angry, meeting with Wen face to face and severely criticizing the pastor, asking him why he opposed the party and the government. Wen answered that he was opposing the garden’s appropriation of the church property, rather than rebelling against the party and the government. He reminded the mayor that the plan would hurt the feelings of a large number of overseas Chinese and would definitely harm the international image of Xiamen and even the political future of the mayor himself. Finally, after land deeds proving the church’s ownership of the land were recovered (with assistance from the RAB), the municipal government made compromises, agreeing not to requisition the land.

Old Pastor’s tough stance in this event added to his reputation. The challenge for religious leaders who interact with the Chinese state bureaucracy is balancing both vertical and horizontal ties. If the vertical connections, or the linkages with local officials, are perceived as too dependent, the horizontal ties, or the rapport with lay believers, will suffer. ⁸ By standing up to the authorities in the case of the Christian cemetery property, Old Pastor was strengthening his horizontal connections at the risk of his vertical ties. Within the church, Old Pastor’s actions enhanced his spiritual capital, demonstrating his belief that Christ, rather than the state, is the head of the church.

Religious Education and Educating the State

Old Pastor’s seminary training remains an important component of his cultural and spiritual capital. The fact that he attended a reputable seminary allowed him to be accepted by local officials as a qualified religious specialist. Within the church community, his decision to attend Yanjing Theological Seminary was reflective of a desire not to compromise in matters of faith. However, Old Pastor’s connections to theological education extend beyond his own studies. Since its reopening in 1979 Pastor Wen and the church have encouraged and sponsored numerous church members who participated in formal theological studies. This section will discuss the various avenues employed by church members and the methods used to circumvent perceived restrictions on theological studies. We further argue in this section that theological education is not limited to church members but is also directed at local state bureaucrats. Not only is the state, through registered seminaries, cultivating patriotic church leaders, church communities are also involved in educating local officials.

While the number of Protestants in China continues to rapidly increase, the number of preachers and pastors has not kept pace. This imbalance is occurring all over China (Vala, 2009: 97). The clash of authority between the Communist Party and Christianity over seminary training reflects the party’s desire to retain institutional and ideological control over this particular sector of Chinese society. ⁹ Through analyzing the hurdles that limit the expansion of TSPM church leadership along a single authorized channel, Vala (2009: 118) argues that “these barriers hinder the development of a large and committed corps of TSPM pastors and reflect both the Party’s unease about Christianity’s revival and its attempts to shape the future of that revival.” To register at any state-sanctioned seminary in China, an applicant must be affiliated with a registered church and supported by the church leadership with an official letter of introduction bearing seals of his/her affiliated church and the local lianghui. Through screening the religious motivation of the candidates, the state strives to assure that only those with appropriate outlooks (i.e., “political loyalty”) receive seminary training. ¹⁰ However, it is precisely the insufficient seminary education opportunities and strict political screening that serve as a catalyst for underground theological education and various types of foreign investment in training Chinese church leaders. For instance, especially along the southeast coastal regions, overseas seminaries have sent teachers for training and even organized complete degree programs for students from both registered and unregistered congregations. In addition, many students from a variety of churches go abroad for seminary studies through unofficial channels and return to their home churches to serve. Likewise, there are increasingly more opportunities for formal theological studies online from overseas church groups. Most programs, whether in China, abroad, or online, are taught in Chinese and specifically target mainland students serving in both registered and unregistered churches (Hunter and Chan, 1993: 60–61; Vala, 2009: 113–17). ¹¹ While the degrees of students who go through unofficial channels are normally not recognized by the TSPM church structure and are therefore not helpful in being promoted through the ranks of the liang-hui, for most participants this is not a priority in completing such coursework. Over the past three decades, six pastors and five preachers have been sponsored by Grace Church, completing theological studies via officially sanctioned channels. Two have gone on to obtain master’s degrees in theology in Singapore. However, beyond such official channels, dozens of preachers and lay believers from Grace Church have participated in various theological education programs through unofficial avenues. Pastor Wen has been extremely influential and supportive of Grace-sponsored students, both those utilizing official channels and those participating in theological programs not formally endorsed by the lianghui.

The creative approaches to theological studies and some of the flexible maneuverings frequent in local church-state interaction can be demonstrated in the example of Preacher Yu, a Grace Church preacher who was educated in a Philippine seminary and received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in theology. Currently, Preacher Yu, who is in his forties, is registered in a doctoral program at a Chinese seminary in the United States. While Yu has been well recognized as an extraordinary evangelist and the successor of Old Pastor, because his participation in foreign seminaries was not approved or sponsored by the lianghui, he has not, as of now, been ordained as a pastor in China. Recently, Pastor Wen has negotiated with Religious Affairs authorities and has seemingly achieved a consensus on Preacher Yu’s hopeful ordination. A cadre advised Wen to send Preacher Yu to register as a student at the provincial seminary to attain the needed qualification. In this arrangement, Yu would not study at the seminary, but through a “correspondence course” would be certified as completing a basic program, and thus qualify to be officially ordained as a pastor. In this instance, again, the personal relationships cultivated by Old Pastor resulted in a flexible approach to religious management from local bureaucrats and led to an RAB official’s suggestion of a creative solution beneficial to the church.

However, the illustrations mentioned above would be misleading if we exclude Old Pastor’s unsuccessful interactions with the state regarding theological education. At the turn of the century a Chinese Christian community based in the United States organized church leadership training in Singapore and Hawai'i in collaboration with Old Pastor. Wen was responsible for recruiting potential trainees and arranging for the China side of the work. The Xiamen Religious Affairs officials, who were well aware of the plan, looked the other way until a third training session was reported to SARA. When SARA instructed the provincial religious authorities to investigate, the Xiamen subordinates claimed to not know about the transnational training activity. Although the American organizer had already reserved flights and hotel rooms for trainees, the day before the trainees were to depart, the whole trip had to be cancelled and Old Pastor received a stern warning. This instance reminds us that resourceful church elites, like Pastor Wen, may be able to leverage personal relationships with local leaders for the benefit of the church, but as soon as a higher state agency intervenes, the tacit agreement breaks down and the local officials are forced to side with higher authorities. ¹² At the same time, this example demonstrates the different perspectives between the central and the local governments on religious regulations. However, in general, when interacting with the Xiamen Christian community, local government officials tend to act as members of society rather than agents of state authority or firm policy implementers.

Wen has never wanted to create such tension between the church or himself and the government. He attributes some officials’ hostility toward Christianity to their ignorance. During many of his visits to Chinese churches in Southeast Asia, Europe, South America, and Australia, he has invited provincial and prefectural religious cadres to accompany the delegations, with the expenses covered by foreign Christians or churches. This long-term strategy has proved to be effective. Government officials who were exposed to Christianity have been friendlier to the faith and also have realized that Christianity can be effective in maintaining the ties between overseas Chinese and their ancestral lands. Moreover, officials who benefited from free foreign travel appreciated Wen’s invitations. Especially in the early years of the reform era, opportunities to see the outside world were scarce.

In our conversations with local RAB leaders, we were repeatedly told of cadres’ trips with Pastor Wen and how these were formative experiences for bureaucrats. Not only did such trips offer a platform for officials to interact with overseas Chinese Christians, they also provided opportunities to cultivate personal relationships with members of the Xiamen Christian community. For example, during the Grace Church choir’s tour of Southeast Asian churches in 1995 mentioned at the start of this article, the bus that the group was traveling on got a flat tire and everyone was stuck on the side of the road in rural Malaysia. The choir decided to hold an impromptu concert for some villagers as they waited for the tire to be fixed. When the RAB official accompanying the group questioned how the unfortunate incident could be part of “God’s plan,” choir members responded by explaining that because of the flat tire, the choir was able to minister to villagers they otherwise would not have had a chance to meet. The conversation turned into a discussion on divine will with choir members suggesting that the flat tire actually created a pleasant memory, to which the cadre agreed.

In addition to educating government officials about the church, another reason some church members choose to engage bureaucrats is evangelism. When asked if he had any trepidation in cooperating with local government leaders, Old Pastor replied, “Of course I should interact with government officials; they need Jesus, too!” By choosing to cultivate relationships with local officials, church leaders see their actions as part of their divine duty as preachers of the gospel. Many churches in Xiamen regularly pray for government leaders, specifically appealing for “personal salvation” for bureaucrats. A participant of the choir tour revealed to one of the authors that what disappointed her most on the tour was the fact that the RAB official had to hear the same message from Old Pastor nearly two dozen times. At each church the choir visited, in addition to the musical performance, Pastor Wen would give a short talk. “If he would’ve given a different sermon at each church, it would have been better [for the official]. This was a great chance to preach to him. He couldn’t go anywhere. He had to listen.” From the church’s perspective, local officials are not only agents of the state—they are not merely viewed by church members as bureaucrats sent to impose restrictions from above, they are also targets of evangelism. To educate and to evangelize are two reasons many church leaders participate in what Ryan Dunch (2008: 156), borrowing terminology from Jean and John Comaroff, refers to as a “long conversation” between the church and state.

Many scholarly and popular reports have focused on the rise of what has been labeled “red tourism,” the promotion and commodification of sites related to China’s Communist revolutionary history. Regions such as Mao’s hometown of Shaoshan, Hunan, the beginning of the Long March in Ruijin, Jiangxi, and the Chinese Communist Party’s temporary base in Yan’an, Shaanxi, have been turned into destinations where the party-state’s beginnings are put on display to instill citizens with patriotic pride in both Chinese identity and the accomplishments of the current governing state (Denton, 2012; Rioux, 2010). Participants in such red tourism may be individual tourists or tour groups, including work units sponsored by government departments. Municipal RABs, for example, may organize such tours that tend to be part recreation, part political education. These junkets hope to embed the religious elite further into the governing structure by providing opportunities for officials and religious leaders to interact in informal settings and further indebt participants to the state at local and national levels. In reality, many participants who join such trips do so simply for the opportunity to travel. The political expediency of visiting “revolutionary” spots can be debated, but the chance for an all-expenses-paid vacation is attractive to many religious leaders who choose to cooperate with the state (McLeister, 2012: chap. 5). Old Pastor has participated in such tours to the revolutionary spots of Ruijin, Jinggangshan, and Gutian, but by inviting RAB leaders to join him on international trips to churches, Pastor Wen has flipped the script and upped the ante. Instead of the party-state creating a sense of obligation from church leadership, this “reverse red tourism” endears local officials to the church and the Christian communities they are tasked with overseeing.

Concluding Remarks

In analyzing Old Pastor and some of his interactions with local officials, this article suggests that much of the scholarly research on church-state relations in contemporary China fails to acknowledge the local and personal dimensions that often influence exchanges between church leaders and state bureaucrats. Recently, scholars looking at how the state deals with religion in general have begun to prioritize such local perspectives and have found actual policy implementation to be much more flexible than what may appear from a more macro national vantage point (e.g., Cao, 2010; Chau, 2005, 2006; Koesel, 2014; Liu, 2017; McLeister, 2012, 2013; Vala, 2018). When religious policy implementation is not discussed at the local level, the tendency is to reify the state as an all-encompassing entity. When we look at the complex linkages on a more micro level, though, we recognize greater flexibility and an array of options in church-state interactions. Chau reminds us that “because of its nested interest in the locale, the local state necessarily behaves differently than the central state” (2006: 14). However, much of this research, like Chau’s, centers on Buddhist or popular religious groups. By introducing Pastor Wen and his engagement with the local state, we extend this line of analysis to Protestant groups. Detailed, micro-level case studies of church leaders in contemporary China are rare, and this article addresses this deficiency. Not only does this study illustrate how religious elite interact with local bureaucrats, it also contributes to a deeper understanding of the logic of local politics.

A limitation of focusing research on a single person is the issue of representativeness. Could it be that Old Pastor’s charisma has endeared him to a couple of local officials, resulting in relatively loose official oversight of the church? Is Old Pastor’s negotiating capital and standing in the church largely dependent on his historical experience during the Maoist era, and thus impossible for subsequent generations of church leaders to duplicate? Or is it simply the context of Xiamen, a prosperous city with strong overseas Chinese connections that allows for greater freedoms for the church? We would argue that all of these have influenced Pastor Wen’s leadership in the Xiamen Christian community and interactions with the state, but his case is not necessarily unique. The location of our case is surely part of the reason for the overall positive interaction between registered church groups and the state. Herein lies an interesting paradox. While the nation-state, particularly during the current Xi Jinping era, continues to stress the need to be vigilant against infiltration from foreign intervention in religious activities, China’s southeast coastal areas are more prone to involvement from foreign mission agencies, especially those led by overseas Chinese. Ashiwa (2000) characterizes such transnational religious ties as a “double-edged sword,” for while they may increase sought-after interaction with and investment from overseas Chinese, they also encourage greater autonomy for religious groups and reveal less dependency on local officials. It is exactly in these regions that local officials tend to be the most flexible in terms of religious management and actual policy implementation.

Another limitation is that our analysis here has focused on Three-Self, or registered churches. We would suggest, however, that varying degrees of negotiation may also be found in connections between authorities and unregistered groups. The dichotomous line separating “house” and “official” churches is becoming increasingly porous as more and more congregations and individuals from both camps are constructing bridges or exploring cooperative possibilities (Kang, 2016; McLeister, 2012). Space does not allow for a full description of interactions between unregistered congregations and the local state, but a brief comparison with one of Pastor Wen’s contemporaries may be insightful. Like Old Pastor, Auntie Wang (1928–2011) ¹³ was raised in a Christian family in Xiamen, was active in the church before the Communist takeover, suffered greatly in the early decades of the PRC (being “reformed” for sixteen years), and was very active in church work from the late 1970s until her death. However, unlike Pastor Wen, from the start of the reform era, Auntie Wang shunned the Three-Self system, refusing to work with registered congregations, seeing them as compromised, impure churches. The network of congregations in Xiamen started by Auntie Wang and her associates has grown, but this path has not been smooth. Local Religious Affairs and Public Security authorities have intermittently interfered in Auntie Wang’s church activities and, in general, the interactions between this church network and local officials have been antagonistic. The result has been, at least in some respects, a constricted space for the church. The path taken by Auntie Wang is in stark contrast to the method adopted by Old Pastor. The fact that he works within the system obviously frames Old Pastor’s relationships with local state bureaucrats. Interaction with local officials is inherently a tacit acknowledgment of the state’s dominant position, but this article has argued that many contemporary church leaders, such as Pastor Wen, feel that within such a framework there is ample space to strategically maneuver in order to increase benefits for the church.

It is not only Xiamen or Old Pastor with such relationships between church leadership and cadres. One author recently visited another city in Southeast China where a registered, Three-Self church has organized theological training with seminaries outside of China. Students come from registered and unregistered congregations throughout China for two- or three-year programs taught by local and foreign teachers. The pastor of the local registered church and head of this theological training school explained, “Because I’m legal—I am a pastor of a legal [registered] church and the head of the city lianghui—I have a relationship with local leaders. I used my legal positions to get relevant documentation for these classes.” Even though this individual, in his fifties, does not have the historical experiences of persecution during the Maoist era or rebuilding the church in the early years of reform like Pastor Wen, this pastor, like many church leaders in other regions, does bring his own negotiating capital to interactions with local officials. Many churches have leaders similar to Old Pastor who are adept at managing church-state interaction in ways beneficial to the church (Huang, 2014; McLeister, 2012, 2013; Vala, 2018). Not all areas of China would exhibit such close connections between the church and local state and, as we have seen in our description of Pastor Wen, not all interactions are positive, even when personal connections may be strong. Nevertheless, this article proposes that when looking at relations at a local level, it is not uncommon to find cooperation rather than a patron-client relationship between officials and church leaders.