Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Nantang (南堂), 4th March 2018

Sometimes I enjoy walking aimlessly, to get a feel for a place, to wander and wonder.

After the hibernation of the spring festival, I decided to go down to Xuanwumen after seeing an image of its famous cathedral, an image I was strangely drawn to. Located in the south-western part of the inner city, Xuanwumen was traditionally a place for the common folk, vegetable sellers and also the site of executions in Old Beijing. Corpses would leave the city through this gate in imperial times, which was unfortunately torn down in the 1960s.

Regardless of how much I love staying home on weekends to watch documentaries or old films, I find myself itching to go out and explore the might-be-torn-down-tomorrow streets of Beijing.

Across from where the historic gate once stood, rises the grey façade of The Church of Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the oldest catholic church in the city. As I stood there looking up at the intricate brickwork, the white cross on top, the stain glass windows, the barren branches swaying with their Christmas decorations still on and the blaring sound of Chinese Christian hymns all around. I was now deep in the world of Chinese Catholicism, down here in Old Beijing.

There in front of me stood a connection to Beijing’s past. The current structure had been completed in 1904, but in that place this church has stood since 1650 and around this site are scattered the bones of its past. The boxers had once raised it to the ground, yet somehow it survived the chaos and terror of the Cultural Revolution.

The skeleton of the church, the brick skin, looks like something right out of an old European town square. The stained glass windows look slightly less than antique, the electronic signs out front remind us where we are, but the feel of the place is old world missionary zeal and faith.

I remembered I was here to go to mass, and so I stepped inside and took a seat. 30 minutes early, and by the time it started the house was packed like a line 1 subway carriage.



“Welcome… brothers and sisters… of God.”

As mass commenced I got a sense of why this church had managed to survive centuries of turmoil. To see this church and community thriving, inspired me and gave me hope. I looked to my left at a wrinkly veteran who was holding her rosary firmly in her delicate hands as she kneeled during mass. Her bible was well worn, like a ticket book on a bus to Xiangshan, kept in her bag as she walked through the maze of alleys that are either crumbling or being torn down.

Holding out to the uncertainty of the world around, clinging to the teachings. Like this rock of religious faith clinging to the shifting sands, Nantang remains a symbol of Xuanwumen and of Beijing.

Similarly, I cling to this city for it is home and it is my inspiration.

If you have time one Sunday morning, swing by Nantang for mass, I guarantee you will not regret it.

1 comment:

  1. Well done. Great writing makes me want to visit this place. Bro you are so meticulous.

    ReplyDelete