AsiaStories

If the Gospel is going to spread around the world in the 21st Century, the great cities will be its launching pad. More than half of humanity now lives in cities. By the year 2050, the count is projected to top 70 percent.

For the last three decades, an unprecedented migration to cities has flowed steadily throughout Asia. It is estimated another 350 million Chinese will become urban by 2025, raising China’s urban numbers to a cool billion. India is estimated to soon overtake China as the world’s most populous nation with most moving to urban areas in search of work.

Cities around the world have one thing in common — multiple people groups living side-by-side. Most come from “hard to reach” places but now, as city-dwellers, they are more accessible than ever before in history.

Join AsiaStories as we take a two-week journey through Asia visiting cities such as Seoul, Manila, New Delhi and many more. Learn what God is doing and how you can join Him.

Seoul is a study in tensions between old and new.

Modern high-rise apartment and office buildings sit alongside ancient palaces and temples. Young Koreans with money to spend pack popular student and shopping districts. The elderly take their daily exercise amidst young families, cyclists and joggers along the banks of the Han River and in parks throughout the city.

At night the city skyline is dotted with the glow of red crosses atop Christian churches. Beneath them, businessmen and university students enjoy trendy restaurants, nightclubs and karaoke bars until the early hours of the morning.

Today Seoul is South Korea’s bulging center of politics, culture, finance, entertainment and religion. Nearly half the country’s population resides in Seoul, Incheon and Suwon — Seoul’s larger metropolitan area — which many consider the world’s second largest city. The capital city is roughly the same size as Memphis, Tenn., but for every person living in Memphis, 20 live in Seoul.

SET APART

While Seoul leads the world in technology, business and entertainment, the city stands apart from other Asian megacities for its commitment to Christianity and its global influence on evangelical causes. In 2011 government statistics report nearly one in three South Koreans follow Christianity — nudging Buddhism from the lead it has held for centuries — and more than 21,000 South Korean missionaries serve in 169 countries according to 2009 statistics from the Korea World Missions Association.

Seoul is one of the few cities throughout Asia considered “evangelized” by many mission organizations. Seoul churches are at the forefront in developing Christian programs, materials and leaders and exporting them around the world, says Joseph Kim, the lead pastor of Wonchon Baptist Church and headmaster of Central Christian Academy in Suwon.

“In the 1990s, most of the innovation in Christian ministry flowed from North America to Korea,” the 50-year-old son of Korean evangelist Billy Kim says. “But since 2005, Korean churches are developing songs, programming and innovations in the Korean language. Korean churches in North America are beginning to copy things that are happening in Seoul.”

INVOLVEMENT AND OWNERSHIP

However, tensions between traditional and modern are evident both within Seoul society and within the church. Young Koreans are looking for active participation rather than passive entertainment in government and worship, Kim believes — a radically different concept from the hierarchical structure so important to traditional Korean culture.

“Young Koreans want to be involved,” Kim says. “They want to make a difference.”

Kim believes this explains the social justice efforts prevalent in many Korean churches, noting that many congregations provide facilities for the homeless, the elderly and the disabled.

“This is a new movement of this young generation in participation,” Kim says, explaining that the distinction between “liberal” congregations focused on social ministries and “conservative” ones focused on preaching and teaching does not exist in South Korea.

“In Korea, even the conservative evangelical church is still very active in social work,” Kim says.

Abigail Shin, a 31-year-old visiting professor at Seoul National University, also sees evidence of the younger generation’s commitment to address social issues, noting that a popular red-light district shut down a few months ago after decades in the city’s center. However, she remains concerned over a number of other issues facing her generation, including the drinking culture, marital unfaithfulness, dads who are never home and children under pressure to excel.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Shin believes these issues stem from a hierarchical culture built on unquestioning respect for authority — one that is often abused in the business world by “bosses who demand younger workers to do the dirty work or serve them in certain ways.” While many young people “robotically” give respect to the older generation, some are rebelling against it, Shin says.

“Many of the older (women) I meet are not respectable at all, and when they seem to demand respect from me, I am less likely to give it,” Shin says. “I believe there needs to be education about mutual respect.”

Within the church, Shin, who attends Jubilee Church in Gangnam, a suburb of Seoul, believes that many young people are turned off by the “in-your-face evangelism” of their elders.

“In Korea, it seems there is an all-or-nothing way of doing Christianity,” Shin says.

Part of this stems from societal demands placed on young businessmen, Shin explains, noting that many men are rarely at home and are required as part of their job to visit bars and strip clubs after hours with co-workers and clients.

To be a Christian requires these young men to make “radical decisions such as giving up their job or joining a seminary,” Shin says. “It is difficult to live in the world and not be part of it with all the pressures and expectations that come from society.”

“Korean families are not strong,” agrees 34-year-old Isaac Surh, fellowship and youth pastor at Onnuri English Ministry in Seoul. “Parents, especially fathers, are distant from their children, harsh and overly strict,” causing children to overreact and rebel.

REACHING CHILDREN AND FAMILIES

Shin and Surh believe the answer lies in family ministries and church-sponsored pre-marital and marital counseling to help minimize the potential for family dysfunction. Surh applauds initiatives such as the “Fathers’ School,” a ministry of Onnuri that teaches Korean men to be good husbands and fathers.

Like Surh and Shin, Kim believes that Christian education is the next phase of Korea’s church growth and the key to passing the evangelistic vision to the young.

By planting Wonchon Baptist Church on the campus of Central Christian Academy, the educator and pastor merges church planting with Christian education. The church consists of 10 congregations with 200 to 300 members each, which meet on the school campus in a building designed much like a multiplex theater. Membership comes primarily from families associated with the school.

Although services at Wonchon aren’t polished, Kim says the structure brings families “closer to community.” Though radically different from the megachurch model dominating South Korea’s evangelical landscape, Kim believes the shift is essential to involve this generation and reach the next.

Mijung Kim, a student at Torch Trinity Graduate School of Theology in Seoul, agrees. The 35-year-old former life coach explains that Korean families are built on relationships, while the church structure separates families by age group, gender, ministerial roles and specific ministries.

“The basic infrastructure of the (Korean) church is not oriented for family ministries,” Mijung Kim says. “The time is right to shift toward family ministries. One local church can be the model.”

The blue Skype icon bounces on the bottom of Lekha Katti’s* computer screen. When this Information Technology [IT] professional’s verse of the day arrives via an inter-office instant message, she copies the verse to her Facebook profile. Katti hopes her coworkers will also notice the Bible verse on her desktop when they pass her cubicle so she can share her new favorite Bible story: Daniel and the lions.

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This young believer, who works for a major IT company in Bangalore, India, has a heart for sharing the gospel with her peers in the IT business. IT professionals often feel torn between traditional Hindu culture and Western culture because they’ve had so much exposure to the West.

Katti’s coworkers are well-educated, high-caste Hindus. (Castes in India define social, financial and religious status.) Katti’s Indian peers work for top international IT companies like Hewlett-Packard, Siemens and Infosys. Many grew up speaking English and have worked abroad in the U.S. or U.K.

While at work, women who work in the IT business dress like Westerners in jeans and T-shirts. Outside of these insular neighborhoods of IT professionals, however, the women forsake their jeans for saris. “It’s like they are living in between two worlds,” says Margot Gladding,* an IMB representative in Bangalore.

On the surface, the IT community has a Western mindset. Many claim to be agnostic, but most turn back to Hindu gods in a crisis or to find a spouse. Many high-caste Hindus come from the priestly caste, so leaving their heritage isn’t easy.

“[These people] are a third culture and they’re a changing culture,” Gladding says.

IT companies in India employ two million workers, and the country has 10 million IT-related jobs, Britain’s New Statesman reports. Katti’s demographic is therefore an important group of people for Christians to understand and address. That’s why Margot Gladding and her husband Carver* share the story of Daniel and the lions’ den.

Everyone loves stories

The ministry of the Gladdings, native Texans, focuses on storytelling and on equipping other IMB representatives to share Bible stories with the people of South Asia.

“Hi, I’m your new neighbor,” Gladding says to a neighbor, offering an egg-less cookie — most high-caste Hindus are vegetarian.

In addition to making friends face-to-face, Gladding also ministers using technology. She sends mp3 files of Bible stories to Katti and other believers’ cell phones using Bluetooth. Katti and other IT professionals often listen to the stories and podcasts on the community bus to work.

The increasing ease of digital file-sharing means that a growing number of Katti’s coworkers also now listen to Gladding’s stories on their commute — and share with their friends in turn.

Katti is becoming bolder with every Skype chat and Facebook wall post. She knows she can make a difference in her nation just like Daniel did in his.

*Name changed.

“Come on,” calls the young man, carrying a guitar. He’s leading a parade of teenagers to a squatter village to teach the Bible.

As they pass an open field where several children are kicking a partially deflated soccer ball, he shouts, again, “Come on.”

The children stop and smile when they see who is calling them. Abandoning the ball, they follow, bare feet splashing mud. As the group crosses a concrete bridge spanning a drainage ditch filled with gray water and trash, the children chatter with their teachers.

Romy Albinius, their pastor, and IMB worker Dwight Fern follow the group. As they reach the village, a few women, some young mothers carrying infants, drag benches under a tree and settle down on the creaky seats. The young people unfurl their song sheets, Christian lyrics carefully printed on the back of old alcohol advertising posters.

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This is one of thousands of squatter communities in metro Manila. The people living here are part of Manila’s urban poor. Most moved from rural provinces to the city in search of a better life. Instead of the prosperity they dreamed of, they found themselves part of a mass of urban poor, building shelters from whatever they can find.

Housing meant to be temporary has been standing here for more than 20 years. Work intended to be a steppingstone toward better employment has become a career. Hope for a better future has faded, and survival has become the daily goal.

Despite the bleak outlook they face, hope has not abandoned the urban poor. “God wants 104 million Filipinos in his kingdom,” Fern says to a group of pastors he’s teaching.

Pastors nod thoughtfully as Fern speaks. For the past 10 years, Fern has been training pastors among the urban poor to start small house groups focused on fellowship and Bible study in their communities. Now, more than 300 pastors attend the training sessions he conducts every month.

“Filipinos love to study the Bible,” says Fern. “It’s the idea of church that scares people away.”

Life in the Philippines is steeped in religious traditions. People attend mass at local Catholic churches. Nuns serve as teachers in most schools. Religious training is nothing new to Filipinos, but providing poor pastors value, worth and ownership is nothing short of revolutionary.

As pastors study with Fern – many coming from homes in squatter communities – they carry back with them the hope they are finding in Christ.

“There is a hope of tomorrow being better,” Fern says. “The poor respond to Christ as they look to the promise of heaven … this life is hard, but heaven will be better.”

Cultural norms and lack of material possessions and social status, often discourage the urban poor from seeking a better life. Simple jobs require a college education, which many cannot afford; they are too busy forging a living. However, as they latch onto the training their pastors provide, they begin to understand the Gospel and share the hope they receive. As they begin forming house groups, they develop a new sense of purpose.

Albinias, who has been part of Fern’s training for three years, has taken the training to heart and begun to train the young people of his church to lead house groups in his area.

“They are the future,” he says.

Every week, half a dozen young people parade into nearby squatter communities, leading house groups in studying the Bible and fellowshipping together in Christian community. Dividing up, they lead smaller groups of adults and children in fellowship.

As other villagers swig cheap alcohol and gamble a few pisos at a card game, they watch their neighbors join the Bible study and listen with mild interest to the discussion. It is a small village, after all. Everyone knows everything that happens there.

Abinius and Fern watch the squatter children’s faces, wreathed in smiles, as they sing songs about the love of Jesus. They wear faded, dirty clothes; their hair is streaked from malnutrition and teeth are black with rot.

“Nobody wants them or cares about them. Thing is, they’re just as special as anyone else.” Fern muses.

When the study ends, the children follow the teenagers down the narrow, polluted street. “Bye bye,” they shout repeatedly, waving until they cannot see their leaders anymore.

Albinius’s young people don’t just teach children. Their next stop is a small house where nearly a dozen adults stuff in. They spill over into the alleyway, pressing close to hear.

Rachelle Albinias, one of the young people, tells the adults how they can share the truth they have found. Using a bookmark tool created for witnessing, she reviews the plan of salvation and how they can share their faith with others. On the back are 10 blank spaces.

“This week, who will you share the love of Christ with?” she asks.

Her words hang in the air as each person considers the question. They carefully print 10 names on the back of the business-card-sized bookmark. The next week, when they meet again, they will review the names they have written and say how they told those people about Christ.

Fern estimates that through these small house groups, more than a million of Manila’s squatters have heard of Christ. Each month, when the pastors share ministry reports, countless people have heard of Christ, joined the church or been baptized.

“The day of a man just sitting in his chair in church is over,” Fern says. “We’re out to make disciples.”