Going to Church in Taipei

I had good intentions, but since arriving in Taiwan my Bible has sat unopened on my nightstand. The only thing I've used it for is as a coaster when I drink beer in bed. Don't worry, I get up and brush my teeth afterward.

At the FCC Halloween party a very nice couple invited me to their church. I begged off a couple weeks, once because we were out of town, once because I was dog tired.

The thing about church invites is if you accept but put it off too long, the inviters will start praying for you. I didn't want it to come to that. So this week I finally went.

Grace Baptist Church is in the Taipei university district. It looks like a gigantic, brick Pizza Hut - quite a contrast from the cozy church on 2nd street my family attends back home.

James wasn't going to come. He was afraid someone would accidentally spill Holy water on him and his skin would melt off. But he had an interview in the area shortly before the service. To allay his fears, I told him even though it was a Baptist church, I was reasonably sure there wouldn't be any baptisms tonight. And I was right, the sanctuary was Holy water free.

"Where are P and Q?" James asked when we arrived. P and Q were the people who invited us.

"P told me he couldn't come this week because he has to study for a test." I said. "And Q is part of the worship team so we should see her after the service starts."

"What's the worship team?" James asked, fear in his voice.

I assured him the worship team wasn't a brute squad that came around to prod people who didn't have their hands in the air for "Shout to the Lord."

"They're just the people who lead the songs."

I enjoyed the service. I'll probably go back next Sunday. James will most likely stay home and light a candle for the audial gods who gave the world the KORG DS-10, a synthesizer program for Nintendo DS. Now James can pretend he's Timbaland wherever he goes. Or at least he can until I give it to one of my students. I will do so on the conditions that said student only play English games on it and that I never ever have to see it again.

Mormons of Angkor Wat

I found them! Their name tags may have been in Khmer, but sure enough we spotted some missionaries at the temple.

Los Angeles, Cambodia, or Florence, Oregon - the Mormons all look the same. I call that terrific branding. Props to the Church of Latter-day Saints for fabulous brand recognition.

Seeing these two young Mormons at Angkor Wat reminded me of a time I was at a friend's house as a kid. She came from a family of devout protestants. Lots of protestants aren't partial to Mormons. They think Mormons aren't the real Christian McCoys. Her family was the type of protestant that thinks Mormons are blond-haired, blue-eyed devils. I'm the type of protestant who thinks any religion that maintains such high numbers of attractive men among its ranks can't be bad. James better watch it. Maybe I'll convert.

Anyway, I was sleeping over at my pious friend's house. "My dad," she said ominously. "He can spot a Mormon from a hundred yards away." The eight-year-old me pictured this girl's dad using his steely eyes powered by the holy spirit to pick up on their evil Mormon aura.

I have since realized it doesn't take esp to pin a Mormon at three hundred feet. There are no stealth-mode Mormons. The pants, dress shirt, name tag and wholesome countenance pretty much give it away.