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Similarly, researcher Yvonne Farley reported last year in the Journal of Religion and Spirituality in Social Work that "spirituality is increasingly identified as a significant component of resiliency during family-based trauma." Perplexing news for an atheist state.

But on December 28, 2007, President Jintao relieved some of China's cultural schizophrenia: He signaled a move from atheism to secularism—from "no God" to "a non-political role for God." He called an unprecedented Politburo session on religion, telling his top 25 leaders, "The knowledge and strength of religious people must be mustered to build a prosperous society."

This influences Wang and Yeung's approach to crisis counseling. Though some forms of institutional Christianity remain perceived threats, the ministry of the Holy Spirit—a "spirituality"—is accepted. Yeung says the Chinese government agrees that the traumatized benefit emotionally from spiritual belief. Without Yeung pressing conversion, his counseling is nonetheless Bible based.

Hugo Chan understands the tension better than anyone. He is a religious and political icon in Hong Kong: formerly the host of the Christian Broadcasting Network's 700 Club there; a law-firm partner in the city's equivalent of Wall Street; one of only 21 religious representatives on the 800-member election committee for the Hong Kong ceo; adviser with the Chinese Political Consultative Conference in Beijing; and chairman of a Business Men's Bible Fellowship with 30 weekly groups.

Over tea in his paneled conference room, Chan said China opens itself to organized Christianity, such as government-sanctioned churches, only for perceived economic benefits and social stability, but remains wary of political activism by the churches.

"People in power realize the [success of] economic systems of the West. Intellectuals in China are aware of ties between religious prosperity and economic prosperity. … But while Buddhism and Confucianism [China's dominating schemas] are fatalistic and passive, Christians have a sense of justice and social action."

The best approach, he says, is to honor the authority of the government—a Christian tenet, after all—while representing Christian views inside China's systems: law, politics, and, in Yeung's case, trauma response.

That is why Wang paused when speaking to me. Faith-based crisis counseling cannot be sanctioned. But could it be permitted?

He proceeded carefully with long, thoughtful pauses and a self-conscious lexicon (noted with italics). "Robert is a special member for the Chinese Academy of Sciences," he states. "His training is practical, beautiful, and simple, and he does it with a humble attitude. The philosophy of the victims can affect mental health. We need to know their whole picture. So this crisis is a chance for the government and the people to become more open."

Behind the lexicon was tacit permission to respond to inquiries without preaching. For example, Wang allowed Yeung to provide nametags to volunteers with the word Christian or chaplain under the name. Some relief trucks indicated the same.

However, such demonstrations can backfire. In a village near the site of the quake, the local government permitted Christian signage near a relief shelter, but some operators withdrew bottles of water from victims who rejected their preaching, bringing the faith into ill repute. This influenced Yeung's approach.

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November 2008, Vol. 52, No. 11