Faith Against the Current

The red-brick sanctuary stands as a quiet testament to a hundred years of resilience and faith. Walking through its doors, one can almost feel the weight of its history—the stories whispered in defiance, the prayers offered in secret. For Liu Fang (pseudonym), a veteran pastor with more than three decades of service, this place is more than bricks and mortar; it is a home where sacred duty meets a determined spirit.

Her journey began in childhood, inheriting faith not as an abstract notion but as a living legacy from parents and grandparents who defied persecution to kneel in prayer. "In our house, faith was never a performance. It was life," she shares. When she first stepped into leadership, she believed it meant being unshakable. But experience taught her that true leadership often means bearing the burdens others cannot. Over the years, her resolve has been tested by the persecution of believers, state attempts to reshape religious practices, and the quiet sting of societal indifference.

Liu’s mission has never been about mere survival. Her faith calls for living authentically, often moving against the tide of modern pressures. "In this role, there are things we do quietly, unseen, because speaking too loudly would invite too many eyes," she reflects, casting a wary glance towards the door. Social outreach and charity have become her quiet acts of resistance, demonstrating that faith is not something to be tamed or compartmentalized but a commitment to serve others. "You’ll never see us hold ceremonies for our giving," she remarks. "The world doesn’t need to see plaques of recognition. The people we serve are our testimony."

Liu has long faced demands for conformity. Directives to integrate Party messages into sermons and mandates to turn places of worship into platforms for state propaganda are constant reminders of the delicate balance she must maintain. "I have been asked many times why we don’t hang the symbols they ask us to," she admits with a weary smile." The simplest answer is: faith is incompatible with loyalty that asks for your silence." To hold her ground, she has mastered the art of engaging without becoming ensnared. Each time officials visit, she offers them a Bible—a gesture that is both courteous and quietly defiant. "I have given out my most precious thing," she says. "It’s up to them whether they want it or not."

For Liu, resistance is rarely about grand gestures. It is about standing firm in small, daily ways. "Some call it stubbornness, but it is also hope," she reflects. "When they told us to put up banners that felt hollow, I found other ways to weave our community closer together. When they tried to make us wear patriotism on our sleeves, I taught my flock to live their love through acts of kindness instead." Her faith demands moral courage, even when it comes at a personal cost.

There have been moments when Liu felt isolated, standing alone against a vast, unyielding machine. Yet, she draws strength from the teachings passed down through generations: “When they say all that you build must be torn down, you have to find what cannot be touched.” That resilience is evident in every quiet moment of service—in feeding the hungry, counseling the grieving, and fervently praying for justice and grace.

As we finish our conversation, She places a worn Bible in my hands. It is a gesture she has made countless times, even to those who dismiss it. In that moment, it feels like more than an object—it is a symbol of everything she has fought to preserve, a testament to a lifetime spent resisting, believing, giving, and choosing her own kind of freedom.

The Bible Pastor Liu gives me