Holy Week in China: ‘Like one from whom you turn your face’
A source in China reinterprets for AsiaNews the suffering of the Catholic communities of the People's Republic in light of the words of the Prophet Isaiah heard in the liturgies of this period, from the deep wound caused today by the increasingly rigid ban on educating minors in the faith to the certainty that “God is with us, and we move forward.”
When you live in China, you cannot help but immerse yourself in a rhythm of suffering and hope that is intrinsic to Chinese history and daily life. Such a rhythm is made up of wounds, some stifled and some still open, as well as great outbursts of trust, self-awareness, and – in the case of Christians – of deep faith. A rhythm that is the rhythm of Easter.
Sometimes people open up, and in moments of intimacy and friendship, the pain comes out. No great stories or sensational episodes emerge, but rather a feeling, something unsaid, brief remarks or facial expressions that capture all the accumulated fatigue of generations, beginning with the Cultural Revolution, probably even earlier.
“My mother died of hunger in the 1970s.” “I can't introduce you to my siblings, because no one knows I have them. We've always kept it a secret and lived as adults as if we didn't know each other". “The only thing I wanted to do in life was sing, and live as an artist, but it wasn't allowed, so I secretly studied English, Russian, and then Italian, hoping to escape, at least in my mind.”
So many wounds that become a single wound, discretely concealed, as if behind a veil, before which one feels sadness, anguish, and great respect.
Like one from whom you turn your face.
Such a wound can also be seen in certain dirty and bare homes, with boxes and useless objects piled high on sofas and chairs. A "non-culture of the home" that is almost touching, however pronounced. An "ugliness" left over from the hardest years, found not only in villages but often in cities too, where the rural style is reproduced in the flats of huge skyscrapers.
He had no majestic bearing to catch our eye, no beauty to draw us to him.
Thus, the wound is not healed, but only dampened by a patina of technology, architectural grandeur, and fullness: “Does the situation seem difficult to you? You should have been there before; at least now we eat a lot and rest.”
Old wounds compounded by new ones, such as the ban on educating children in the faith. In recent years, the Chinese government has in fact become increasingly strict with the law prohibiting education outside of the official system.
In the Church's case, this translates into a ban on children entering church and offering any kind of educational activity to children and young people. The law is upheld: I have seen churches shut down because of the presence of children or for sharing photos of certain activities on social media.
In addition to being a strategy to interrupt the transmission of the faith, this law is more than that; it is an open wound that adds to the already stifled one.
Let us think of families whose parents were born in the 1970s and 1980s, people who still have vivid memories of the persecutions and who, after a brief period of "unexpected freedom”, find themselves unable to give their children what they fought and resisted for.
While it is true that many communities are inventive in organising underground activities, it is equally true that immense pressure is piling on children. Parents tell them that their faith is the most important thing they have, but they cannot talk about it at school or tell their friends. Furthermore, if someone asks, they must not reveal that they are Christians.
Furthermore, not being able to meet with Christian peers, except in underground settings, creates a loneliness and disaffection that, from the government's perspective, dovetails with the social stigma attached the faith that they want to propagate. In high schools and universities, teachers and principals may call in Christian students to tell them that if they persevere in their faith, their careers would certainly suffer.
Thus, pressure piles upon pressure.
A man of suffering, knowing pain.
This is where a different movement comes in, where the pace can change, and suffering can be transformed into hope.
I was once complimenting a mother on the front lines of underground activities for her tenacity. I told her that her ability to keep going even without seeing fruit was truly inspiring. She replied, somewhat surprised, that "we'll only see fruit in heaven" and that it is not important to look for it now.
Another time, I was speaking in English about the general situation in China with a friend. At the table with us was an elderly Chinese man. He did not understand English, but he understood what we were talking about and our concerns. So he interrupted us and calmly said, "Don't worry, you're worrying too much. The Chinese Church is in the hands of God and Mary; everything passes.” All of this is tinged not with heroism, but with simplicity: "We're tired, but we pray, God is with us, and we move forward.”
Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your wound shall quickly be healed; Your vindication shall go before you,
To me, these seem to be the words of someone who is already in the Beyond, someone who has made suffering a lifelong companion and has not stopped there, but, reaching out towards the certainty of Easter, transforms pain into love.
It occurs to me that this is precisely our mission: to immerse ourselves in the wounds of peoples, to feel them, make them our own, and, together with them, let them be transfigured so that we can live in hope.
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03/01/2025 18:39
