Faith in the Shadows

  

Imagine a quiet corner of Xi’an, where ancient city walls whisper stories of endurance, and a small group of believers gathers not in grand cathedrals, but in modest homes. This is the heart of the Church of Abundance, a house church where faith blooms despite the chill of restriction. For years, its leaders have nurtured souls, offering hope in a land where unregistered worship is often met with suspicion. But now, that fragile sanctuary faces a storm that tests the very limits of human resilience. In the shadow of renewed arrests, four devoted Christians stand accused, their lives a poignant testament to the cost of following Christ.

It began on 17 August 2022, when authorities swept in and detained Pastor Lian Xuliang, his father Pastor Lian Changnian, and Preacher Fu Juan on charges of fraud. These were not isolated figures; they were pillars of their community, guiding a flock that refused to bow to state demands for registration. The accusation that their collection of tithes and offerings amounted to deceit is a charge all too commonly wielded against house churches in China to silence their independence. For over two and a half years the three endured separation from loved ones, their absence leaving an aching void in the hearts of their congregation.

Behind closed doors, the ordeal was even darker than most realised. When a long-delayed pre-trial conference finally took place on 7 February 2025 in Xi’an’s Baqiao District People’s Court, defence lawyers laid bare a catalogue of prosecutorial failings and chilling evidence of mistreatment. They highlighted how the state had labelled dozens of church members as “victims” despite none having signed complaints and almost all refusing to appear. Only one, Sister Qin Wen, attended, and she used the moment to declare from the witness stand that the pastors were her spiritual family, that every offering she gave was voluntary, and that their teaching had taught her to love her country and her neighbours. The prosecution offered no legal basis for branding unwilling people as victims.

More harrowing still were the defendants’ own words when asked if they had been properly informed of their rights. Seventy-one-year-old Lian Changnian, his mind frayed by relentless torment, replied brokenly: “I haven’t slept for eighteen months. Someone wanted to kill me. You can check the surveillance video footage from Room 106. I didn’t die because God protected me.” His son could barely recall the details after such prolonged trauma, while Fu Juan quietly revealed the coercion she faced: plead guilty and serve two years, or refuse and face five. Lawyers begged the court for bail, citing Lian Changnian’s deteriorating mental state, the physical and psychological scars borne by his son, and the two young children Fu Juan had left without a carer. The requests went unanswered.

A brief glimmer came in April 2025 when the three were moved to residential surveillance and allowed home, but joy was cruelly short-lived. In July the trial opened at last, yet no verdict followed. Then, in early November 2025, the same exhausted allegations were dusted off and the leaders were seized once more, wrenched from their families yet again. Reports from advocacy groups paint a grim picture: during that earlier residential period the elder pastor had already endured what sources describe as torture. One can only fathom the quiet agony of a man in his twilight years, his body weakening while his spirit clings to unshakeable conviction.

Sister Qin Wen’s courage in that February hearing had seemed a turning point, but bravery like hers comes at a price. Soon after, authorities detained her for twelve days on spurious grounds of “preaching to minors” and stripped her of her kindergarten teaching post. It is a cruel irony: a woman who sows seeds of kindness in young lives, punished for whispering words of eternal comfort.

The Church of Abundance, officially banned three years ago for daring to exist without government oversight, now huddles in prayerful defiance. This is not mere bureaucracy gone awry; it is part of a broader pattern. Human rights monitors, including the U.S. Commission on International Religious Freedom, have long flagged Lian Changnian as a prisoner of conscience, one of thousands caught in China’s tightening grip on unregistered faith communities. House churches like this one represent a vibrant underground, where believers number in the tens of millions, yet face raids, closures, and fabricated charges that fracture families and sow fear.

What moves me most in this story is not just the injustice, but the quiet heroism that shines through it. Picture Lian Changnian, his hands perhaps trembling from years of service, yet his eyes alight with the peace that surpasses understanding. Or Qin Wen, rebuilding her life after dismissal, her resolve unbroken by the system’s cold machinery. These are not abstract names on a prayer list; they are flesh-and-blood souls, woven into the tapestry of a global body of Christ that aches for their release. Advocacy voices like ChinaAid and Open Doors have amplified their plight, reminding us that silence only emboldens the oppressors.

So, what can we do, from our distant shores? We pray, with fervour and specificity. For these leaders to be fortified in spirit and shielded in body, their health a sacred trust in God’s hands. For Qin Wen, that doors of opportunity swing wide, restoring her livelihood and her voice. Above all, for justice to pierce the veil of accusation, dropping charges that never held water, and for the Church of Abundance to emerge stronger, its members bound tighter in faith’s unyielding embrace.

In a world quick to dim the light of conviction, stories like this one remind us why it endures. The Xi’an faithful are not victims; they are victors in the making, their trials etching lines of glory on heaven’s scroll. Join me in lifting them up today. Let their courage stir ours, turning distant pleas into a chorus that echoes across borders. Faith under fire does not flicker out; it burns brighter still.