The Day I Wept in a B31J1NG Apartment: How an Underground Church Changed My Faith Forever

I still remember the tension in the air. The hushed voices, the careful glances toward covered windows, the nervous energy—and something else I couldn't identify until later. The unmistakable presence of costly faith.

I had arrived in B31J1NG just days before, armed with my great Bible knowledge and my typical boldness (caused by fending for myself as a woman in Mexico), and if I'm brutally honest, my spiritual arrogance. I thought of myself as a "resource person." A "teacher." An "expert."

But as I sat cross-legged on the floor of that small apartment, surrounded by believers who risked surveillance, imprisonment, and loss of employment to gather in this ordinary-looking living room, I became the student.

The Moment Everything Changed

It happened during their Sunday gathering. No worship band. No sound system that might alert neighbors. No church sign or parking lot. Just twenty-three believers (which is illegal) squeezed into a space meant for family dinners, singing hymns in whispered voices that somehow carried more weight than the loudest worship services I'd experienced.

A middle-aged woman began to pray. She worked as a university professor, risking her career every time she attended this gathering. She had been denied promotions multiple times once her faith was discovered. Her son had lost university opportunities because of her refusal to renounce her beliefs.

And yet she prayed with such unwavering conviction—such deep joy—that I couldn't comprehend it. "Father, thank you for the privilege of being counted worthy to suffer dishonor for your name," she prayed in Mandar!n. "What greater honor than to follow in our Savior's footsteps?"

And there, on that apartment floor, surrounded by people who risked everything to worship, I broke.

I wept silently, tears streaming down my face. I wept for my own spiritual complacency. I wept for the years I'd spent debating theological minutiae without developing real courage. I wept for a faith that seemed strong but was devoid this raw, costly devotion to Christ.

What They Had That We've Lost

Over the following weeks, slipping in and out of different apartment gatherings across the city, I observed these believers closely, trying to understand what made their faith so resilient when mine felt so fragile. Here's what I discovered:

They treasured Scripture like oxygen. These believers memorized entire books of the Bible—not as an academic exercise, but as survival. "They can take our Bibles," one young man explained, "but they cannot take the Word hidden in our hearts." Many had handwritten portions of Scripture because printed Bibles were difficult to obtain (even back in the day!). I watched a group of university students spend hours meticulously copying Romans by hand, then exchanging chapters to expand their collection.

They understood the cost before they came. Unlike the casual Christianity I was accustomed to, where commitment ebbs and flows with convenience, these believers counted the cost before they ever identified with Jesus. One house church leader told me, "We make sure every person understands what following Jesus might cost them—their education, their job, their family relationships, perhaps even their freedom. If they're not willing to lose everything, we encourage them to consider carefully before they commit."

They prayed like people under siege—because they were. Prayer wasn't a formality before meals or meetings. It was their lifeline, their strategy room, their comfort. They prayed for one another with specific details, they prayed for government officials by name, and they prayed for the Western church—prayers that till this day break me, embolden me, excite me.

"We pray that you will not be seduced by comfort," an elderly man told me. "We pray that God will keep you faithful even in your freedom, which is sometimes the hardest test of all."

The Devastating Question That Changed My Leadership

On my last night there (the laoway-foreigner-was starting to drive unwanted attention), a young software developer—brilliant, educated at one of China's top universities, who had turned down lucrative offers abroad to serve the church locally—asked me a question I'll never forget.

"Sister," he said carefully, "the Western church has freedom, wealth, buildings, seminaries, books, conferences—all things we lack. Yet we hear the Western church is declining while the Ch!n3se church is growing despite persecution. What do you think we have that you might be missing?"

His question wasn't proud; it was genuinely curious. And it devastated me.

That question burned my soul and still does to this day. What DOES the persecuted church have that we in the West have lost? What happens when faith costs nothing?

I've spent years since then wrestling with that question. And while I don't have complete answers, I believe at least part of it is this: when faith costs nothing, it eventually becomes worth nothing.

The underground church in B31j1ng showed me that persecution (and suffering) doesn't destroy true faith—it distills it, refines it, and reveals what's genuine. Their faith wasn't theoretical or performative. It was a matter of life and death, identity and purpose.

How This Changed Everything for Our Family

This experience shook the foundations of my faith and ministry. We returned to America changed, uncomfortable, unable to settle back into our previous rhythms of convenient Christianity.

The results have been both painful and beautiful. We've lost friends who found our new message too uncomfortable, too radical. We've faced criticism from experts who see our emphasis on depth over numbers in Reformadas as strategically flawed.

But we've also seen dozens of believers awakened to a more resilient faith—faith that can withstand the cultural headwinds we now face—faith inspired by our brothers and sisters in the unde7ground church who have never had the luxury of casual Christianity.

Your Turn: A Question That Might Change Everything

I don't share this story to romanticize persecution or to minimize the real suffering of believers in restricted nations. But I do believe that my Ch1n3s3 brothers and sisters unveiled something essential that many of us have lost: the understanding that authentic faith always costs something.

So I'll leave you with the question that continues to challenge me daily:

If following Jesus became illegal tomorrow, would there be enough evidence of your faith to convict you?

Not just church attendance. Not just a Bible(s) on your shelf. But the kind of living, vibrant, transformative faith I witnessed in that apartment—faith worth risking everything for.

I'm still learning what this means in a Western context where the challenges to faith are often more subtle—comfort, distraction, and apathy rather than outright persecution. I don't have it figured out. But I know this: that apartment floor was holy ground for me. It was the place where God began dismantling my comfortable Christianity to rebuild something more authentic.

And I've never been more grateful for being broken.

Have you encountered believers from the persecuted church whose faith challenged or transformed your own? Share your story in the comments—we're all learning together.

P.S. If you're wrestling with how to develop resilient faith in a comfort-oriented culture, download our free resource.  It’s in the menu under “A gift for you”.