—致金明日牧师
作者：赵令军
编辑：钟然 校对：熊辩 翻译：彭小梅
在当下的中国，教堂被监控、信徒被传唤、聚会被定性为“非法”早已成为一种常态。从建政初期至今，中共对基督教的压制从未中断，只是在不同时期更换了手段与名目。
然而，2025年10月9日晚，广西北海，当局出动三十余名全副武装的警察，包围整栋住宅，只为抓捕一位讲道、祷告、牧养信徒的老人——金明日牧师，这个世界仍然不得不再次面对一个问题：
一个自称强大、稳定、无所畏惧的政权，究竟在恐惧什么？
金明日牧师的被捕，并不仅仅是一场针对个人的抓捕行动。
它更像是一种公开宣示——当信仰拒绝臣服，权力就必须出手；当良知不肯低头，国家机器便被动员起来。
一个坚持无神论的独裁政权，试图通过这种方式向信徒宣告：没有人能帮助你们——你们的教堂不能，你们的上帝也不能。
但金明日牧师并非毫无准备。
在此之前，他已经亲眼见过多位牧师、传道者被抓、被审、被长期拘押。他曾为他们感到纠结、痛心；也正因为见过代价，他才更加清楚，这条路通向何处。
正是在这样的背景下，他后来对来访者所说的那句话才显得格外平静，却分量极重：“以前看到别的牧师或传道者被抓，我很纠结，却无能为力；如今，我自己被抓了，反而觉得很坦然。”
从这一刻起，叙事发生了变化。
金明日牧师不再只是一个“被迫害者”，而是一位明知后果、仍然作出选择的人。
他让我想起《使徒行传》中记载的第一位殉道者——司提反。
《使徒行传》5章29节写道：“顺从神，不顺从人，是应当的。”
这并非一句抽象的信仰宣言，而是在历史中一次次被具体生命所印证的选择。
在教会最初的年代，执事司提反因坚持公开见证信仰，被带到权力与宗教合谋的审判面前。面对捏造的指控与即将降临的石刑，他既没有为自己辩护，也没有以认罪换取生存。
当石头即将落下时，他没有控诉，也没有呼喊不公，而是仰望天空，平静地说了一句
“主耶稣，请你接受我的灵魂。”
那不是绝望中的哀求，而是在已经作出选择之后的交托。
正是在这一刻，死亡失去了它作为威胁的力量。
两千年后，当金明日牧师说出“我反而觉得很坦然”时，这种坦然同样不是对现实的无知，也不是对苦难的轻视，而是源自同一个根基：
当一个人已经把生命交托，权力便无法再以恐惧相要挟。
司提反在行刑之时，将灵魂交在主的手中；
金明日牧师在被捕之时，将命运交在同样的顺从之中。
时代不同，方式各异，
但那一刻的心境，是相通的。
为了抓捕金明日牧师，当局出动了数十名警力。
不是为了制止暴力犯罪，也不是为了防范公共危险，而只是为了终止祷告、终止讲道、终止一群人按照良心聚集的权利。
事实本身，已经构成了最清楚的控诉。
而更沉重的代价，落在了他的家人身上。
由于中共长期实施边控，金明日牧师已经超过七年未能与身在美国的家人团聚。他的家人被迫承受突如其来的分离、漫长的不确定，以及随时可能升级的打压。事实上，正如他女儿 Grace Jin 在美国国会的陈词中所披露的那样，中共对她们的恐吓已经开始。
然而，她们并未否认金牧师的选择，也没有将他的坚持视为鲁莽。
“很痛苦，但依然充满爱，我们相信上帝不会抛弃我们。”她们如是说。
殉道从来不是一个浪漫的词。
它意味着清醒地承受，意味着在孤独中站立，意味着明知将失去自由，仍不撤回信仰与良知。
司提反倒下后，教会并未消失；恰恰相反，逼迫成为信仰扩散的起点。历史一再证明：迫害从未终结信仰，反而不断替它作证。
当权力以为自己封住了口、锁住了人，却发现真理被推向了更远的地方。
正如 Grace Jin 在国会所说：即便在文革时期，仍有人在暗中坚持信仰，甚至躲在厨房里为家人唱赞美诗；那么在今天，一个政权同样无法消灭基督教。
当国际社会一次次发声，呼吁释放一位本应无罪的牧师时，真正站在历史被告席上的，早已不是他。
一个必须动用国家机器来压制信仰、用法律名义惩罚良知的政权，事实上已经对自己作出了判决。
政权或许可以囚禁人的身体，却无法审判一个顺从神的灵魂。
从司提反，到无数无名的信徒，再到今天的金明日牧师，殉道者从来不是失败者——他们只是提前把结局交给了时间。
而时间，终将作证。
赵令军（Frank），加拿大，2026年2月
Obey God, Not Men— A Letter to Pastor Jin Mingri
Author: Zhao LingjunEditor: Zhong Ran Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Peng Xiaomei
Abstract:The arrest of Pastor Jin Mingri has sparked renewed reflection on the suppression of faith. Drawing on the spirit of Stephen’s martyrdom, this article points out that a conscience obedient to God does not fear the coercion of power, and that truth will ultimately be proven by time.
In present-day China, churches under surveillance, believers summoned for questioning, and gatherings labeled as “illegal” have long become a norm. From the early years of the regime to today, the Chinese Communist Party’s suppression of Christianity has never ceased; it has merely changed its methods and pretexts in different periods.
Yet on the night of October 9, 2025, in Beihai, Guangxi, when authorities dispatched more than thirty fully armed police officers to surround an entire residential building—simply to arrest an elderly pastor who preached, prayed, and shepherded believers—the world was once again forced to confront a question:
What exactly is a regime that claims to be powerful, stable, and fearless truly afraid of?
Pastor Jin Mingri’s arrest was not merely an operation targeting an individual.
It was more like a public declaration—that when faith refuses to submit, power must intervene; when conscience refuses to bow, the machinery of the state is mobilized.
An atheistic authoritarian regime attempts, in this way, to declare to believers: no one can help you—your church cannot, and your God cannot either.
But Pastor Jin Mingri was not unprepared.
Before this, he had personally witnessed multiple pastors and preachers being arrested, tried, and detained for long periods. He had felt anguish and pain for them; precisely because he had seen the cost, he understood even more clearly where this path would lead.
It is against this background that the words he later spoke to visitors appear especially calm, yet weighty:
“In the past, when I saw other pastors or preachers arrested, I felt torn and powerless; now that I myself have been arrested, I actually feel at peace.”
From that moment, the narrative changed.
Pastor Jin Mingri was no longer merely a “persecuted victim,” but a man who knew the consequences and still made his choice.
He reminds me of the first martyr recorded in the Book of Acts—Stephen.
Acts 5:29 says: “We must obey God rather than men.”
This is not an abstract declaration of faith, but a choice repeatedly embodied in concrete lives throughout history.
In the early days of the church, the deacon Stephen, for insisting on publicly bearing witness to his faith, was brought before a trial shaped by the collusion of power and religion. Facing fabricated accusations and the impending sentence of stoning, he neither defended himself nor exchanged confession for survival.
As the stones were about to fall, he did not accuse, nor cry out injustice, but looked up to heaven and calmly said:
“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”
That was not a plea born of despair, but a surrender made after a decision had already been taken.
At that moment, death lost its power as a threat.
Two thousand years later, when Pastor Jin Mingri said, “I actually feel at peace,” this peace was likewise not ignorance of reality, nor disregard for suffering, but arose from the same foundation:
When a person has already entrusted his life, power can no longer use fear as leverage.
Stephen, at the moment of execution, entrusted his spirit into the Lord’s hands;Pastor Jin Mingri, at the moment of arrest, entrusted his fate in the same obedience.
The times are different, the circumstances vary,but the state of heart in that moment is shared.
To arrest Pastor Jin Mingri, the authorities mobilized dozens of police officers.
Not to stop violent crime, nor to prevent public danger, but merely to end prayer, to end preaching, to end a group of people gathering according to conscience.
The facts themselves constitute the clearest indictment.
And the heavier cost has fallen upon his family.
Because of long-standing exit controls imposed by the CCP, Pastor Jin Mingri has not been able to reunite with his family in the United States for more than seven years. His family has been forced to endure sudden separation, prolonged uncertainty, and the constant possibility of escalating repression. Indeed, as his daughter Grace Jin disclosed in her testimony before the U.S. Congress, intimidation against them by the CCP has already begun.
Yet they have not denied Pastor Jin’s choice, nor regarded his persistence as reckless.
“It is very painful but still filled with love. We believe God will not abandon us,” they said.
Martyrdom has never been a romantic word.
It means sober endurance. It means standing firm in solitude. It means knowing one may lose freedom yet still refusing to withdraw one’s faith and conscience.
After Stephen fell, the church did not disappear; on the contrary, persecution became the starting point for the spread of faith. History repeatedly proves that persecution has never ended faith; rather, it continually bears witness to it.
When power believes it has silenced mouths and locked up bodies, it finds that truth has been carried even farther.
As Grace Jin said in Congress: even during the Cultural Revolution, people persisted in faith in secret, even hiding in kitchens to sing hymns for their families; then today, likewise, a regime cannot eliminate Christianity.
When the international community repeatedly calls for the release of a pastor who should be innocent, the one truly standing in history’s dock is no longer him.
A regime that must mobilize state machinery to suppress faith, and punish conscience in the name of law, has in fact already passed judgment upon itself.
A regime may imprison the body, but it cannot try the soul that obeys God.
From Stephen to countless unnamed believers, to Pastor Jin Mingri today, martyrs have never been the defeated—they have merely entrusted the ending to time in advance.
And time will bear witness.
Zhao Lingjun (Frank)Canada, February 2026
