作者：陈军杰
编辑：李晶 校对：熊辩 翻译：戈冰
有些经历，不是过去，它会一直留在你心里。
在中国，我曾接触到家庭教会，一开始只是简单的参与。
后来我才慢慢明白，这并非“普通的宗教生活”。有些时候，聚会必须谨慎：声音不能太大，信息不能太公开，甚至连人与人之间的交流都需要保持一种“边界感”。那种感觉很难解释，不是单纯的害怕，而是一种长期存在的“自我收缩”。
你会习惯性地自我审查：
这句话能不能说？
这个话题安不安全？
这个表达会不会带来麻烦？
久而久之，信仰本该带来的释放感，变成了一种压抑的状态。甚至，我们被突如其来的公职人员带走接受调查，被审讯，被关押，被恐吓威胁，整个过程毫无尊严可言。
后来，我来到了美国。第一次走进教会时，我有一种强烈的不真实感：没有紧张的眼神，没有刻意压低的声音，没有需要提前预判风险的交流，只有很普通的人，在很自然地唱诗、祷告、分享。但这种“普通”，却让我震撼。因为我意识到，原来信仰可以不用防备，原来表达可以不用计算后果，原来一个人可以只是“相信”，而不需要同时“自我保护”。
有一次祷告时，我突然停住了。不是因为环境，而是因为我意识到：我过去很多年的信仰方式，其实是在“限制中进行的”。那一刻很安静，但心里很重。不是悲伤，而是一种迟来的清醒。
虽然我仍然在学习信仰，但和过去不同的是，我开始理解：信仰不仅是内心的坚持，也是一个人是否可以真实表达自己的状态。当表达是自由的，信仰才可能完整；当人不需要隐藏自己时，他才有可能真正面对自己。
我不想用简单的对比去解释两个世界，现实永远比语言复杂。但有一点对我来说已经很清楚：一个人是否能够自由地表达信仰，会深刻改变他的生命状态。不是表面改变，是内心结构的改变。
现在的我，更珍惜每一次聚会。也更理解“自由”这两个字的分量。不是因为它被谈论，而是因为它曾经缺席过。
I Once Believed in Silence; Now I Rediscover Faith in Freedom
Author: Chen Junjie
Editor: Li Jing Proofreader: Xiong Bian Translator: Ge Bing
Some experiences are not just part of the past; they remain in your heart forever.
In China, I once came into contact with house churches, and at first, my involvement was simple.
It was only later that I gradually realized this was not “ordinary religious life.” At times, gatherings required caution: voices couldn’t be too loud, messages couldn’t be too public, and even interactions between people had to maintain a certain “sense of boundaries.” That feeling is hard to explain—it wasn’t mere fear, but a long-standing “self-restraint.”
You find yourself habitually self-censoring:
Can I say this?
Is this topic safe?
Will this expression cause trouble?
Over time, the sense of liberation that faith should bring turns into a state of oppression. At times, we were even taken away by government officials without warning for investigation, interrogated, detained, and subjected to intimidation and threats—the entire process devoid of any dignity.
Later, I came to the United States. The first time I walked into a church, I felt a strong sense of unreality: no nervous glances, no voices deliberately lowered, no conversations requiring me to anticipate risks in advance—just ordinary people singing hymns, praying, and sharing in a very natural way. Yet this “ordinariness” shook me to the core. Because I realized that faith didn’t have to be guarded, that expression didn’t have to be calculated for consequences, and that a person could simply “believe” without simultaneously having to “protect themselves.”
Once, while praying, I suddenly stopped. It wasn’t because of the surroundings, but because I realized that for many years, my faith had actually been practiced “within constraints.” That moment was quiet, but my heart felt heavy. It wasn’t sadness, but a belated awakening.
Although I am still learning about faith, what’s different now is that I’ve begun to understand: faith is not only an inner conviction but also a reflection of whether a person can authentically express themselves. Only when expression is free can faith be whole; only when a person doesn’t need to hide themselves can they truly face themselves.
I don’t want to explain these two worlds through simple contrasts; reality is always more complex than words. But one thing is already very clear to me: whether a person can freely express their faith profoundly changes the state of their life. It’s not a superficial change, but a transformation of their inner structure.
Now, I cherish every gathering even more. I also understand the weight of the word “freedom” more deeply. Not because it’s being discussed, but because it was once absent.
