In 2013, when Pope Francis, aboard a plane returning to Rome from Rio de Janeiro, uttered his famous words: “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?,” his statement shone like a faint yet steadfast beacon. Traversing vast oceans, it pierced the darkness and illuminated the hearts of a deeply hidden, marginalized community within mainland China.
In this land, far removed from the Vatican and characterized by a unique cultural landscape, exists a group of Catholics known as Tongzhi (同志/LGBTQI+), who have long struggled in solitude within the precarious space between their faith and their sexual orientation. It has been my privilege, as both a witness and a fellow traveler, to participate in this extraordinary journey of “building bridges” in the wilderness.
The history of pastoral ministry for LGBTQ Catholics in China is a chronicle of exploration, a journey from anonymity to community. As early as 2009, while working in Beijing, I helped co-found the China Rainbow Witness Fellowship, an ecumenical group for mutual support among sexual minority Christians. During our initial gatherings, I was often the only Catholic present. Deeply entrenched cultural norms, and the church’s silence on homosexuality, left many of us isolated with a fragmented sense of identity. Yet the seeds of the Gospel possess powerful vitality. As more Catholic brothers and sisters joined, we saw the need for a spiritual home nurtured within a Catholic environment. In 2013, the China Catholic Rainbow Community was established.
The history of pastoral ministry for LGBTQ Catholics in China is a chronicle of exploration, a journey from anonymity to community.
We established online prayer groups and began organizing in-person gatherings in cities such as Shanghai. Along the way, we encountered truly compassionate “good shepherds,” priests and nuns filled with mercy, who were willing to brave significant pressure to provide us with meeting spaces. Guided by their pastoral care, our gay and lesbian parishioners demonstrated profound piety; they served as altar servers and lectors, dedicating their gifted lives to the service of God.
Although external interference from extremely conservative voices eventually forced the suspension of our in-person gatherings on church premises, this community, founded in the Lord and bound together by mutual love, has never ceased to exist. In October 2015, I had the privilege of representing a Chinese delegation in Rome at the founding assembly of the Global Network of Rainbow Catholics, where I was elected to the steering board as a member responsible for youth affairs. In that moment, we realized with profound certainty that the faint voices of China’s “Rainbow Catholics” had finally been interwoven with the pastoral heartbeat of the universal church.
Building upon these experiences, I sought to ensure that these life stories, forged in a crucible of tears and prayer, would be heard by a wider audience. To achieve this, I embarked on a multi-year journey of writing and collecting submissions. In January 2018, May Your Lips Kiss Mine, Chinese Tongzhi (LGBTQ) Catholics’ Tales, which I edited, was published in Malaysia. The book’s title is drawn from the opening line of the Old Testament’s Song of Songs, expressing the Rainbow Catholics’ deep yearning for the loving embrace of Mother Church.
The unique and precious quality of this book lies in its ability to transcend geographical boundaries, serving as a living “map” of the Chinese Rainbow Catholic community, a tapestry woven from the threads of countless individual lives. Ultimately, the volume gathered over 50 true stories from various provinces and cities across mainland China, as well as from Hong Kong, Taiwan, Macau and Chinese diaspora communities abroad (including South Korea, Thailand, Malaysia, Australia and Canada).
The contributors hail from vastly different backgrounds: urban youths grappling with intense family pressure to carry on the lineage, weeping bitterly in the confessional booth, yet clinging steadfastly to the hem of God’s garment; rural parishioners navigating their identities in isolation within traditional village settings, relying on a single computer screen to find a sense of communion; seminarians who awakened to their true selves while in formation, striving to balance their personal identities with their consecrated lives; and even courageous parish priests who have stepped forward to advocate for the church to show greater “respect, compassion, and sensitivity” toward sexual minorities. These 50-plus voices constitute a precious historical record, the very first of its kind in mainland China and the wider Chinese-speaking world, where gay and lesbian Catholics have penned their own narratives, sharing their personal journeys of faith and struggle.
The book has sent a quiet yet profound ripple through the Chinese Catholic community; it stands as a living “love letter from the desert,” whispering to those who remain hidden in the shadows, “You are not alone; God loves you exactly as you are.”
Whenever I witness these warm signals emanating from Rome, I feel a profound sense of solace for those Chinese Catholics who continue to hold fast to their faith through quiet perseverance.
As time passed, we moved on to share these testimonies of faith from the East with the Western and global church. In 2022, an expanded English edition of the book, with the title Blessed Are Those Who Mourn—Chinese Tongzhi (LGBTQI+) Catholics’ Tales, was published by the same press.
The English edition’s choice of title—drawn from the Beatitudes in the Gospel of Matthew: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Mt 5:4)—was deliberate, as it captures with profound accuracy the spiritual state of Chinese Tongzhi (LGBTQ) Catholics. Subjected to a dual marginalization by both Chinese culture and traditional church institutions, their lives are often accompanied by deep mourning: mourning over the inability to come out to their families, mourning over the sense of exclusion they feel within their parishes and mourning over the deep-seated self-doubt that lingers within their hearts. Yet, just as Jesus Christ promised, this mourning is not a state of despair, but rather a starting point from which comfort and healing emerge. The publication of the English edition not only chronicles the development of LGBTQ+ ministry in China during a specific historical period but also offers the global church a unique cross-cultural pastoral perspective.
Today, Pope Francis’ pastoral care for the LGBTQ+ community lives on and continues to deepen, ranging from affirming the right to civil unions to permitting non-liturgical blessings for same-sex couples under specific circumstances. Whenever I witness these warm signals emanating from Rome, I feel a profound sense of solace for those Chinese Catholics in distant lands who continue to hold fast to their faith through quiet perseverance.
Reflecting on more than a decade’s experience—from gathering to share our stories in a private room of a small Sanlitun bar in Beijing in 2009, to bearing loud witness through books in Chinese and English—I have come to a profound realization. LGBTQ+ Catholics are not “outsiders” to the church. They are indispensable members of the mystical body of Christ, bearing wounds yet brimming with strength. The work of Chinese LGBTQ+ Catholics continues; we are still journeying through the wilderness. Yet we hold firm in our belief that God, the One who wipes away our tears and kisses our souls, is already waiting for us on the other side of the bridge.
