In the 1970s and 1980s, rural villages were scattered across the vast land like stars in the night sky. Yet the web of relationships among people was even denser and more intricate than the villages themselves. Information did not travel as fast as it does today, but human ties were warm enough to melt down ice and snow.

Photo by Ivars Utinans on Unsplash

Against this backdrop, “claiming kinship” became a distinctive way of building social networks. By fostering familial bonds, strangers were drawn into the moral framework of an acquaintance-based society, allowing people to find a sense of connection and reliance amid complex social interactions.

I remember that when I was young, there was only one church in the town where my family lived. One of the elders—now deceased—was a relative of ours. He was the kind of relative reached only after seven or eight twists and turns, someone we could never normally have anything to do with. Yet this remote kinship, combined with a shared faith, gave rise to rumors and gossip. Some neighbors asked with a sly smile: “Do you know that the brother-in-law of your second grandmother’s maternal male counsin’s oldest daughter—the one who took you to church and the one you call elder? His son grambled away so much money that he doesn’t even dare to come home!”

What was more unsettling was that such idle talk, exchanged casually after meals or over tea, could quietly ferment into a genuine crisis of faith. “If even the family of the person who takes charge of the church is like this, why should we believe?” Such questions spread through the villages like a virus, eventually hardening into a collective resistance toward the church.

People often judge an entire faith by the wrong actions of a few. In this case, many villagers resisted Christianity because of this elder’s family. Under such pressure, he eventually chose to leave the church. As the saying goes, “good news rarely spreads, but bad news travels far.” That’s why the Scriptures repeatedly emphasized that Christians should have a good testimony and live out love.

But on second thought, it is understandable that people tend to reach for relatives who can bring them honor. The act of “reaching” reflects a strong sense of value. People usually climb upward—toward those of high status or good reputation—rather than downward toward those considered weak or failing. These acts may not be admirable, but it is a true reflection of human nature. If we want to be credible and draw people to us, we must first discipline ourselves and live out a good testimony. At the same time, a faith community is not a loose group. It requires clear rules to guide its members and protect the purity of the faith. Ignoring misconduct can bring shame to the whole group and weaken others’ trust, just as in this example.

We should also look to ourselves: do our daily actions make people feel that joining us is an honor? I am willing to join a loving fellowship, a group committed to benevolence, or a community of gentle and humble people, but I would never join an army of wolves in sheep’s clothing. So what kind of impression do we leave on others?

This also helps us understand why in some places many people come to faith, while in other places there may be only one or two believers after many years. One important reason lies in whether there are good testimonies. Love is what draws people most. Wherever many people believe in the Lord, there are usually one or several believers whose lives bear witness to a love so real that it moves others.

In the past, people always needed a reason to attach themselves to a relative. Yet in the family of faith, people who were once scattered and unrelated have become bound like family. This itself is a miracle. Every Christian should be a living invitation, inviting others to join the feast of love. When our lives are warm and bright enough, people will naturally be drawn to this lasting kinship—not for worldly gain, but in search of a true home.

Author: Liu Shenrong

Translator: Bei Feng