Reflections from Pastor John Cao is a series of poetry and writings from the recently released Chinese Christian prisoner of conscience exclusively published by ChinaAid. The pieces below were written on April 24, 2024 and has been minimally edited for clarity. To read more of Pastor John Cao’s poetry, one can purchase the collection written while he was imprisoned, Living Lyrics: Poems from Prison.
Joyful to the ends of the earth
Rivers, lakes, ravines, and valleys – all serve as my home,
Wherever there’s a need, that’s where I’ll go.
Though I once admired life in cozy neighborhoods,
Now burying desires, joyful to the earth’s ends I’ll roam.
I take rivers, lakes, and great mountains as my home. Wherever there is a need, that’s the direction I advance. I once envied the comfortable life in cozy neighborhoods. Now, I bury my desires and joyfully set out to the ends of the earth.
Ode to Tea
Fine tea relies on water to release its subtle fragrance,
Quenching thirst, warmth penetrates the weak and empty bowels.
Pouring for each other, deep feelings brew amidst casual chats,
A refreshing aura wafts up, bringing tranquility and health.
Good tea relies on good water to brew a faint aroma, quenching thirst and deeply warming the weak stomach and intestines. I toast you a cup, you toast me a cup, casual chats nurture deep feelings. A refreshing aura rises from the body, bringing peace and health.
The metaphorical meaning of this poem is that we Christians are like good tea leaves, and water is like Jesus.
Harvesting in the bountiful garden
Being assigned here is truly fortunate,
Others can’t bear the worries, not knowing our sentiments.
Baptized in the Jordan River, nourished by the mist,
Gazing at the wisps of clouds, hoping for timely rain.
Carrying out the mission, this is how it should be,
Pen in hand, composing poems, treating the prison as a study.
When we gather again, singing in unison,
Chanting the heavenly melody, then swiftly engaging in diligent work,
Reaping a bountiful harvest in life’s garden.
I am truly fortunate to come to this prison. Others think life here would be unbearable, but that’s because they don’t understand the sentiments of us Christians. Bathing early in the Jordan River, showered by the Holy Spirit, eagerly hoping for the clouds to bring timely rain. This is how it should be when entrusted with a mission. Pen in hand, writing poems, treating the prison as a school for now. When we gather again, we’ll sing together, chanting the heavenly melody, and then immediately engage in diligent work, reaping a bountiful harvest in life.
Untitled
In Chinese history, Shun is considered a paragon of filial piety because he still yearned for his parents at the age of fifty: “Shun’s utmost filial piety, at fifty still yearning.” In this regard, I am like Shun. At sixty, I still yearn for my mother, and I write a short poem to remember it:
At sixty, I still humbly yearn for my mother,
Nourishment flows constantly through the umbilical cord[1].
With a frail body, she gladly acts as a scaffold[2],
Helping her son to building the glorious career of a servant[3].
Notes:
1. Nourishment: nutrients. Here, it refers to the mother’s handwritten scriptures and the greetings and messages conveyed from various places. Umbilical cord: the connection between mother and child.
2. Scaffold: a temporary structure used in building construction.
3. Servant: the person who serves as God’s servant.
At the age of sixty, I still humbly yearn for my mother. She provides me with a constant flow of nourishment through the umbilical cord. With her frail body, she gladly and willingly acts as a scaffold for me, enabling me to accomplish a glorious career for the Lord.
Cotton-Padded Jacket
In her letters, my mother constantly mentions Tan Yan from Beijing, who cares about me very much. From the time I was in the Menglian Detention Center to my time in Kunming Prison, every winter she wanted to send me a cotton-padded jacket, fearing that I would be cold. This truly moved me. I wrote a short poem to commemorate her love.
Wanting to send a cotton-padded jacket, but it’s hard to reach,
Not sending it, I’m anxious, fearing you might be cold.
A single prayer, my spirit hears,
Instantly feeling the Holy Spirit burning within.
Crossing through Myanmar
Who slanders, who praises as I cross through,
A few judges berate, sentencing me to seven years.
Wholly believing and hoping to love the world,
Millions of likes I don’t deserve to receive.
As I cross through Myanmar, who is slandering me, and who is praising me? A few judges berated me and gave me a seven-year sentence. I go with believing and hoping in all things to love every person on this earth. Millions of people are liking and welcoming me, someone undeserving.
Joyful
Reading Du Fu’s poem “Ascending Yueyang Tower”, there is a line that says “Not a single letter from friends and family”. He was truly pitiful. In contrast, I have thousands upon thousands of caring brothers and sisters. Using the rhyme scheme of Du Fu’s poem, I composed the following poem:
In battles, we rely on mighty weapons,
Worldly gains, despised like floating clouds.
Global prayers unite in one accord,
Through storms, the Lord and I share a boat.
Lifelong, God’s love and grace accompany me,
Anointing oil flows abundantly over my forehead[2].
Notes:
1. The “upper room” refers to a gathering place for Christians.
2. “Anointing oil” represents blessings from God. See Psalm 23 in the Old Testament.
When Moses struck the rock, living water flowed out, and in the upper room, everyone receives abundant messages. We fight battles with spiritual weapons and despise worldly interests, viewing them as floating clouds. Prayers from around the world unite as one, and in the storms, we sit in the same boat with the Lord Jesus. Throughout my life, God’s grace and love accompany me, and the anointing oil flows abundantly over my forehead.
Ode to a Butterfly I
My classmates have all retired for winter’s rest,
This lowly insect stirs, eager to leap and enjoy spring’s best.
Unbound from my cocoon, transformed to adorn the earth,
Pollinating gourds and melons for an abundant harvest’s birth.
Ode to a Butterfly II
Shedding winter clothes for light attire,
Spring breeze slips through the cracks[1].
Golden sun shines from afar[2],
Hunan’s flowers bloom with vigor.
A bound prisoner singularly yearns,
Carefully perusing distant letters.
Fortunate to be here in my twilight years[3],
Making up lessons, joyful in the study[4].
Notes:
1. Cracks: gaps in the prison window.
2. Golden sun: the dazzling sun, also referring to Jinyang District in Guiyang, where I once pastored.
3. Twilight years: one’s old age.
4. Making up life’s lessons. Study: school. There’s a saying, “Treat prison as a school.”
I’ve taken off my padded jacket and changed into light clothes. The spring breeze slips through the cracks of the prison window. I gaze into the distance at Jinyang District in Guiyang, where I once pastored, and at the blooming flowers in my hometown of Hunan. At this moment, I am still a bound prisoner, single-mindedly yearning for the arrival of the heavenly kingdom, carefully reading and re-reading letters from afar. I am fortunate to come here in my old age; this is my school, where I must diligently make up lessons to equip myself.
Ode to Bees
Toiling daily, busy gathering from flowers,
Wishing only for all to enjoy the lingering fragrance.
Soft wings vigorously traversing tens of thousands of miles,
Small and delicate, yet hearts united in manifesting the Heavenly Father’s great virtue.
Bees work hard every day, gathering nectar from flowers, only wishing that everyone can enjoy the fragrance of the honey. Their wings are soft but strong, tirelessly flying back and forth for thousands of miles. Although their bodies are small and delicate, their united hearts demonstrate the great virtue of the Heavenly Father.
