I got to know John in university seven or eight years ago. But we have become great friends in recent times. Even if he is a very traditional Chinese man and older than me, he has a way of looking at things and people that reveal the heart of a child.
He told me that, since he has converted to Catholicism -at the time, he was 47- he has gone to Mass every day, wherever he is. To his numerous kids he has had with Teresa, who also was baptized as an adult for a special grace received from the saint of Lisieux, John often says: “I am overcome with joy in thinking about being with Christ at the beginning of every day! You all know what is the first thing that mom and dad do when we get to the church? We kneel down before the altar in silence. We come before God with empty hands but with hearts full of love and gratitude. Every day, we offer at the altar our weights and our joys. He knows what to do with them.” At their home, the evening rosary is a fixed appointment to which guests are often invited, Christian and not.
With John, we can speak about everything as his culture is vast. One day, he brought me to look at the immense library at his home: I noticed that, next to the books, there were a few photographs. With a satisfied smile, he told me: “I hope I never stop learning as long as I am breathing. I have a great library and I also have an amazing collection of friends whom I consider as my books of walking consultation.”
“This is an epoch in which to remain Christians, we must become saints.”
Lately, he has often come to see me at my office in the university. In reality, it is I who cannot wait to go and chat with him. Besides Chinese, he speaks English very well, having studied and taught Law, Chinese Philosophy and Christian Mysticism in America. He also lived for a few years in Rome, but was never able to learn my native language. Joking, he told me: “An old monkey cannot be taught new tricks!”
He also knows how to be serious and profound. Speaking of the difficult situation towards which the great part of the world is headed, he told me: “This is an epoch in which to remain Christians, we must become saints.” When I asked him what he thought of the relationship between the West and the East, he told me immediately: “To find ourselves, we do not need to travel towards the east or the west, but towards the inside.” Then he explained: “Christ is the sun that illuminates the internal world, and the Church is like the lense through which the rays are focused to set fire to the earth. We must put our soul under this flame so that it can be set ablaze with divine love.” Looking at him speaking, this love continuously shone forth.
One day, after having told me about the vicissitudes of his life, success and betrayals, he concluded: “The dominant note of my life is love. All of the scattered leaves of my life have been collected by the loving hand of God and reunited in a harmonious volume. Even in human relations, I have received more love than I have given. But if I am a debtor towards men, how much more so am I towards God!”.
He always calls me “Father” because he has enormous respect for the sacrament of the priesthood. One of his sons, Peter, became a missionary priest. John told me that at his son’s first Mass, he wanted to serve as an altar boy, overturning the Confucian canons of filial piety whereby the son must always serve the parent. He told me, with shining eyes: “His old father will serve him as a son serves his father.”
What strikes me most about John is his profound unity: one could say that he is totally Chinese, totally Catholic, and at the same time totally himself. When speaking of traditional Chinese philosophy and religions, he often refers to them as nurturers who raised him well until the light of Christ appeared to illuminate his life: “Yes,” he tells me with conviction, “Christ is the unity of my life.”
I could say much more about my dear friend John, but in fact I already have, because he is the author on whom I wrote my doctoral thesis: John C. H. Wu, born in China in 1899, died in Taipei in 1986.
