Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.

When I was a child, the “God” I heard about was always associated with ghosts. People often used the phrase “ox-headed demons and snake spirits” to describe evil beings. The deities mentioned in daily life were nothing but frightening monsters and demons — symbols of harm and fear.

In my childhood, the only “great being” I knew of was Mao Zedong. He was portrayed as our Sun and Teacher, a divine figure in the hearts of the people. Yet, in all the newspapers and books, atheism was loudly celebrated as the only truth.

In my family, my grandfather was the elder I respected and feared the most. He seldom spoke to me, but from his refined manners and the deep respect and affection the neighbors had for him, I sensed a unique grace that set him apart. After Mao’s death and the fall of the Gang of Four, I learned that my grandfather had been a renowned physician in the county. He was kind and often treated the poor without charging them, which made me admire him even more.

However, he always remained distant from me. He never spoiled me or bought me gifts, and I found it hard to feel his affection. I often saw him reading a small booklet with great concentration, taking careful notes as he read. He seemed to place the booklet deliberately where I could easily find it, as if tempting me to take a peek — and indeed, I did.

When I opened it, I found pages filled with names — endless genealogies of who begot whom. The words were strange and difficult to read, and I quickly lost interest. Later, when a neighbor’s fire spread to our house, many things were destroyed, and that little booklet was lost as well. My grandfather later left to live with his daughter, and I lost contact with him.

It was not until my youth that I learned that the booklet had been the New Testament. I also discovered that the county hospital had once been my family’s clinic, where American Methodist missionaries used to reside. I realized that Jesus was the God and Love in my grandfather’s heart. Yet, after years of being steeped in natural science and materialist atheism, I dismissed it all without reflection.

From then on, my connection with God and the Bible was severed for twenty years.

Later, during a quieter period of my work, some friends invited me to attend a church service in Fuzhou. Around that time, my parents had emigrated abroad and converted to Christianity. This rekindled my curiosity toward the Bible, and I began to read it earnestly.

As a Chinese, what first captivated me was the opening of the Gospel of John:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

This description strongly reminded me of Laozi’s Dao De Jing. Out of curiosity, I attended various Christian services across different denominations, each with its own rituals, tones, and spiritual atmosphere. They influenced my perception and cognition in distinct ways.

It was a fascinating experience. Especially during the long collective recitations of hymns and prayers, when the rhythmic repetition brought one into a meditative, almost yogic state of consciousness. Yet, when I examined the text itself, I found many self-defined truths — and some contradictions.

As for the miracles scattered across world mythology and biblical history, I came to regard them more as symbols than literal events. Eventually, I stopped attending Christian worship altogether.