A journey to Taiwan, the island where God is still a stranger

It feels rather strange, for a Westerner accustomed to Roman Masses, to take part in a service in Taipei, Taiwan. For a start, it isn’t always easy to find the church, which is sometimes nothing more than a huge hall inside a building that, in our part of the world, might be mistaken for the offices of some insurance agency. Fortunately, Google Maps provides precise directions, including the entrances to the locations being sought, and the extreme courtesy of the caretaker-secretary, who promptly indicated that, right in front of her, beyond the fire doors, Sunday Mass would be celebrated within a few minutes. The church is Sacred Heart of Jesus in Guting, a few metro stops from Taipei’s main central station, which has trains running above, buses alongside and, beneath, the endless Mall – the market where you can find absolutely everything. From trolleys of every size to video games, from food to homewares and personal care products. Back at the church, as soon as visitors step through the doors, the sacristan politely approaches the newcomers: ‘Where are you from? Is this your first time here? Here, take this sheet with the parish priest’s reflections and sit in the front pew, in front of the altar.’ They comply, partly out of respect for local custom and partly because that position offers the clearest view of the liturgical action. The altar is immaculately arranged, with candles and a cross. No flowers – those are placed on the floor, in accordance with liturgical rules we always ignore. Two minutes before Mass, a female announcer invites the congregation to gather their thoughts and stand up. On a screen, you can follow the introductory hymn and, afterwards, every part of the Mass. It is an instructional service: the speaker at the microphone tells you when to sit down, when to stand up and when to kneel. Before Communion, it is reminded – on screen and verbally – that ‘only Catholics may receive Communion’, but others may receive a blessing. At the conclusion, prior to the final blessing, the ‘newcomers’ are invited to introduce themselves by name and country of origin. The United States, New Zealand, Italy, Indonesia and the Philippines are represented, and the congregation applauds each in turn. They are then invited to gather in the café after Mass for greetings, conversation and the building of community. There you have it: community. Here in the West, although it is becoming less common, it may seem obvious, but in the East, in a highly individualistic society, it is by no means a given.

There are seven dioceses on the island, and just as many parishes. Catholics are truly convinced of their faith, even if they often struggle to understand that “it is more than just going to Mass on Sundays, receiving Communion without having gone to confession, and that’s it. See you next Sunday’, says Father Mirco Cichella, a missionary from the Diocese of Macerata who is parish priest at St Joseph’s Church in New Taipei. He welcomes us in front of a tarpaulin that recreates the façade of his church, ‘the oldest on the island’. And what remains today? ‘Nothing. A while ago, people came here looking for the remains, convinced they were there. But there’s nothing left.” Just the tarpaulin, in fact. Which serves as a memento: it recalls the origins of a history. Christianity is struggling to take root here; local beliefs have always posed a cultural barrier. There is superstition, especially in rural areas: “Non-Christians find it difficult to come to church because they are afraid; they are superstitious. But there are also Catholics who, despite their firm faith, continue to make offerings, which they call ‘Bai Bai’. It is a quest for prosperity. It’s hard to explain in a few words,” remarks Father Mirco. This is nothing new, if one considers the disputes over Chinese rituals and what Matteo Ricci, from the Marche region, saw and understood before anyone else, centuries ago. To be relevant there, Christianity must adapt to a world different from the European one – and even more so from the Western one. “A few years ago, I took part in a meeting on the dialogue between Christianity and Confucianism. As I hadn’t met anyone who officially represented Confucianism, I asked who we were actually engaging with. I was told that it is an inner dialogue present in every Taiwanese Christian who, whilst being, for example, Catholic, is at the same time deeply Confucian,” explains Professor Piotr Adamek, a sinologist and expert in Eastern Christianity and interreligious dialogue at Fu Jen University in Taipei. “In the process of inculturation, as taught by Matteo Ricci, the aim is not syncretism, but rather to proclaim the Gospel and express one’s devotion in forms that are culturally accepted at a local level. In fact, when I speak to or meet Taiwanese Catholics, I often observe both specific gestures (such as bowing instead of kneeling, or using incense sticks in prayer) and a sense of uncertainty amongst the faithful, who feel torn between their faith and their culture, given that for centuries the Church has viewed Chinese religiosity with suspicion.”

Then there is the proselytising activity of the Protestants, who remind everyone that they are for Jesus, whilst Catholics are for the Virgin Mary. It is almost as if they were two different religions. “Protestant churches have a long tradition in Taiwan: two years ago, the 400th anniversary of their presence there was celebrated. In particular, the Presbyterian Church, the largest of the Protestant churches, is highly regarded by the Taiwanese for the support it offered to the local community, culture and language during the so-called ‘White Terror’, from 1949 to 1992,” notes Professor Adamek. “Conversely,” he adds, “in recent decades, non-denominational evangelical Protestantism, characterised by the presence of megachurches, has experienced rapid growth, particularly in urban areas, and now accounts for half of all believers. This trend is viewed with concern by some Catholics and traditional Protestants, who criticise these groups because, in their view, they trivialise Christianity, as well as being little involved in social issues and poorly rooted in local culture.” But is there an open conflict between Catholics and Protestants? “I would say not, partly because official contacts are limited and Christianity represents only a small percentage of society.” Father Mirco shows us the headquarters, in his parish, of the Legio Mariae, which is extremely widespread in Taiwan: “It’s important here.” This is evident.

You have to go to the Church of the Holy Family, the largest Catholic church in Taipei, with its façade shaped like a welcoming tent. Father John Rao, a Jesuit, is in his study. A scarf bearing the image of Pope Francis hangs between the bookshelves, there are piles of folders on his desk, and a mountain of Ferrero Rocher chocolates on the side table. He is wearing a T-shirt bearing the words ‘Taiwan 400’ and explains that this marks the 400th anniversary of the Catholic Church’s presence in Taiwan. More than 500 people took part in a long procession – a pilgrimage on foot – to celebrate the occasion. He speaks Italian very well: ‘I studied in Rome, but I’m originally from Indonesia’. He also reflects on the strength of the local religions, Taoism and Buddhism. Yet, in his parish, there is no shortage of work: “Every Sunday we have six Masses, attended by a total of around 1,200 people.” And the clergy? “Almost half the priests are foreign: Vietnamese, Indonesians and Filipinos. And many Africans.” Father Rao explains that “the difficulty of the Christian faith here is also due to the fact that the Catholic Church is perceived as something external. A Catholic is a foreigner, an outsider to the great, millennia-old Chinese tradition. Inculturation does not run that deep. Christianity must be introduced in ways appropriate to these places and this culture; otherwise, it is complicated. Before introducing complex arguments, we must help people ‘feel’ what it means to be Christian… the Chinese are intuitive and very – so to speak – sensory. This can be a good point of entry. Moreover, we Catholics are not like the Protestants; we allow a great deal of freedom. Our doors are open, but we do not force anyone to come in or stay.” These may seem like trivial, philosophical matters, but on the island they are, in fact, crucial. One need only consider that in Mandarin Chinese the same word can mean both ‘crime’ and ‘sin’, and it is not always easy to make the faithful understand that a sin, as understood in the Christian sense, is not a crime punishable by imprisonment, as the missionaries of the Fraternity of St Charles Borromeo, led by Father Paolo Costa, point out. In Taipei, they have a house, teach at the university, and organise evenings of conversation and in-depth discussion on themes that, amidst the towering mega-shopping centres of the capital, do not seem so pressing: life and death, desire and freedom. At the time of writing, they are preparing to depart for Xinzhu, on the coast, for the annual ‘Comunione e Liberazione’ community holiday: testimonies, games, gatherings, outings and singing. More than fifty people are taking part. Once again, the community. Seeds are sown, and then we shall see how strong the roots will be and how tall the trees will grow.

How would you describe this particular historical phase in Taiwan, Father Rao? “I would call it a pre-evangelisation phase; there is a great deal of work to be done.” The Catholic presence on the island consists of around three hundred thousand faithful and numerous institutions: four universities, forty-six secondary schools, more than two hundred nursery schools – almost one per parish. Of course, says the Jesuit, “we cannot teach catechism at school, but we can run after-school clubs”, the ideal setting for building community, which here seems to be the primary need. There is social engagement, ranging from Catholic hospitals to the fight against abortion. However, “we’re short of raw materials”, jokes Father Rao – though not entirely in jest. The demographic situation in Taiwan is serious; the fertility rate stands at 0.7, among the lowest in the world. There are more deaths than births, and over twenty per cent of the population is well over sixty-five years of age. Indeed, the Church is actively promoting care for the elderly, not merely in terms of healthcare. There is more besides, such as the “Rerum Novarum” Centre, opened in 1971 by the Society of Jesus to provide assistance to exploited workers and which, over time, has become primarily a place where people in difficulty or in need of work can be listened to. Much is being done, yet it is not enough. “The Catholic Church in Taiwan does indeed enjoy a religious freedom that is completely different from that in mainland China, where religions have been mobilised in the service of the Communist Party. Religious freedom in China is, in reality, a tool for controlling religion. However, the pastoral activity of Taiwan’s seven dioceses, taken together, is not comparable to that of a single diocese in Hong Kong. This observation was made a few years ago by a Vatican official,” says Sister Beatrice Leung, a nun belonging to the Congregation of the Most Precious Blood and an honorary lecturer at National Chengchi University in Taipei. “In the 1950s and 1960s, the total number of baptisms recorded in Taiwan was 300,000. In 2014, when I asked the Catholic authorities what the Catholic population of the island was, I was given the figure of 240,000. Three years ago, in 2023, when the bishops of Taiwan wanted to know the exact number of Catholics who regularly attended church, a sociologist friend of mine, together with his team, conducted a census in all the churches and chapels across Taiwan on a single Sunday. The number of the faithful attending Sunday Mass turned out to be just 50,000 people, give or take.” Sister Beatrice Leung continues: “I am a missionary from Hong Kong working in Tainan, the oldest city in the south and the fourth-largest city in Taiwan. In my parish, at Easter last year, we celebrated only two baptisms; across the whole of Taiwan, with its seven dioceses, there were approximately two hundred baptisms. The local clergy admire the two to three thousand baptisms celebrated each year at Easter in the Diocese of Hong Kong alone, but do not seem to respond by renewing their pastoral commitment. Both diocesan priests and religious priests from South-East Asia often tend to enjoy Taiwan’s material prosperity rather than engage in the difficult work of evangelisation.” Is the picture therefore bleak? “No, there is a small group of committed and dedicated Catholics who form the pillars of parish life. However, they do not go out to evangelise nor do they seek to pass on their faith to their neighbours. Quite simply, they do not know how to talk about their Catholic faith.”

We return to the issue of passing on the faith within the family: “Young people and children are not receiving an adequate education in the Catholic faith from their parents. In short, spiritual life within families is very poor. That is why it is absolutely essential that parents fulfil their educational role within the family. Young people facing issues related to sexuality turn to people outside the Church for advice, whilst these matters are not discussed during Sunday Masses. I think the situation of the Church in Taipei is slightly better.” In short, says Sister Beatrice, “I have the impression that the Church in Taiwan needs a profound internal renewal, to strengthen the faith of its faithful and deepen their relationship with God. In a context where popular religions are widespread, if Catholics are not educated to uphold and bear witness to the values of the Gospel and to develop an ever-closer relationship with the risen Jesus Christ, the Catholic community – which represents around one per cent of the population – risks becoming a minority with increasingly limited influence in Taiwanese society’. Piotr Adamek agrees: “After decades of rapid growth and missionary expansion, between 1950 and 1980, the Church entered a phase of stagnation, with parish communities characterised by a high proportion of elderly people. The future of the Catholic Church on the island will depend on its ability to find a new path and a more compelling way of communicating in order to connect with young people. It will need to bridge the generation gap, welcome the various migrant communities and promote a living faith capable of addressing directly the difficulties and identity issues faced by today’s young Taiwanese.”

A thriving society that proudly showcases the achievements of its research and industry, which have made it a leader in the semiconductor sector. Taiwan accounts for seventy per cent of global semiconductor production capacity and ninety per cent of the most advanced chips, which are then used in our computers, smartphones and military systems. But also in medicine, in the most advanced medical equipment. In Hsinchu, half an hour by high-speed train from Taipei Main Station, there is a huge centre dedicated to study, research and manufacturing. How does a country so small, compared to the world’s major powers, manage to remain the undisputed leader? What is the formula or the secret? “The most successful lessons learnt from Taiwan’s experience concern models of collaboration between industry, academia and research, and the integration of hardware and software,” says Liu Chien-Nan, Director-General of the Taiwan Semiconductor Research Institute (TSRI), who adds: “Even emerging sectors, such as artificial intelligence and drones, require deep integration of sensors, communication systems, power management and processing chips. The TSRI, part of the National Institutes of Applied Research, has long promoted the Shared-facility Service Organisation (SSO) model, providing advanced shared platforms for the design and manufacture of integrated circuits, which significantly reduce the barriers to research and development for universities and start-ups. Today, this experience based on shared platforms is extending to new sectors. The institute has developed platforms for the design and verification of AI-based SoCs (System-on-Chip) and provides basic research services for advanced packaging and heterogeneous component integration.” But that’s not all, explains Liu Chien-Nan: “The institute supports national research groups during the initial exploration and prototype design phases, with a view to integrating AI algorithms and sensors into microchips (Edge AI). In this way, it lays the scientific foundations for developing autonomous, low-power, high-efficiency computing systems for applications such as drones.”

Then there is the great unknown, which intertwines ecclesiastical relations with diplomatic ones. A somewhat taboo subject, but one that is very much present. Today, Taiwan’s only embassy in Europe is that to the Holy See, and Ambassador Anthony C. Y. Ho, who has held the post since May 2025, is working to further strengthen relations between Taiwan and the Vatican through the ‘H.O.P.E.’ initiative, an acronym for Humanity, Opportunity, Partnership and Encounter. Over the past year, Taiwan has collaborated with the Holy See, Catholic dioceses and various church organisations to carry out a wide range of initiatives in support of those most in need. In recent years, following the signing of the secret agreement between Rome and Beijing, relations between the Vatican and Xi Jinping’s government have grown closer, whilst the whole matter remains shrouded in fog and mystery. The agreement has no diplomatic basis, but is exclusively pastoral in nature: it concerns establishing a framework for the appointment of bishops and the reorganisation of dioceses in mainland China. Renewed every two years and now for a four-year period, the agreement has proved to be clearly lopsided: in effect, Beijing appoints and Rome ratifies. And the fact that the Chinese regime holds all the cards is demonstrated by the fact that it had no qualms about appointing two bishops whilst the See was vacant. Not to mention the prelates appointed and publicly announced before Rome’s approval had been granted. The Secretariat of State tends to see the glass as half full: at least now, it is said, all bishops are in communion with Rome. Including, however, those who swear allegiance to the Communist Party. In Italy, the climate is favourable to Beijing; one need only leaf through the daily newspaper of the Bishops’ Conference and read what some of its leading columnists write: the very same people who, whilst observing the pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong, explained that the city’s destiny is inevitably Chinese. What, then, should one say to those who maintain that, sooner or later, the Holy See will recognise Xi Jinping’s China diplomatically? Foreign Minister Lin Chia-Lung tells Il Foglio that “Taiwan and the Holy See have maintained diplomatic relations for over eighty years. Our relationship continues to progress steadily. Both countries uphold the universal values of freedom, democracy, the rule of law, human rights, humanitarianism and religious freedom. Both are committed to promoting world peace and the prosperity of humanity. Taiwan continues to respond to the Vatican’s calls for charity and compassion and is working to promote cooperation and exchanges with the Holy See in areas such as assistance for migrants and migrant workers, smart healthcare and humanitarian aid”. Of course, the minister continues, “the Holy See intends to carry out further pastoral activities in China. However, unlike Taiwan, China does not protect religious freedom. Violations of religious freedom and human rights continue to worsen. Taiwan is closely monitoring China’s repression of freedom of religious belief and calls on countries that share the same values to jointly safeguard religious freedom”. Sister Beatrice Leung takes a fatalistic view: “Even if diplomatic relations were to be established between China and the Vatican, the Taiwanese government would not panic, because Taiwan is already part of the international community and, in many respects, functions as a state, even without being widely recognised as such.”

Wen-Jia Luo, vice-chairman and secretary-general of the Straits Exchange Foundation, focuses specifically on the situation in Hong Kong: “In seven years, 300,000 people have left the city. The media and the courts in Hong Kong have completely lost their original freedom. And this is despite China’s promises and reassurances. Let us look at Tibet: the Chinese Communist Party had guaranteed that the local people could continue to practise their religious faith and enjoy their freedom. After 1950, it sent the army directly into Lhasa and the Dalai Lama was forced into exile in India. This is a historical fact. Let us look at the Uyghurs in Xinjiang, who are forced into re-education camps to eradicate their faith, their language and their culture.” The fact is, continues Wen-Jia Luo, “in Communist China there is no real possibility of expressing and practising one’s religious affiliation. According to the law, any citizen or foreigner, and any preaching, if carried out within Chinese borders, must take place at a designated time, in a designated place, with designated and previously approved individuals. Only then is it permitted to carry out religious activities. Those entrusted with this task must obtain a work permit and a licence from the government. Only then may they carry out their activities. That is why, if the Holy See were to choose to recognise a dictatorship without religious freedom and to abandon Taiwan, where religious freedom is guaranteed, it would be a most regrettable and incomprehensible move. We hope that in Italy and at the Holy See this can be understood: in China there is no true freedom’. A final note: ‘The Taiwanese government has always hoped that all countries would maintain normal relations with China, but there is no need to pander to China when it demands that the existence of Taiwan be denied or rejected’.

But from a religious perspective, what distinguishes the Catholicism practised on the island from that practised in the People’s Republic of China? A great deal, according to Professor Adamek: “For eighty years, both societies and their respective churches have developed in profoundly different ways. In Taiwan, the Catholic Church enjoys complete freedom of action and still commands considerable social prestige today. A significant proportion of Catholics here belong to the indigenous, non-Chinese population, alongside a growing community of Catholic migrants, mainly from the Philippines and Vietnam. There are numerous foreign missionaries and extensive links with other Churches around the world. All this is impossible, or severely restricted, for the Catholic Church across the sea. Consequently – continues the lecturer from Fu Jen Catholic University – the Church takes on different characteristics there: it is more closely linked to the local community and places greater emphasis on Catholic traditions. At the same time, it is keenly aware of belonging to a great nation, sometimes with a hint of nationalism. It also finds itself constantly grappling with politicisation, with directives imposed from above by the state – such as the so-called ‘Sinicisation of Catholicism’ – and with internal divisions.” The feeling is that the game, here, is far from over.