By Jin Cho
On this very last day of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, we want to provide some insights into the current rise in Anti-Asian American racism—what it feels like, and what your church might be able to do about it. The following essay can only provide a very limited glimpse into such a sensitive and painful subject. We ask that you think of it simply as an invitation into a conversation.
In early March, my family and I watched Minari, the Oscar-nominated movie about a Korean immigrant family trying to make it in rural Arkansas during the 1980s. I rarely cry watching a movie, let alone in general—my wife says she’s actually only seen me cry five times in her life!—but I hadn’t realized just how much my heart longed to see something of my story presented for others to see. Tears flowed as I felt seen.
Barely a week later, when a gunman drove to three Atlanta area spas to kill eight people—six of whom were Asian women—the ensuing debate strangely centered on the perpetrator’s words about whether or not this was a “racial hate crime.” It was a harsh reminder to me and others in the Asian American community of how the narrative of our existence has too often been told by others—in stereotypes and tropes, in generalizations and assumptions. In less than seven days, my joyful elation of “being seen” dissipated as the reality set in, once again, of living in constant threat of having our stories hijacked.
In my work with Revelation 7:9 Task Force for Racial Diversity and Inclusion, we often talk about “God’s beautiful vision of diversity” for His kingdom as the foundation of our work. The beauty of this vision is that God draws us to Himself in relational union, while maintaining the distinct stories of our “ethnicity, tribe, people, and language.”
That honoring of God’s imputed dignity in humanity is part of what we witnessed in our recent observation of Pentecost, whereby the fire of God now resides in each person. My friend Bret Widman says this means we ought to approach one another with the same sort of deep reverence, courage and desire to listen as the high priest did in approaching the fire of the Holy of Holies. It truly is a beautiful vision.
The Church hasn’t always lived into this vision well. More than 60 years ago, Martin Luther King, Jr. famously pointed out our penchant for worshiping together with those whose stories are most like ours. We’ve not practiced treasuring the beauty of fires in others, especially those unlike us. In the particular context of the Asian American experience, our fires have often been ignored, as our stories were marginalized as alien and not really American.
As I pointed out in an earlier article, there have been Asian American communities in North America even before we became a nation, but the question “Where are you really from?” is an all-too-familiar question for many of us, especially in the Church. Often, the only times we saw our cultural heritage portrayed in the broader American ecclesial setting was via caricatures on problematic VBS packages.
The pandemic, in one sense, has intensified and emphasized this experience. The fact of the matter is, while Anti-Asian racism has been around for a long time, I’ve heard slurs in the past year that I hadn’t heard since my childhood. Not that it was OK back then either, but as the actor John Cho poignantly wrote in an op-ed for the LA Times, the coronavirus has reminded us that “our belonging is conditional. One moment we are Americans, the next we are all foreigners, who brought the virus here.” For the sake of my children, I am no longer “OK” with such conditionality. For the sake of our work together in the kingdom, none of us should be.
What, then, can we in the Church do about this? What is our role as the salt and light during times like this? While I am far from comfortable providing an answer to this question, I have collected some thoughts on the sort of a posture that might be helpful for those communities wanting to try.
Practice generous listening. This, for me, is a more descriptive way to talk about empathy. Concretely, this means to accept the stories of racism from people of color in general, and in this case, Asian Americans in particular. As a person of color, it is traumatic to share stories of experiencing racism, but it is another trauma altogether to be disbelieved.
I remember an incredibly frustrating conversation with a pastor who insisted that the phrase “China Virus” was not racist. I explained that certainly while the words in and of themselves are neutral, the context stoked xenophobia. I told him that my 86-year-old mother feared for her safety walking to the store, and that I had friends physically threatened after being verbally abused with this phrase. My conversation partner was not moved.
A story always has many sides, but I think learning to hold our multi-stranded reality in tension requires generous listening as the first step toward empathy.
Speak up when someone says something harmful. Remember, we are all responsible for our failures to live into the kingdom vision of diversity. While people of color play a certain role in telling their stories, it is all of our responsibilities to speak up. Silence often conveys a powerful message. Speak up when you hear misinformation or slurs. Yes, it is uncomfortable to talk about such things—and there are better and worse ways to phrase your concerns—but “speaking the truth in love” means we are called to speak the truth, in love.
Be appropriately curious. Curiosity helps us break out of our assumptions. But sometimes even our questions can convey assumptions (for example, “Where are you really from?”). To be appropriately curious means to be curious about the person and their feelings, rather than your assumptions about the person. Focus on what the other person might want to share and their experiences, rather than your own. Honestly, I don’t feel like I owe a person I just met my family history. And honestly, I might not enjoy sushi (I do, though). And if you get called out on your assumptions—we all do from time to time—realize that while our tendency is to get defensive, such moments can be incredible opportunities for growth, if we will let them!
Bring Anti-Asian American racism to the Lord. Lift up the current crisis in prayer, especially in the context of public gatherings like Sunday worship. Help people realize how appropriate it is for us to pray about such topics. The good news of the kingdom is that it “sets the oppressed free.” Let us live into it!
Incorporate resources from people of color in your worship services. Begin to incorporate resources from people of color who bring non-Eurocentric perspectives. Not only is this pretty simple, it helps our churches lean into the beauty of God’s kingdom vision for diversity. It is an excellent first step toward seeing the imago Dei in others.
I love the ways we have celebrated Asian Pacific American Heritage Month together in our diocese, and several of these ways can be used in worship services. In my introductory article, I referenced kintsugi as a powerful non-Western illustration that can be used doxologically. We also featured beautiful artwork by the artist James He Qi during this month (in addition to the artist Laura James we featured during Black History Month) that can help us break out of our cultural silos. We miss out on so much beauty when we fail to receive these cultural stories. They are, after all, God’s stories of faithfulness in creation, meant to be treasured.
The Rev. Dr. Jin Cho is the leader of the Revelation 7:9 Task Force for Racial Diversity and Inclusion. He serves at Holy Trinity Church in Costa Mesa, California as a priest. Jin received his doctorate of ministry from Fuller Seminary, writing on “Race, Evangelicalism, and the Local Church.” He has 20-plus years experience as a pastor and a church planter, but in recent years consults with churches and non-profits to have courageous conversations around various justice issues. He and his far more interesting wife Esther will celebrate their 25th anniversary next year, and they have two extremely extroverted middle-schoolers.