When faced with the double trauma of the pandemic and anti-Asian racism, we need time to rest and lay our burdens at the feet of Jesus.
By Dr. Michelle Reyes
W
hen the pandemic first came to the US, my Twitter feed began to change. My feed, once populated with discussions on publishing, theology, and the upcoming election, turned into nothing but a dead scroll of COVID-19 updates. The rising confirmed cases; celebrities who have contracted the virus; how to stay sane while quarantined.
Some of the things I read were helpful, but other spaces of the Twitter-verse were filled with recurring racist attacks. Every time something new happened, somebody would take it upon themselves to tell me and my friends to “go home” and that we, as Asians, needed to own our complicity somehow.
That was March. Since then, anti-Asian racism has only continued to escalate in our country. I’ve had friends followed home by white people all while having racist slurs chanted at them. Others are too scared to go to the grocery store or take a walk down their street for fear that someone will verbally or even physically assault them. Their fears are not unfounded. We’ve all seen the viral videos of the Asian man being sprayed with Lysol on a New York train and the Asian woman who had acid thrown in her face in Brooklyn while taking out the trash.
The longer we live in the time of COVID-19, the greater the xenophobia is, and with each passing day I have started to feel the visceral weight of it in my body. I’m fatigued. I find myself randomly in tears or wanting to pick a fight. Sometimes, I’ll wake up with my stomach twisting in a knot and the dull pain persists throughout the day.
It’s the weighty burden of being an Asian American right now; a reality in which we must navigate the fears and threats surrounding the coronavirus while also being doubly scared for the contagion of racism that has ensued.
While some days I pursue activism and stand up for my fellow Asian brothers and sisters, other days I retreat and focus on soul care. I make sure to get good sleep and play with my kids. I sneak away to my bedroom to read my Bible and pray. I catch up with friends on the phone, laugh at the little things, and hug my husband a bit tighter. Because having safe spaces like these to rest and heal are just as important.
Each of us have endured traumatic histories in our own way, and the racism that the coronavirus has stirred up is a reminder that many of us experience regular, even daily assaults, to our dignity. For many of us, our emotional health is in jeopardy. Our hearts need tending. And part of how we make space to care for ourselves holistically is practicing regular rhythms of retreat. Whether we’ve been watching the horrors of anti-Asian racism play out on social media or experiencing them personally, we all need to have safe spaces for retreat--spaces where we can step away, acknowledge and process the pains of racism, and find paths toward healing and resilience.
This is the model we see in Scripture. Time and again, men and women in both the Old and New Testament step away to find a safe place from the threats against their lives, including racially motivated threats. Think of David and the many times he had to flee for his life from King Saul. Notably, he found solace in caves and remote spaces outside of the city. Think also of Elijah fleeing from Jezebel into the wilderness. He feels like he’s completely alone and the whole world is against him. But it’s in the wilderness where God meets him.
Jesus, too, stepped away, and not just to get away from the masses but to flee verbal and physical threats. Think of his night in the Garden of Gethsemane. He pulls away to meet with God. He knows he’s about to enter a firestorm and so he seeks his Father’s face for comfort.
There are many reasons why we need a physical space for retreat. We need them for our own physical, spiritual, and emotional safety, but it’s also in these spaces that we can seek out God. Whether that’s our home, our bedroom, the park, or a nature trail, we need to know which spaces we can retreat to with the assurance from Matthew 1:23 that “God is with us” and he will meet us in these places.
These are spaces where we can find holistic rest--close our eyes if we need to, go for a run, take care of our bodies, pull out a journal, read our Bible, and pray. It’s where we not only acknowledge the realities in our life, but we also lay them at Christ’s feet and cast our cares upon him. When we step away from the threats and pains of this world, we can pray, like it says in Psalm 147:3, that God would comfort our broken hearts and heal and bind up our wounds.
I want to encourage you to find that place of retreat this week, and, when you do, spend time asking yourself: What has been happening this week? What have I seen and heard? How has racism personally impacted me this week? How has it impacted my friends and community? How am I feeling right now? And what are good practices for soul care this week?
Write about it. Pray about it. It’s okay that some of these answers will sting. It’s okay to let the hurt in. Because what’s happening is wrong and we need to make space to verbally process these realities.
And know that God sees you. He doesn’t want you to carry the burden of racial oppression alone. Lay it at his feet and believe that when you pray, “Lord, heal me,” he will begin a process of healing within you.
Photo by Paul Kerby Genil from Pexels
Dr. Michelle Reyes is the vice president and co-founder of AACC.