As we come to terms with America’s sins, Christians on the margins can lead us toward healing.
By John Lee
T
his summer, from my living room in New York City, I heard the sound of a thousand voices shouting “I can’t breathe” as people took to the streets to protest the death of George Floyd. I saw metal blades cutting the air as helicopters hovered over Fifth Avenue, their cameras capturing the protests.
Now, our divided nation feels even more divided. In a presidential election with record turnout, one candidate earned 79 million votes, another 73 million, with Christians on both sides. When Jesus said that he came to bring a sword, did he have this in mind (Matt. 10:34)?
In this time of racial tension and political division, the church can be a healing agent. But the temptation to disregard the church is real—even among Christians. Too many write off the church as overly traditional, too slow, and perhaps even complicit. In many ways, they’re right. The American church has fallen short of its ideals. But the defect does not stem from the teachings of Christ but in the compromise of the church. As philosopher and writer G.K. Chesterton once said, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.”
The church has an opportunity to make a difference in the life of the nation by drawing upon its own experiences and confession. The church at its best lives in two worlds: the world of man and the kingdom of God. This dual identity protects the church from absolutizing either. Christians do not make ultimate penultimate things like wealth, status, worldly honor, even physical health; in fact, they can give up these for the common good because they have an ultimate life in Christ.
The immigrant church in particular has resources to become excellent citizens on earth, because its congregants know what it feels like to be treated as second-class citizens. They can see, sense, and smell slights of honor and silent stares of indifference. The immigrant church, therefore, has a repository of sanctified experiences from which to draw. When we move in faith, we possess three perspectives that can bring blessing to all.
CONFESSION
Christianity espouses confession as the path toward healing and restoration because, without an admission of wrong, it’s impossible to get to the root of the issue. A bandage does little for a deep laceration, and even less for internal bleeding. A thorough cleaning and stitches are needed, perhaps even surgery.
This insight is modeled by Nehemiah, the governor of Persian Judea in the mid-fifth century BC. When he hears the news of the disrepair of his beloved city, he weeps, fasts, and prays for months. His actions show that he is a man of keen spiritual vision. He knows there is always a spiritual reason for the current state of affairs. He does not condemn the Babylonians, Persians, or others for Israel’s woes. Nor does he seek political alliances and power to restore his city. He knows that Jerusalem is in ruins because of Israel’s faithlessness to God. So, he gets to the etiology of the wound. He does not stand as an individual and plead his innocence. Instead, he sits as a member of his people and begs forgiveness. The sins of his ancestors become his own.
The church should follow Nehemiah’s example today. We need to confess on behalf of ourselves and others. Those who have benefitted from white privilege should confess the injustices of racism; those who have gained economic advantages on the backs of others should confess economic exploitation; and those who sat in comfort while the standards of God have fallen by the wayside should confess apathy and indifference. The church should also confess complicity, cowardice, and callousness. It should be a confessing body, not only of its faith but also of its shortcomings.
Just as Nehemiah confessed the sins of his people, the immigrant church can take ownership of the faithlessness and injustice of American society. I know this is a lot to ask, but such actions fit the pattern of Nehemiah. Nehemiah himself was not guilty of covenant faithlessness and compromise, but he chose to stand with his people, and confess for them and build on behalf of them. It can often be challenging for people at the center to move toward confession. When that happens, people at the periphery—like the immigrant church—have that privilege.
Imagine the power that would take place if immigrant churches hosted nights of confession. The beginnings of reconciliation and renewal could emerge from the forgiveness of God and reach deep into the human heart. Moreover, the nobility of a church with a brief American history confessing for the American church with a long history may move mainline churches to reexamine their faith and move toward confession as well.
KENOSIS
Christian theology offers a paradoxical view of greatness through the lens of the cross. When Christ died on the cross, the eyes of faith did not see death and abandonment, but new life, divine presence, and the fulfillment of redemption. As Martin Luther pointed out, God is a hidden God (Deus absconditus) who works paradoxically. Under shame, injustice, and wickedness, believers then and now see God at work. Christianity inverts and subverts paradigms of power. The last shall be first and the first shall be last.
Christ models this dynamic. Kenosis, self-emptying, is found in an ancient hymn in Philippians 2:7. Jesus’ humility, love, and death on the cross teach believers how they should live. Therefore, churches that possess social clout should be the first to model this emptying, showing the logic of the cross. Unfortunately, churches with clout rarely come to this insight.
Again, the immigrant church can play a role here because it has been largely overlooked. In these congregations, God has cultivated humility, not because they are better, but because they lacked the social clout to be bound with the world in the same way. Self-emptying is easier when the self is partially empty.
The power of such a posture is real. Though the immigrant church might not have cultural power, God has blessed many of them with great preachers, wonderful counselors, and loving servants. If the immigrant church can stay clear from grasping for more power or holding onto what it has, then it will be poised to bring healing and blessing to the larger body of Christ. A church that knows how to die to itself blesses those around it, engenders beauty that is transcendent, and begets others who catch the same vision. Moreover, it will have the moral authority to speak truth to power.
INCLUSIVITY
At its best, the church is a model of inclusivity. It does not discriminate against the oppressed, side with oppressors, or love only their friends because at the center of Christianity is a leveling. All are sinners: Jews, Gentiles, rich, poor, women, and men. Everyone is included because everyone is excluded. All have been weighed and found wanting. Likewise, the salvation message is for all; none are excluded. Jesus does not define his kingdom by achievement, accomplishment, or talent, but by character, humility, and love. No individual race, group, or gender has a monopoly on these qualities.
Who better than the immigrant church to proclaim this message? What happens when the marginalized and excluded include? Right now, my multicultural church is merging with an older Chinese congregation. This community has deeply blessed me by feeding me, bringing gifts to my family even in the midst of the coronavirus, and pouring love on my children. In fact, they shower everyone with love. They have no agenda, no angle, and no aspiration other than sharing Christ’s love. They bless others at their own expense—a good definition of what it means to be righteous. Such inclusion can only inspire and heal.
In 2017, I traveled with sixty adults and children to a section of the Berlin Wall. None of us had had more than three hours of sleep. Tired and hungry, we listened to a German pastor, walked the streets of Berlin, and stood before a broken wall and prayed. The oldest members of our group, all Korean Americans edging toward eighty years old, began to pray and weep. They lifted their voices and tears flowed.
My son, a sophomore in high school, was moved at the sight of their passion. He could not believe that elderly people from California cared so much for another country. I am sure the Berlin believers with us felt the same way. When outsiders care, weep, love, and believe, insiders begin to believe as well. By God’s grace, the vibrant faith of the immigrant church may help awaken the American church to the wonders of God’s grace.
Photo by Metin Ozer on Unsplash
John Lee is an ordained minister at City Grace Church, a Christian Reformed congregation in the East Village. He is also an administrator of a Classical Christian School in New York City. He also writes for The Banner, the denominational magazine for the Christian Reformed Church.