This was the mentality that my parents instilled in me when I was growing up. Grounded in cultural (i.e., Korean) and biblical principles, a part of this mindset was for my sister and me to be kind to one another as siblings. But make no mistake about it: in my family, the “family comes first” mentality disproportionately emphasized the need to honor our parents. 

Those of us who grew up in an Asian American context know how shame often plays a prominent role in family and community dynamics. Major decisions can be made based on shame. Decisions like who you end up marrying, where you decide to go to school and study, and even what career you might choose to pursue can all be based on shame.

As Christians, we have the opportunity to experience God’s heart when we practice hospitality. In many ways, with its communal focus, rich food culture, and natural bent toward honoring guests, Asian culture uniquely positions us to share this kind of welcome with others. We have the opportunity to create spaces where people can enjoy a meal and a meaningful conversation. Where they can wrestle with a difficult thought, share their anxieties, or sit silent in grief. Where they can linger without an end time.

Here’s what we have learned. You do not drift into becoming a Jesus-centered church. You have to build it. We began asking, “How do we form a church where Jesus is truly central?” We found the answer in two things: discipleship and prayer.

As we learn how to tell our story with God, our voice becomes our superpower and points people to Jesus. It’s not just about knowing our story; it’s about telling it with the voice we have been given.

There is a reason that Jesus instructs his followers, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Once we become adults, our ability to embrace change and to open ourselves to new ways of thinking and living diminishes. But children have an inherent openness and malleability; with the exposure to the right kind of books, a child can be formed in ways that will last into adulthood.

As those who follow Christ, we believe in a God who provided daily bread in the wilderness (Exodus 16); a God who multiplied bread for thousands of people (Matthew 14:13-21), and a God who ultimately became bread to satisfy our deepest hunger (John 6:22-59). We can imagine it grieves God that anyone should be hungry; it should lead us to lament too. How do we wrestle with the weight of these realities and love our neighbors as ourselves (Matthew 22:34-40)? 

I’ve learned that change rarely comes through arguments. My parents aren’t moved by stats. But stories, especially ones that echo their own, sometimes open something up. When I connect their immigrant struggles to those of others today, it sometimes softens them. Not always. But sometimes. What helps most is grounding our conversations in the life of Jesus—his humility, compassion, and refusal to chase power. When we remove Trump from the picture and just look at Jesus, the contrast is jarring. In the best way.

One of my favorite stories is Akira Toriyama’s manga/anime Dragon Ball. Loosely inspired by the novel Journey to the West, Dragon Ball follows a young boy named Son Goku, who enjoys martial arts which helps him to fight strong opponents and push his limits. While Dragon Ball never explicitly states its Asian setting, Toriyama prominently features Asian food, martial arts, and characters with dark hair and eyes. These examples may sound simple, but my younger self, who grew up on white superheroes like Superman, instantly felt a deeper connection to Goku as I experienced Asian representation for the first time.

do not forget

the ropes

suffocating the necks of

the Chinese

who sing the song of ages:

we can’t breathe.

Somehow learning that I have an Asian American accent felt fitting after learning snapshots of history. As if I inherited an unexpected gift or was mysteriously re-connected to the Asian Americans who came before me and struggled the same way. While I’ll probably always fumble over Korean, I know that regardless of my proficiency in Korean or English, I belong here.

Let us embrace the roots we’ve come from; And stand on the shoulders of our elders; The roots we grow from; The roots we rise from

We all have losses that have shaped us, from losing something we loved to lacking something (or someone) we needed. Only by taking the time to witness, name, and hold our Grief, can we find the strength to release it to grow into something more.

To become the church as it is called to be, the Asian American church should also engage in a historical reckoning of its own complicitous legacies, such as authoritarian and neoliberal complicity.

So then, can I, as an Asian American, trust Scripture? According to the wonderful contributors of The New Testament in Color, the answer to that question is “Yes!” Yet, not only I as an Asian American can trust Scripture, so too can African Americans, Hispanic Americans, Native Americans, and others.

Migration and immigration are among the key issues of our political moment. Immigration is a complex issue with more factors than are often considered in short sound bytes, but a clear call in the Scriptures is to care for the “sojourner in our midst.”

When injustices arise in the world, some churches speak up while others stay silent. In one of Jesus’ parables, a priest and a Levite see a man on the road who has been robbed, attacked, and left for dead. Their response is to pass by on the other side. What is the difference between them and a church that remains silent? Are they not the same? Both choose to disregard suffering and look away.

Living as a member of a marginalized community can be lonely and a source of grief, but Verma reminds us that we can find Jesus in the margins.

When Asian Americans show up and take their seat at the table, they can influence and enact policies that promote justice and equity for their community.