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MORE THAN
SERVING TEA:
One Asian Woman's Journey to the Real Jesus
By Nikki
Toyama-Szeto
Recently, I’ve been trying to picture Jesus. Really picture
him. Not just slide into a lazy picture of the Jesus in
countless religious storefronts on Mission Street. Moving
beyond a plump, fed on mac-and-cheese Jesus, I ask him, “Do
you know what it’s like to be me? Do you know what it’s like
to be Japanese American? And if you do, do you have any
changes you’d like to make regarding your commands?” I ask
because I find some of Jesus’ words hard and culturally
insensitive. Did the command to leave family and fields for
the sake of the gospel refer to Asian families, too? Does
the suggestion to serve others and take the lowest spot
apply when it seems that we often start with the lowest
seat—or no seat—at the table?
For the past few months I’ve been on a search for a Japanese
Jesus. Does the Japanese Jesus have thick black hair, with
brushed-aside bangs like the sansei guys I know? Does his
face crinkle and the browns of his eyes disappear when he
laughs? Does he eat rice with his dinner and play basketball
with the church league?
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I know you’re
not supposed to make God into your own image. But I
desperately needed to know that Jesus knew what it
was like to be me, a Japanese American woman. |
I
know you’re not supposed to make God into your own image. But I
desperately needed to know that Jesus knew what it was like to
be me, a Japanese American woman. Were my gender and my
ethnicity just obstacles to overcome in my relationship with
him?
Becoming "Asian"
Shortly after college, I realized I was Asian. I moved to
Madison, Wisconsin, where my friend Grace quickly informed me
that I was Japanese American. She had been working with Asian
college students on the East Coast with InterVarsity Christian
Fellowship who were trying to understand how their culture
affected their relationship with God. “You’re so Japanese-y” she
said, referring to my tendency to make everything beautiful.
“Really?” I asked, as I primped the calla lilies one last time,
creating a perfect fan.
Technically I knew that I was Asian. Well, I knew I was
different, and that difference was called “Asian.” In first
grade, I was eating dinner at my best friend’s house, my first
meal outside my home. Laurie’s mother didn’t cook; she
re-heated. And I could never understand why their kitchen was
always so clean—it lacked the steaming pots, the bubbling bowls,
and the pungent smells of curry, takuan, or stinky tofu. My best
friend Laurie laughed out loud when I brought the soup bowl to
my mouth. Embarrassed, I stopped drinking the broth from the
bowl directly. Apparently you don’t slurp the last bits in show
of your appreciation of the meal. I tucked this lesson into my
heart.
My
ethnicity was embarrassing, so I cut out all cultural elements
from the life I lived outside my home. I wanted to prove that I
was no different from any of my other friends, and I worked hard
to fit in, even if something about it didn’t feel quite right in
my skin.
In
this way, I became a follower of Jesus. A follower of Jesus
without the color, tastes, and textures of my female Japanese-ness.
A genderless and raceless follower of Jesus.
Embracing Culture and
Gender
Embracing my race and gender did not come to me easily. It did
not arrive as a neatly wrapped package with a user’s manual. It
arrived as a series of hiccups that came and went as it pleased.
I discovered what it meant to be a woman and a Japanese American
as I ventured across cultures.
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Embracing my
race and gender did not come to me easily. It did
not arrive as a neatly wrapped package with a user’s
manual. It arrived as a series of hiccups that came
and went as it pleased. |
This voluntary displacement, putting myself in uncomfortable
places, made the racial and gender dynamics pop out in clear
colors. The politically correct environment in the United States
did not allow for a lot of mistakes or gritty conversation. But
my work with college students took me to a variety of different
places. I took a group of students on a poverty immersion into
the slums of Nairobi, the garbage villages of Cairo, and the
red-light districts of Bangkok.
In
Kenya, I learned that Asian is treated very differently from
“black” and “white” folks. The racial and power stratification
in the country showed me that race had power. The legacy of
British colonization had left a strong power dynamic along
racial lines. In Cairo, I felt what it was like to be in a
society where men and women have very strict roles. My friendly
hello didn’t go over well with the men at the tea shop. And in
Bangkok, both my race and gender combined. I saw the
exploitation of Asian women, commoditized for visitors of every
country. Thai women entertained men from Japan, Germany, and the
U.S. in bars
and night clubs. Everywhere, women were for sale to the highest
foreign bidder.
Jesus' Culture
I
discovered how my gender and my race affect so many areas of my
life—how people treat me, how they perceive me, how I perceive
my role, my communication, and my faith. At this time, Jesus’
life and culture began to come alive in the Scriptures. As I
learned to recognize the cultural pushes and pulls of my life, I
saw with greater clarity the pushes and pulls of his life. And
in this, I found a connection to a man so different from myself.
I watched his reaction as his mother urged him to fix a wine
problem at a friend’s wedding. His resistance to his “pushy”
mother feels familiar and so does his compliance to her request.
The strong hospitality culture that pervades the gospel stories
reminds me of the Asian women I’ve met in church. Food
accompanies every event and honoring guests is a supreme
responsibility. I journeyed with Jesus as he ventured into so
many homes—Simon the Pharisee, Zacchaeus the tax collector, Mary
and Martha, Simon’s mother-in-law. I understood Martha’s
indignation when Mary refused to help and instead sat at Jesus’
feet. I felt Simon’s shame as a woman of ill-repute sneaks into
his elite gathering and pours perfume on Jesus’ feet.
|
As I learned to
recognize the cultural pushes and pulls of my life,
I saw with greater clarity the pushes and pulls of
Jesus' life. And in this,
I found a connection to a man so different from
myself. |
And
even the elements that feel foreign, like the command to leave
fields, fathers, mothers, in order to follow the gospel, came
more alive as I could identify why they rubbed me more than my
non-Asian friends around me. I thought of my Korean friend,
whose parents worked extra hard so that he could attend a
private elite college. They forfeited saving for their own
retirement so that he could go to school. Putting their hopes in
his ability to get a high paying job and take care of them, he
was their retirement plan. As he continued to try to follow
Jesus, he wrestled with honoring his parents’ sacrifice and
putting the kingdom of God first. My Asian friends and I
struggled, without the luxury of the “independent at 18” badge
that many of my other friends proudly wore. Off they went to
worlds unknown, championing the gospel. And we stayed home, left
with a complicated scenario. No wonder people said that we were
indecisive.
If
Jesus had come in a gender-less and race-less form, I would find
it hard to relate to him. He is more accessible to me as a
Jewish man, even though his gender and race are so different
from my own. As I learned more about the Jewish context that
Jesus entered, it became even easier to understand. He navigated
a Jewish family structure. He had obligations to his community.
Not Obstacles But Gifts
A
few years after my journey of discovery, I began to love the
different aspects of being an Asian woman. What had once been a
liability that I tried to transcend, I now wanted to investigate
and explore. I looked for ways that Asians, especially women,
brought unique contributions to leadership and helpful
correctives to the independent “do it yourself” attitude I saw
prevalent around me. I collected stories of gifted Asian women
evangelists who seemed to be the antithesis of the pushy open
air preachers I saw. I put up posters of justice workers, Asian
women who marched, rallied, organized, and yelled to bring
attention to the issues of the marginalized. And I sat at the
feet of Asian women preachers who unfolded the truths of God in
profound, indirect, holistic stories. In their words, I found my
way home. In their words, I found the Japanese American Jesus,
the Jewish Jesus, and the Jesus of all humanity.
I began to
realize that my gender and my ethnicity were not obstacles to be
overcome but gifts, chosen by God so that I might know him
better. They weren’t an after-thought but a grace he had given
to me. My gender and my ethnicity continually lead me to a
deeper understanding of Jesus. And his call to me is, “Even
so…come follow me.” So I bring who I am and follow him. I bring
my experiences as a Japanese American woman to my discipleship.
I bring my experiences as a person who tried to transcend gender
and race. And I bring my experiences as a woman who is slowly
beginning to understand what it means to steward well this great
gift of being “female” and “Japanese American.” Of being
“fearfully” and “wonderfully” made. |
Nikki
Toyama-Szeto
