Author: estherguy

Jesus Follower, Classical Pianist, Professor, and Writer

The Ministry of Care for All People

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The following is a message I shared on November 17, 2023 at a multicultural worship service at Evangel University that was put on by Jubilee (a multicultural worship team) and E-Unite (an organization that focuses on Kingdom diversity).

“In those days, as the disciples were increasing in number, there arose a complaint by the Hellenistic Jews against the Hebraic Jews that their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution. The Twelve summoned the whole company of the disciples and said, “It would not be right for us to give up preaching the word of God to wait on tables. Brothers and sisters, select from among you seven men of good reputation, full of the Spirit and wisdom, whom we can appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.” This proposal pleased the whole company. So they chose Stephen, a man full of faith and the Holy Spirit, and Philip, [and a whole bunch of other people with Greek sounding names I can’t pronounce]. They had them stand before the apostles, who prayed and laid their hands on them. So the word of God spread, the disciples in Jerusalem increased greatly in number…” (Acts 6:1-7)

One day my husband, Daniel, and I wanted to eat at a certain restaurant. And as we got close, we had a hard time finding parking, so Daniel dropped me off so I could put our name in while he found a parking spot. I walked in and went to where the hostess area was. When I got there, the hostess was greeting another party and seating them. I saw her see me; she knew I was there. And I thought, I’m just going to wait here for a minute; she’ll be back.” Many minutes passed. No hostess. I stepped into the dining room so that maybe one of the waitresses would see me. I saw waitresses see me and quickly avert their eyes. None of them acknowledged my existence. (If you’re wondering: I was the only non-white person in the room.)

I went back to the hostess area and kept waiting. Eventually Daniel showed up and he was surprised that I was still waiting for someone—anyone—to help me. We waited a little longer, then finally, the hostess showed up. She smiled, looked straight at Daniel (who arrived after me) and said, “Table for one?” 

“No, table for two.” 

After we were seated, no one came to bring us water or take our order. We sat there long enough for Daniel to say, “If no one comes to our table in the next five minutes, we’re leaving.” Shortly after that, we saw a group enter. The hostess immediately greeted them, seated them at a table, and brought them water. 

So we got up. And on our way out, Daniel said to the host, “We’re leaving. No one’s giving us service. And it feels like you don’t want us here.”

And with a smile on my face—because I inherited the Filipino habit of smiling when I’m upset—I said, “And it feels kinda racist.”

At that point, one of the waitresses who had refused to acknowledge my existence up to that point came out acting very apologetic and said to me, “It wasn’t intentional.”

By that point, my heart was beating so fast I couldn’t form words. But I wish I could’ve had the wit to say, “Yeah, I know it wasn’t intentional. You don’t need to be intentional for your internal biases to slip out. You need to be intentional to make sure that every person who comes into your establishment is given the same level and quality of care.”

“Table for one?”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

Those words have stuck with me. Not because I haven’t forgiven those people. I did. Me and Jesus had a long talk and cry about it; we’re good. But those words stuck because they articulate experiences I’ve had—out and about in Springfield and even in Christian spaces. And they summarize many of the experiences other people have shared with me. Ways we’ve felt invisible or erased. Ways that people have let us down with careless words, actions, or neglect. 

What I want to talk about today is the ministry of care for all people. Everyone needs care. Today, I’m going to talk about care through the lens of Kingdom diversity. I’m also speaking through the lens of a Filipino-American and Asian-American woman because that’s what I am. It would be easy to dismiss my words and say, “Well she’s an Asian woman, so what she’s saying doesn’t apply to me.” But I want to be clear that this message isn’t just about caring for Asians or caring for Black and Brown people. This is for everyone. 

Care is an important theme throughout Scripture. 

In Acts 6, we read an account of a time when the early Church was experiencing growing pains. The Hellenistic Jews were complaining. Why? “Their widows were being overlooked…” I don’t think it’s because of malicious reasons. I think there were other factors at play and it was more like what the waitress said to me: “It wasn’t intentional.” Whatever the reason, this group of people was being overlooked.

And when the Hellenistic Jews saw the lack of care their widows were receiving, they advocated for them. And when their complaint reached the apostles, the apostles chose to not look away. 

The apostles knew their job: They were the first-hand witnesses of Jesus’ life, teachings, and ministry. They couldn’t pass on that role to someone else. In order for the foundation of the Church to be strong, they needed to be devoted to that work. 

But at the same time, they didn’t tell the Hellenistic Jews, “Don’t talk about that stuff. It’s a distraction from the Gospel.” They didn’t bad-mouth the Hellenistic Jews for complaining or try to shut them up. What did they do? The apostles listened and made a pathway for the people who were affected the most to rise up in leadership and deal with the issues. They publicly supported and empowered them and signaled to the Church that these people had the authority to do what they were doing. AND they laid their hands on them and prayed for them.

They made sure the preaching of God’s Word continued. And they made sure everyone was given the care they needed.

And what was the result? “So the word of God spread, the disciples in Jerusalem increased greatly in number…” (Acts 6:7).

I’ve heard people say, “Talking about racism or racial issues is a distraction from the Gospel.” Let’s set the record straight: People NOT being cared for is a distraction from the Gospel. And people not being cared for or not receiving the same level of care as others because of racial or ethnic reasons is a distraction from the Gospel. 

The Gospel is so much more than just getting saved. Yes, salvation is a vital part of it, but it’s also so much more than that! The Gospel is an invitation to be part of the Kingdom of God—not just as a worker, but also to belong in the Church and family of God. This goes beyond welcome. We are to embody the Gospel. And part of embodying the Gospel means both giving and receiving care.

Everyone needs care. We need care when things are going well and when things are not. And when we experience tragedy, trauma, neglect, or anything heavy, our need for care rises.

So what does care look like?

“I see you.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I’ve got your back.”

In seasons that have brought my racial pain and trauma to the surface, those are the words I’ve needed to hear.

I’ve needed to hear the same from the leadership of the organizations and institutions I’m part of:

“We see you.”

“We’re here for you.”

“We’ve got your back.”

And when the people in my life offer silence in response to my pain, what I hear is NOT compassion or empathy. What I hear is:

They do not see me.

They are not here for me.

They do not have my back.

Let’s be people who live the words, “I see you, I’m here for you, and I’ve got your back.”

1. I see you. 

Before we go further, let’s take a moment and talk about “colorblind” language like, “I don’t see color.” 

To start out, a person’s color does NOT determine someone’s worth, competency, or goodness. Do NOT judge anyone based on their ethnicity or color. If seeing color leads you to dehumanize people or treat people badly, ask God to fix the part of your heart that’s struggling to love people the way He does.

So now, if judging people based on color is wrong, does that mean we should be “colorblind”? No.

When someone says to me, “Esther, I love you. I don’t see your color…”

First of all, yes, you do. If you look at me and cannot tell that I’m not White, then let’s go to the doctor and get that looked at because that’s a problem! 😉

Second, when I hear, “I don’t see your color,” that doesn’t make me feel loved. It makes me feel like, “What is so shameful about my color that you don’t want to see it?” Being told “I don’t see your color,” for so many years and taking it in without question caused a lot of damage. It caused me to tear down the imago Dei in me every time I looked in the mirror. Years of whitening products, dropping my middle name because it sounded too “ethnic,” hiding my Filipinoness every way I could. God did not put me in a Filipino family and in a Filipino body for me to look at those things with shame and erase those parts of myself. God sees my color. And it is good. 

Some of you need to hear this today: God sees your color. And it is good.

So why should we see color?

  • Because diversity is beautiful. In the book of Revelation, one of the things that John marveled at is when he saw “a vast multitude from every nation, tribe, people, and language.” (Revelation 7:9)
  • Because when we refuse to see a person’s color, we also miss the gifts and perspectives they can bring to the Church and society that were cultivated by their ethnic or cultural background. (For example, growing up in a Filipino household, food is love and it plays an important part in how I relate to other people. So when we see scenes in Scripture where people are eating together, I notice things that others miss and I can help people have a more robust theology.)
  • And because we live in a fallen world that often inflicts pain and harm based on race. And when we refuse to see color, that hinders our ability to see people’s pain points and keeps us from giving them adequate love and care. 

We need to see.

God is revealed as “The God who sees.”

In Genesis 16, we meet a woman named Hagar. 

Genesis 16:1 says, “Abram’s wife, Sarai, had not borne any children for him, but she owned an Egyptian slave named Hagar.” We learn that Sarai forced Hagar to sleep with her husband in the hopes that through her, she could have a child. For Sarai, Hagar’s body was a means to an end. 

The plan worked. Hagar got pregnant. And there was conflict between Sarai and Hagar. And the mistreatment of Hagar got worse. Genesis 16:6 says, “Sarai mistreated her so much that she ran away from her. The angel of the Lord found her by a spring in the wilderness…” The angel of the Lord found her, called her by name, spoke blessing over her. And as he spoke about the son she was carrying in her womb, He said, “the Lord has heard your cry of affliction.”

Genesis 16:13 says, “So she named the Lord who spoke to her: ‘You are El-roi,’ for she said, ‘In this place, have I actually seen the one who sees me?’”

El-roi. “God sees me.”

The theme of God seeing people continues in Exodus. The people of Israel were enslaved in Egypt. And Exodus 2:23-25 says, “The Israelites groaned because of their difficult labor, they cried out, and their cry for help because of the difficult labor ascended to God. God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob.  God saw the Israelites, and God knew.”

Jesus saw people. When He saw someone, He didn’t just see that they existed. He saw their potential, their heart, their pain. He SAW them.

For some of you, it’s hard to believe that God sees you because over and over again, what you’ve experienced is people not seeing you. Maybe they see your talent, or what you can help them accomplish, or how they can use you. But they don’t see YOU.

God sees you. 

As followers of Jesus, we have a responsibility to see people and make sure they know through our words and actions that they are seen.

At the start of this year, all the pain of the past few years had compounded and I was feeling pretty broken. And then out of the blue, my husband and I heard about a campus ministry at Princeton University. The job requirements and descriptions sounded like us. And when I saw pictures of their students, I saw a sea of Asian faces and thought, “They look like me!” We didn’t think we had a chance, and somehow they ended up offering both of us full time positions. After years of feeling unwanted, it was validating. And during the whole process, something happened that felt like a healing balm. Even though the ministry is predominantly Asian, the two people that are already on staff are white men. So as I was meeting Manna students, a number of the young women said: “Esther, looking at you is an answer to prayer. We’ve been praying for an Asian woman.” They saw me. They saw my giftings, my personality, my theology…And they saw my color. They saw how my color would help me see them. And what they saw in my color was something good. 

I want that for all of you.

I want people to see your presence: I’ve heard so many sermons and prayers that have referred to ethnic minorities as “them.” And I don’t want to be too persnickety about this. Depending on context or grammar, there are times when “them” is the best choice. But if people of color are in the room and we’re never included in the word “us,” that has a way of making people who need to be seen invisible. 

I want people to see your beauty and giftings, your challenges and pain points, and your particular theological questions and perspective.

2. I’m here for you. 

In Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth, it says, “they will name him Immanuel, which is translated ‘God is with us.’” (Matthew 1:23)

And in Matthew 28:20, Jesus said, “And remember,  I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

One way we reflect Jesus and embody the Gospel is through our presence.

“I’m here for you,” takes time, effort, and compassion. It can look like:

  • Just showing up and being with people. Sitting with someone’s pain—even if it’s uncomfortable. And in times when everything’s going well, we still need people in our lives who’ll take the time to simply be with us. 
  • It can also look like asking someone, “Can I give you a hug?”

And then for those times when emotions are heavy:

  • “If you need to cry or vent, I’m here.“
  • Or, “Can I bring you coffee or a meal?”
  • Or, “Hey! Wellness check: Have you eaten? Have you been drinking water? Let’s release some of the tension your body is carrying and take some deep breaths together.”

3. I’ve got your back.

When Jesus was being led to be crucified, Matthew 27:32 says, “As they were going out, they found a Cyrenian man named Simon. They forced him to carry his cross.”

Earlier this year there was a tragedy that hit the Asian American community really hard. And the day it happened, I was really struggling. And in a number of ways, I felt like I was walking through that tragedy alone. That night, I told some people, I know we’re supposed to carry our own crosses, but even Jesus had help carrying His. And those people said to me, “We can be Simon for you. We will help you carry this cross.”

Galatians 6:2 says, “Carry one another’s burdens; in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” 

As Christians, we believe things happen when we pray. So one way we can have someone’s back is to pray for them. There’s power in prayer. And there are times when all we can do is pray. But more often than not, especially for the people right in front of us, we can do more. 

  • We can advocate for people and speak up when we see something wrong. This takes courage. You might get pushback. But people’s dignity and worth is always worth speaking up for! 
  • You can ask, “What do you need to succeed?” Or, “What do you need to be okay?”
  • If you know someone’s going into a space where they might not feel safe, you can ask, “Can I sit with you?” Or, “Can I come with you when you go to [fill in the blank]?”
  • If you’re in a position of leadership, you can ask: “How can we do better?” and “How can we come alongside you?”
  • And when people answer these questions, follow through.

“I see you.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I’ve got your back.”

I want to end by saying to every single one of you in this room:

God sees you. He is here for you. He has your back.

And I’m so sorry for the times when people who claim the name of Jesus have neglected to do the same.

God, heal the parts of us that feel wounded or broken. Forgive us for when we have failed to love and care well. Help us to do better. May we be people who embody the Gospel by living the words, “I see you, I’m here for you, and I’ve got your back,” to the people in our lives and to a hurting and broken world. Amen.

The Day God Told Me Not to Praise Him Yet (And Why We Need Lament)

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I was once at a church thing where a speaker talked about the Hebrew words for praise. At the end of their message, they gave us an opportunity to practice doing each of those words. (Before you read on, I want you to know that I’m not throwing any shade to this speaker at all. And just in case, I’m also not going to tell you who they were. If you want to try to guess, know that I’ve been in many services in more than one country in which speakers have given basically the same presentation. So maybe I’m amalgamating multiple speakers into one; maybe I’m not. 😜 Anyway, back to what I was saying…) One of the Hebrew words for praise is towdah. The translation this speaker gave for towdah was, “to extend the hands with thanks for promises that are coming,” and the Scripture cited was Psalm 50:23.

"Whoever sacrifices a thank offering honors me,
and whoever orders his conduct, 
I will show him the salvation of God." 
(Psalm 50:23, CSB)

Even though I had heard all of this many times before—and had even taught it myself a few times—I listened and took careful notes. And when it was time to practice praising God in different ways, I “knew the drill” and was ready to go. But when the time came to “thank God for promises that are coming,” I couldn’t do it and I sensed the Holy Spirit speak a loud, “no,” into my heart. “You can’t do this yet,” He said. It may seem strange that God would tell me not to praise Him yet. But I had a suspicion for why and decided to check it. So as the sound of people praising surrounded me, I pulled out my Bible and read the passage again—not as an isolated verse, but as a part of a whole—beginning with verse one.

It’s important to remember that the book of Psalms was/is the Jewish prayer and song book. And for Christians today, it’s still meant to be our prayer and song book, giving us language to fully express our hearts to God. And whether we’re reading the Psalms or any other book of the Bible, when we isolate verses from their context, we misunderstand what those verses mean.

So now let’s take a look at Psalm 50. Many words of this psalm would not be suitable to stitch onto a throw pillow:

"Our God is coming; he will not be silent!
Devouring fire precedes him,
And a storm rages around him." 
(Psalm 50:3, CSB)

When someone in the Bible spoke or prayed about God not being silent, there was something they wanted God to respond to. And that something was likely a source of pain, anger, or some other heavy emotion. What (or who) was causing this author to cling to God this way in this psalm? From verse 7, we learn that the offenders were God’s people. (“Listen, my people, and I will speak; I will testify against you…”) These were people who had God’s law and knew what He required of them. In today’s vernacular, we’d say these people went to church, raised their hands and voices during worship, and they might have even been the loudest and most verbose during prayer time. But God rejected their acts of worship and called them “wicked.” Why?

"But God says to the wicked:
'What right do you have to recite my statutes
and to take my covenant on your lips?
You hate instruction
and fling my words behind you.
When you see a thief,
you make friends with him,
and you associate with adulterers.
You unleash your mouth for evil
and harness your tongue for deceit.
You sit, maligning your brother,
slandering your mother’s son.
You have done these things, and I kept silent;
you thought I was just like you.” 
(Psalm 50:16-21, CSB)

In short, Psalm 50 expresses pain and anger about those who outwardly worship God and claim His name, but who also participate in injustice. 

You cannot do the praising of Psalm 50:23 until you have done the lamenting and petitioning of Psalm 50:1-22. There is no shortcut to praise. It’s not that God doesn’t know about our pain unless we express it; it’s that by expressing our pain to Him, we give Him access to it so He can do His transformative work in and through it. God does not ask us to bypass our pain; the God Who Is With Us invites us to walk with Him through our pain. And while we still live in the now and not yet, in a world that is still broken and yearning to be made new, we continue to both lament and praise.

So back to the day when a speaker invited a room full of people to praise God for the promises that are coming: After the Spirit told me, “No, you can’t do this yet,” I broke into tears and lamented, giving voice to injustices I had seen and ways I had been wounded. And after I lamented and poured out my heart to God, I was able to praise.

Book Recommendation

Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times, by Soong-Chan Rah

Some of my favorite quotations from this book:

“There is power in bringing untold stories to light.” 

“Lament serves the purpose of providing a necessary step toward praise.” 

“What would happen to our faith if we believed that God reigns sovereign over both our celebration and our suffering?” 

“Lamentations recognizes that individual voices from the full range of citizens must be heard. Lament requires the full and honest expression of suffering; that experience must encompass the full breadth of suffering. In contrast, American evangelical Christianity often presents only the story of the dominant culture. Often, the stories from the ethnic minority communities are not deemed worthy…The power of Lamentations is that the voices of those who have actually suffered are not missing.” 

“In many of our justice endeavors, we often believe that our task is to speak for the voiceless. But maybe we need to follow the book of Lamentations and move the ones who suffer to front and center. The prophet-narrator has much to say, but the real movement and progress is that we hear the actual voice of those who suffer.”

Start With Hello

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Confession: I was supposed to publish this the week that this book launched into the world in October of 2022. I posted these words in a number of other places. But even though I had this post ready to go weeks in advance, when the day came, I forgot to hit the “publish” button. I actually didn’t realize this wasn’t already published until I opened up WordPress to write something else. So after months of being out in the world, let me tell you about a book:

Start With Hello, by Shannan Martin

In a society marked by hyper-individuality, a lack of real connection that leaves us lonely, and what feels like insurmountable division, we need Shannan’s words. Through her storytelling, she paints a picture of what our lives together as communities and a society can be. And through her practical wisdom, she gives us a path for how we can move in that direction. (One way she does that is by ending each chapter with “One Simple Way to Move toward Each Other.”)

She ends with “A Neighbor’s Blessing.” If any part of this blessing resonates with you, then this book is for you:

“May you go out into this bewildering world warmed by the fire of possibility.
May you come to see walking shoes, soup spoons, minivans, and wrinkled hands as worthy tools for connection.
May your heart stay tender, your hands stay open, and your door stay easy on its hinges.
May you find comfort in the moon, art in the clouds, and goodness in the faces around you.
May you gather, listen, and hope relentlessly.
And May you never give up on the living light if belonging, right where you are.
Grace and peace and gumption be with you.”

One more thing about this book stands out: In addition to people who resemble herself as a white woman, Shannan Martin gleans wisdom from diverse voices—including men and women who are Black, Asian, Latine, and Indigenous. This book is a demonstration of how learning from diverse voices makes our lived theology more robust.

A Good Conversation: Our Feelings about Roe v Wade

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A few weeks ago I started something on Instagram called, “Good Conversations.” The goal is to pursue good. Not easy answers, not destruction, not an echo chamber. And even when we talk about hard things and the conversation gets messy, it’s so we can pursue good.

Also, I want the name “Good Conversations” to define our rules of engagement. These aren’t debates with winners and losers. We’re in this together. And this is a space where we treat others—even those with whom we disagree—with love, respect, empathy, compassion, etc. In other words, this is a space where we practice goodness. The feeling I have after a good conversation—the feeling of being seen, heard, loved, encouraged, energized, challenged in a good way—that’s what I want this to be for everyone.

If you’re on Instagram, you can participate in these conversations simply by responding to my weekly polls and questions. (To follow me, click here.) I’ll be saving each conversation in a highlight reel. For those who aren’t on Instagram, I’ll share some of these conversations here on my blog.

The topic of the first Good Conversation was a big one—our feelings about the Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v Wade (which became official just a few days before this conversation). Here it is:

Click here for the link to this post.
Click here for the link to this post.

When Following Jesus Requires Questioning

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I went out for sushi with a friend. She’s the kind of friend I love talking with and who always leaves me feeling encouraged. During this particular conversation, I noticed something interesting:

Whenever she’d say, “I know I should…,” what followed would sound spiritual and “Christian”—like things I grew up hearing at church. But strangely, it wouldn’t sound like anything I’ve read about Jesus’ life in the Gospels. And when she’d apologetically say, “But I decided to…,” I’d be reminded of passages throughout Scripture and I’d see parallels between her life choices and the life Jesus modeled for us.

My friend is following Jesus. And in order to do that, she has to reject the patterns of this world—including ways the Church has adopted and spiritualized these patterns.

Isn’t that weird? At least, shouldn’t it be? And shouldn’t this be cause for alarm?

We’re followers / disciples / apprentices of Jesus. Whatever terminology you like to use, we’re to strive to look more and more like Him. But sometimes we confuse the way of Jesus with church culture. Church culture doesn’t always look and sound like Jesus. In fact, sometimes it’s conforming to church culture that prevents us from becoming more like Jesus. (What a brilliant way for the enemy to keep the Church from actually living like the Body of Christ! “Make it sound spiritual and put Jesus’ name on it, then they’ll accept it without question!”)

I want my heart to be aligned with Jesus’ heart, to look and sound like Him, to reflect Him every way I can. Unfortunately, that means there are times when I must make choices that go against the culture of the Church (or at least the American Church). And that means people who know church culture better than actual Jesus will accuse me of things that sound a lot like the things Jesus was accused of.

• What if we accepted Jesus’ invitation to learn from Him, diving deep into Scripture with humility in the fact that we don’t always get everything right and we still have more to learn?

• What if we investigated whether or not each supposed truth we label “biblical” is actually in the Bible and in alignment with the heart of God?

• What if we chose to follow Jesus—actually follow the words He spoke and the way He lived as it’s revealed in Scripture rather than what some people or our church culture tells us is “biblical”?

So here’s my challenge to you: The next time you find yourself thinking, “I feel like as a Christian I should…,” ask these two questions:

1. Does this thing I feel I should believe/think/do/be resemble what Jesus lived and taught? (If you can’t find it in Jesus’ life and teachings or anywhere else in Scripture, that’s a big red flag. So be specific. Where is it in Scripture? And if you find a verse, zoom out and look at the context of the chapter, book, and whole of Scripture. Is that really what that passage is saying? Or has it been misunderstood or taken out of context?)

2. What is the Spirit saying to me? Could it be that what the Spirit is saying to me contradicts something I’ve been taught but is actually in alignment with the way of Jesus as revealed in Scripture?

One more thing: Live this out in community. Find people who will ask these questions with you, lovingly call you out when you don’t live them, and aggressively encourage you when you do.

A Prayer about Racial Issues (Or, A Prayer That’s Scary to Pray)

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A couple weeks ago, I received an email from one of the pastors in my local church. He asked if I could lead a prayer at our upcoming evening worship and prayer service. (We have one of these every month.) The area he asked me to pray for is one I’m passionate about: the racial issues in our country. I was honored to be asked. But the overwhelming feeling I had when I responded with my “yes” was fear and dread. Our church is predominantly white; the demographics of our congregation reflects the demographics of our city (which is statistically one of the whitest cities in America). Let me be clear: I LOVE my church! It’s a great church with wonderful people. But what was being asked of me was still terrifying. I voiced my fears to my husband:

  • “How on earth am I supposed to lead a congregation to pray as one about something in which we’re so divided?”
  • “How do I—a woman of color in a predominantly white space—lead a prayer about racial issues in a way that won’t get labeled ‘divisive,’ but is still honest and genuine?”
  • “What happens if this doesn’t go well?” (This was my biggest question/worry. Did I mention that my husband’s on pastoral staff at this church?)

I labored over the words I’d pray, crafting the words while whispering again and again, “God, I can’t do this. Please help me!” He gave me words. And I prayed them on my own each day leading up to the service. Alone in my living room, I felt the weight of the words. This is not a safe prayer, I thought. I felt something else, too. Something beautiful was happening.

Last night, as I walked up the steps of the platform to lead our congregation in prayer, my heart raced and I unsuccessfully fought to stop shaking. In my fear—yes, I did it scared!—I kept my head down and my eyes on my iPad. As I prayed, I heard something I hoped for but didn’t expect: voices rising in agreement. There were only a couple times when I felt the crowd get quiet. My husband prepared me for this: “There will be moments when they’ll get quiet because they don’t know yet how to pray about some of these things. They’ll get quiet so they can listen and learn. It’s a good thing. Just keep going.” I remembered his words and kept going all the way to the “amen.” Something indeed happened last night. It felt as though something hard that needed to be broken was beginning to break. This is just a beginning. I wrote in my journal after I got home, “I feel it—really feel it. Hope.”

After the service, a number of people asked if I could send them a copy of what I prayed. This morning, I got more messages with the same request. So here it is. What follows are the words I spoke and prayed (including a couple notes to myself to breathe) at Central Assembly in Springfield, Missouri on the evening of Sunday, February 6, 2022. May we continue to pray these words. And as we do, may we learn to live them.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We’re going to pray about the racial issues in our country. [Take a breath.] And I know that as soon as I said those words, every single one of us felt something and our minds got loud with ideas and beliefs. And the range of thoughts is so wide that it can seem too insurmountable for us to be able to pray as one.

So here’s what we’re going to do:

  • Everyone, hold out your hands in front of you, and clench your fists. (No hitting! We’re not about to fight each other!) Prayerfully imagine that in your fists are all the things you think and feel when you hear the words, “racial issues”…because we’re not going to be able to pray as a unified voice until we deal with what we’re holding in our fists. 
  • As I begin, I want you to pray, “God, here’s all my stuff. I want to give You access to all of it.”  And when You’re ready, I invite you to open your hands in surrender to Jesus. If you need more time before you’re ready, that’s okay. The important thing is that we all move a little closer to God in this moment.

Let’s pray:

God, we’re symbolically holding in our fists 

  • ways we believe we’re right and others are wrong,
  • ways we’ve allowed ideologies to hinder us from loving well,
  • maybe feelings of apathy or annoyance, 
  • or a desire for things to be better and exhaustion by the weight of it all,
  • maybe disillusionment, anger, or disappointment in our brothers and sisters in Christ, 
  • maybe pain or even trauma. 

Some of the things we’re holding are right in Your eyes and some are not. For most, what we’re holding is complicated. And all of it needs to be surrendered to You—whether for repentance, or so You can sanctify it to be used for Your glory, or so You can do Your miraculous healing work. 

So God, here’s all our stuff. Help us surrender it all to You.

If you feel ready, go ahead and open your hands and pray with me:

Jesus, we surrender it all to You. We give You access to all of it. Align our hearts to Yours and let Your will be done in and through us.

So now we lift up our church, our community, and our nation.

God, we lift up the Black community.

We lift up the Native American community.

We lift up the Latino community.

We lift up the Asian American and Pacific Islander community.

We lift up everyone who’s part of the majority culture.

The needs are many.

We pray for demonic strongholds to be destroyed. Break the strongholds of racism and white supremacy in our country and even our churches. Disturb what needs to be disturbed and change hearts. 

We pray for repentance to continue and to be thorough. We’ve come a long way, but still have far to go. Help us to repent and bear fruit in keeping with repentance. As Daniel, Nehemiah, and others repented for the communal sins of Israel, we repent of our nation’s sins as well as our own.

  • In commenting on MLK’s “I Have a Dream Speech,” Mrs. Coretta King said: “At that moment it seemed as if the Kingdom of God appeared. But it only lasted for a moment.” God, there was a moment when it felt like we were on the brink of racial healing, but it only lasted for a moment, and too many returned to business as usual. 
  • We repent of our prejudices, the ways we’ve wrongly judged, painted groups of people with broad strokes, or turned people into demeaning caricatures. We repent of the actions and inaction that flowed from these ways of thinking. 
  • We repent of disobeying your command to care for the foreigner and the ways we’ve treated ethnic minorities like they are “other” and do not belong.
  • We repent of the ways we’ve upheld or been complicit with unjust systems.
  • We repent of choosing to be colorblind when the dream of Your Kingdom is not one of ethnic erasure but one that envisions every nation, tribe, and language worshiping together before Your throne. Give us eyes to be color brave, to see the beauty of our ethnicities and the ways they reflect the image of God.
  • We repent of choosing comfort over bravery. 
  • We repent of participating in racial jokes or degrading comments, whether we were the one speaking the words or were complicit with our laughter or silence.
  • We repent of being silent when we should have spoken up in either correction or encouragement. 
  • We repent of getting so caught up in ideologies and partisan talking points that we’ve allowed ourselves to treat people—fellow bearers of the image of God—as though they’re the enemy.
  • We repent of getting so caught up in debate that we fail to listen, show empathy, compassion, and love.
  • We repent of treating racial issues as though they’re problems “out there” and neglecting to care for those among us who are hurting.
  • We repent of the times we’ve prayed without action and the times we’ve acted without prayer. 

I pray for us to not settle for superficial peace, but to be agents of healing and justice. 

  • Give our lawmakers the wisdom to correct unjust laws and systems.
  • Raise up more Christians like Bryan Stevenson to advocate for the victims of our unjust laws and systems and work towards equity.
  • I pray for the violence against Black and brown bodies to stop. Oh, God, we denounce violence in all its forms. We denounce violence that’s inflicted on anyone. This week, with the start of Black History Month, at least 13 Historically Black Colleges and Universities were forced to close due to bomb threats. Oh God, we cry out for true peace in our land. As we often pray for a shield of protection when we travel, we pray for a shield of protection around ethnic minorities.
  • In “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” Martin Luther King lamented, “So here we are moving toward the exit of the twentieth century with a religious community largely adjusted to the status quo, standing as a taillight behind other community agencies rather than a headlight leading men to higher levels of justice.” Oh God, may we be a headlight leading people to higher levels of justice! Give Your Church—here at Central and throughout our country—the wisdom and anointing to be brave in calling out unjust attitudes and systems, to be brave in doing the work of racial reconciliation, and to be brave in praying for and working towards shalom in our land. Holy Spirit, lead us and help us lead the way. 

[Take a breath.]

Since the start of the pandemic, there’s been a drastic rise in Anti-Asian violence. Asian Americans have been bombarded with videos of people who look like us and our parents being attacked and murdered. A couple months ago, there was news of an Asian man who was shot multiple times. He was about my father’s age and was killed in Chicago’s Chinatown, a place my father frequents. So when I saw the news headline, without thinking, I instinctually looked up the details of the story to make sure it wasn’t my father. This is a glimpse of what racial trauma looks like.

Jesus, we lift up those who are hurting and suffering racial trauma. 

  • We’re hurting. And sometimes the pain is too heavy and hope feels impossible. Oh Jesus, You understand wounds. So we welcome You into our pain and we bring You our lament. We bring You all our anger and frustration, all our why-s and how longs. 
  • We pray for every BIPOC person who is carrying trauma in their bodies and their spirit. God of all comfort, I beg You to heal us. 
  • Help us as we absorb yet another insensitive comment, dirty look, or hurtful action. Keep our hearts soft and our armors strong. May we forgive and, at the same time, not internalize the racism we experience.
  • Help us when the news of another assault or murder triggers our trauma and fear. 

Our Father, there’s so much brokenness. But You are the Lord of righteousness and justice, God of miracles and infinite possibility. Heal our land. Amen.

Our Essence: The Imago Dei

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On September 10, 2021, I spoke at an event at Central Assembly in Springfield, MO. These are the words I shared that day.

I’m going talk to you about something that’s a lot bigger than what I can give you in 10 minutes. So I want to whet your appetite and stir in you a holy curiosity that I pray will shift the way you read the Bible and interact with God, the way you see yourselves, and the way you love others.

Sometime ago, I was watching a Netflix documentary about American Christianity. In it, someone said, “In our essence, we are sinful.” That sounds spiritual, but is it true? Is our essence, who we are at our core, our sinfulness? Is that how God sees us? And as Christians, is that how God wants us to see ourselves and others? 

To answer that, let’s go to the Bible. And let’s start at the beginning. 

Genesis 1:1, the opening line of Scripture, says, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” Right away, we meet the main character of the Bible, the hero of the story: God. And this chapter proceeds to tell us how God created everything in the cosmos. Light, land and sky, day and night, sun and moon, seasons and years, the plant and animal kingdoms—He spoke it all into being. And as He created, He declared His creation good.

And in Genesis 1:26-27, we meet more characters:

“Then God said, ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground.’ 

So God created mankind in his own image,

in the image of God he created them;

male and female he created them.”

With these verses, we read the beginning of our story. And the very first thing that’s said about humanity is that we’re created in the image of God. God didn’t speak humanity into being. He formed the first human from dust and breathed life into Him. 

If you ask a lot of Christians about their theology, what they believe, many would begin in chapter 3 with the fall of man. This is how many of us were taught to share the Gospel. But when we do this, we miss out on the theological richness in the first two chapters of Genesis where we’re introduced to threads that are woven throughout the entire Bible, threads that are important for understanding who God is and who we are. And one of those threads is the idea of the imago Dei, the image of God. 


What is the imago Dei? What does it mean to be “created in the image of God”?  

When we read the story of creation, God creates a lot of amazing, awe-inspiring things that reflect God’s glory. But not everything is created in God’s likeness. God chose humankind to be the bearers of His image.

The idea of the imago Dei flies in the face of a culture that gives people worth based on things like appearance, platform, productivity, and status. Dr. Jemar Tisby wrote, “…the Christian doctrine of the image of God teaches that all people have inherent worth and dignity simply because they are God’s creation.” 

So what are ways we see the image of God in us? 

We see it in our capacity… 

  • to think and reason,
  • to forge relationships and emotionally connect with God and others,
  • to have authority and responsibility over the earth through our vocation, care for our health and wellness, and stewardship of our resources,
  • to become more and more like Jesus until we meet Him face to face. (from Christian Spiritual Formation, by Diane Chandler)

Every single one of us is a bearer of the imago Dei, created in the image of God. THAT is our essence. We reflect God’s image in the ways we’re similar and also in the ways we’re different. Our different stories and backgrounds, the different generations we were born to be part of, our different gifts and passions, even our different races, ethnicities, and nationalities—they all come together to make a beautiful mosaic that reflects God.

At this point, you may be thinking, But what about original sin? In Genesis 3, when Adam and Eve disobeyed God and ate the forbidden fruit, sin entered the world. Did that change our essence? Did sin erase the image of God in us?

Well, what does the Bible have to say about the imago Dei after the fall?

Genesis 5:1 says, “This is the written account of Adam’s family line. When God created mankind, he made them in the likeness of God. He created them male and female and blessed them.”

When talking about why murder is wrong, in Genesis 9:6, God said, “Whoever sheds human blood, by humans his blood will be shed, for God made humans in his image.”

In the New Testament, when talking about how difficult it is to control the tongue, James 3:9 says, “With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness.”

Sin fractured our identities, marred the imago Dei in us, but it did not erase it. Even in our brokenness, we still bear the image of God!

This is the tension we live with: In our essence, we are bearers of the image of God. And at the same time, we live in a fallen world, impacted by sin. And because of that, Romans 3:23 says “…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…” We don’t live up to our potential as image bearers. 

But God has not given up on us. He invites us to follow Him and partner with the Holy Spirit in His transformative work in our lives.

And like a masterpiece painting that has become cracked, weathered, and faded, we’re still a masterpiece. And God, the master Creator and artist who loves His creation deeply, can restore what has been marred to once again look like the image He created us to bear. 

Before I continue, I’d like to speak from my heart. The past 18 months have been difficult for all of us. In many ways we deeply feel the pain of living in a fallen world. One way is in the racial divisions that have been brought into the light. Some of you in this room may feel like your dignity and worth or the dignity and worth of your children have been torn down. Maybe you’re carrying the wounds of trauma and you feel emotionally exhausted this evening. If that’s you, I invite you to find me later—or message me—and I’d like to personally take the time to give space for what you’re experiencing. 

And for all of us in this room—or everyone reading this blog—I exhort you: Let us practice and model to a hurting and broken world what it looks like to see and value the imago Dei in ourselves and in others.

Now, let’s talk about Jesus.

There is only one person in all the world and history who has ever completely and perfectly borne the image of God. His name is Jesus. 

Colossians 1:15 (CSB) says,

He is the image of the invisible God,

the firstborn over all creation.

I love how plainly The Kingdom New Testament Translation, by N. T. Wright, says it:

“He is the image of God…”

Diane Chandler wrote, “…Jesus is the perfect image that humankind lost during the fall but through whom humankind now is alive with potential for restoration through redemption and is capable of holistic growth into the image of Christ.” (from Christian Spiritual Formation)

Romans 8:29 talks about how we’re to be “conformed to the image of [God’s] son.”

And 2 Corinthians 3:18 says, “We all, with unveiled faces, are looking as in a mirror at the glory of the Lord and are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory…”

In other words, what’s the goal? To look more and more like Jesus!

And how do we do that? Through Jesus!

Let’s take this one step further: On this road of spiritual formation, we need Jesus…and we need each other. 

God’s character and nature, His personality, His passions, the way He expresses Himself and interacts with His creation and with us—He’s so much bigger than what any one of us can reflect. So it’s vital that on the road of spiritual formation, we not try to do it all on our own, but that we do it together in community. And that means it might get a little messy because people are messy. But even in the messiness, and many times, through the messiness, God’s transformative work happens and we begin to look more like Jesus and better reflect the imago Dei, both individually and corporately.

So let’s do this! And let’s do this together!

Another pic from that night. This is me and Amelia Umbenhower—one of the leaders in our college ministry. I’m super blessed to get to know her and all the ways God is mighty in her! We’re two women with different backgrounds, stories, and giftings. And we’re both bearers of the image of God!

Reclaiming My Ethnic Identity

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A few months ago, in “An Asian American’s Awakening,“ I wrote these words:

So I’ve made a decision: I’m not hiding anymore. What does that mean? Honestly, I’m not completely sure. I’m just going to let this journey take me where it will. Here’s what I do know: I bear the image of God and I’m not going to be a part of tearing down the imago Dei in me anymore.

What follows is a continuation of this journey of reclaiming my identity and an invitation for you to do the same.

When I was in high school, my history teacher talked about the Filipino “savages” that came at Magellan the explorer with their clubs shouting, “Ooga, Ooga!” I will never forget my humiliation as my classmates turned and looked at me. In that moment, I felt ashamed to be a Filipina, and even more shame for feeling ashamed. So when I stumbled on a collection of poems by Justine Ramos, a Filipina American author, with a piece called, “Ferdinand Magellan,” I knew I had found something special. In sharing her own Magellan story, I could feel the tension in her body and the wrestling with her identity as the other students in the class stared at her. And in reading her story, I was also reading mine.

Telling our stories is important. And something powerful happens when we see ourselves in the stories of others.

But what happens when we’ve mostly been erased from the stories that are told, when the only time we make it into the narrative, we’re villains and “savages”?

Both of my parents immigrated to the States from the Philippines, so I’m second generation American. I grew up in the Chicagoland where many of my closest friends were also second generation Fil-Ams (Filipino Americans). We weren’t related, but they were my sisters and brothers and their parents were my titas and titos. Our parents spoke to us in Tagalog; we answered in English (with some Taglish thrown in). We lived in America, but we were tethered to the Motherland. 

Now I live in Springfield, MO, one of the whitest cities in America. I’ve code switched—hidden my Filipinaness and acted more white in order to blend into white spaces—for so long that I feel disconnected from an important part of my identity. I miss Tagalog, sitting down at a table where patis (fish sauce) is one of the condiments, and being greeted with the words, “Kain na!”–”Let’s eat!” I miss eating with my kamay (hands). I miss fancy events where men wear barongs, women wear dresses with big sleeves, and people dance the Tinikling. But most of all, I miss feeling at home in my Filipinaness.

So now, months before I turn forty years old, I’m reclaiming my ethnic identity. It isn’t easy. (I have one Fil-Am friend where I live. One. Two if you count her four-year-old daughter.) I’ve been listening to podcasts to learn Tagalog grammar so I can finally be able to formulate my own sentences aside from the ones I know only because I heard them a million times growing up. I’m reading books that tell stories and details that have been left out of American textbooks. (How old were you when you learned about the Philippine-American War or that the Philippines was colonized by Spain and then the United States?) And I’m exploring art, movies, music, and poetry where I see reflections of my ancestors, culture, and myself.

It’s time to reclaim my story. It’s time for all of us to reclaim our stories.

A BOOK FOR ALL ETHNICITIES:

Becoming All Things: How Small Changes Lead to Lasting Connections Across Cultures, by Michelle Ami Reyes

If you want to understand the importance of all of our ethnic and cultural heritages in a theologically robust way, this book is a goldmine! Here are a couple of my favorite excerpts:

“No matter your ethnicity, skin color, or cultural values, you have been made as a bearer of God’s image with dignity and worth equal to every other person. If you don’t value your cultural identity, you are not valuing a vital aspect of the image of God within you. If you don’t value the cultural identity of another person, you are not valuing the image of God within him or her.”

“The words of Scripture challenge us to step into other people’s histories and stories, to see through their eyes, to mourn for their pain, and to build better futures for one another. Justice is not a distraction from the gospel. It is a core message of the gospel. The life of Jesus declares this to be true, and if you want to prioritize the gospel in your life, then the pursuit of justice on behalf of others must be an essential component of your faith. Like Paul, become the weak. See the world through their eyes. Only then will people truly begin to see Christ in you.”

A COUPLE BOOKS FOR THE FILIPINX DIASPORA:

Full disclosure: I’m not a fan of expletives and I typically don’t recommend books that contain language I wouldn’t use. However, there are some exceptions and these books are among them. The expletives and strong language in the following books are minimal. And they serve the purpose of historical accuracy (such as quotations from historical figures) or expressions of intense emotion. But if you have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to strong language, these books may not be for you.

A History of the Philippines: From Indio Bravos to Filipinos, by Luis H. Francia

This book dives into the history of the Philippines from pre-colonial days to the present. Though this is an amazing resource for a Filipinx wanting to learn about their ethnic heritage, this is a book for everyone. By including perspectives and parts of stories that were left out of our history textbooks in the US, it challenges the way we view European and American history and adds insight to discussions about racism, colonialism, militarism, and even missiology.

Halo-Halo: A poetic mix of culture, history, identity, revelation, and revolution, by Justine Ramos

This is the book I mentioned earlier with the poem called, “Ferdinand Magellan.” In a podcast, I heard Ramos talk about how publishers told her that her themes were for “too specific of an audience” and that she should try to write for a wider, more general audience. I’m so glad she didn’t diminish the power of her words by diluting her creativity! This book is a work of art. Through her slam-style poetry, Ramos gives insight into the experiences and psyche of the Filipinx diaspora. At times, her words feel like lament. Other times, like revolutionary anthems. This book was like a healing balm to my soul.

In the Author’s Note, she wrote:

“My poetry is dedicated to all the textbooks that left my country and culture out of the narrative. My poetry is devoted to anyone who has ever uttered “Hirap Buhay ‘Merica” [“Life’s Hard in America] under their breath…As you turn the page, you’ll read snippets of frustrations and reflections. You’ll read flashes of my childhood, a peek into the crevices of my heart and memory. You’ll hear outrage, hope, and a desperate call for advocacy and awareness. These pages contain the tears of those who have lost a sense of themselves, those who have let the world define who they are, and the strength of those who, like me, are on the journey of finding themselves again.”

WHAT ABOUT YOU?

Are you on a journey of reclaiming your identity? What are you doing to reclaim the pieces of your story and culture you have lost, forgotten, or never had? I’d love to hear from you! (You can share in the comments.)