On Saturday morning, I called my family, just to say hi.
Mom: Hey, I was just going to call you.
Me: Oh yea?
Mom: I found a church for you to check out. I think it may be a good match.
Me: Interesting…
Mom: It’s called Chinese ... Church
Me: MOM, CHINESE?!?!? CHINEEEESSSEEE?!?! You know I don’t like Asian American Christians!
FREEZE. Let’s rewind a little bit. Kdfj;klsgjhlkajf;lgkajf;lkadjf;lkaj.
For the past month or so, I’ve been checking out different churches in the Bay Area. Of course, being the extreme female that I am who over thinks just about everything, plans in advance, AND forgets that God doesn’t ever work the way I expect, I secretly had a recipe for my ideal church in mind. Laugh at me, but I seriously have been looking for one with:
1. A predominantly white congregation. The less Asian American Christians, the better.
2. A super funny white pastor because white people are so funny. It would also help if the pastor had a Texan accent, liked sports, and quoted a lot of the other awesome pastors that I like, because those characteristics would just make him so cool. Like, SO COOL.
3. A worship team better than Hillsong United because I thought the worship team at the SJ church I attended was better than Hillsong.
Dude. Sounds blasphemous, doesn’t it?! Looking for all the “unimportant” things. Yup, I’m preeeetty superficial.
As much as I didn’t want to go to a Chinese church, if there was anything I learned in college, it was that my parents are wiser than me. So, I reluctantly took my parents’ word for it and checked out this Chinese church on Sunday morning. My prayer before service: “God, I need to hear the gospel today.”
My mom had made it sound like the English congregation would be full of Chinese working young adults. To my surprise, although there were some younger people, the majority of the congregation had gray hair.
Not only did they have gray hair, but these old people also…spoke PERFECT ENGLISH! WHAT THE CRAZY?!
Having grown up in suburban Massachusetts, any Asian above the age of 40 was probably a fob because they were the parent of one of my friends. So, hearing grandpa-aged Asians speaking perfect English…was wicked strange, but ahaha, really cute! A church full of white-washed old Asian people- who would’ve ever thought?!
Anyways, long story sorta short- these old people had this genuineness to their demeanor that really struck my young foolish heart. Just one look at these elderly people and their eyes would tell you, “Jesus loves me, this I really know.” Their Jesus faith and friendliness just seemed…real, and this realness was incredibly refreshing.
So although I was just about ready to discredit almost all Asian American Christians forever, God told me in a still small voice:
Christ in me, the hope of glory.
God reminded me Sunday morning that the only hope anyone had in being any good was in Christ alone. The reason why these elderly Asian Americans seemed to get it was because they had Jesus living in them for all these years, and in Him, they had been transformed. They’ve been refined over and over, and the mustard seed of faith that was planted in them in the 1960-70s had blossomed into good FRUIT.
It’s pretty cool when a face by itself can tell you this: “This journey of faith hasn’t been easy, but it’s been so damn good, because my God is alive and amazing.”
And so the moral of part two of my true story: there is hope for all broken people who have Jesus as their Savior, even Asian American Christians, because God’s people are always in construction. And while I would like to think that the solution to phony Christianity is to avoid all phony people, the truth is: I need to pray.
Side Note:
You know how I love stealing quotes and ideas from old people?
I got a great idea from an old deacon dude and I think I’m SO going to steal it! Don’t tell my parents, just yet.
One day, if I ever live to be like…I dunno, 55, I think I’m going to get a tattoo with the Chinese character for “faithfulness.” Because I’m sure God’s goodness will just be so overwhelming by that age that I will want to imprint it on my Chinese skin cells.
Or maybe, I’ll get it at age 25 because I kinda already want one now. On my BUTT! Just kidding. I would never want someone to artsify my butt cheek. Maaaaybe my left arm, because God is faithful to left-handed people, no matter what right handed people say. :P
Hm, artsify. Ha, how’s that for a word. Almost as good as WOWmazing.
