As an American national who is ethnically Chinese, following the Olympic Games always brings me mixed emotions. With billions of eyes watching worldwide, I am emphatically reminded of my liminal experience straddling two worlds.
Asian Americans in Our Own Society
I rejoice when I see American athletes like Nathan Chen, Chloe Kim, and Suni Lee reach the top of their sports. Yes, they represent the United States of America. But in a profound way, they also represent Asian Americans. When an Asian American receives public accolades, it means a lot to us. It comes with the hope that, just perhaps, an American with an Asian face can be viewed as normative. In short, we feel seen.
Nathan Chen said as much during an interview after his gold-medal winning free skate performance. “Growing up in Salt Lake City and having a face like Michelle Kwan is very inspirational,” he said. “Having an athlete that looks like you gives you the hope you can do the same. Michelle Kwan is certainly that for me. That goes back to the power of representation.”
After all, for many Americans with Asian roots, we experience being “other.” At the margins of society, we are often left without a seat at the table. Even with two centuries of history (for example, I have roots in America going back to the Transcontinental Railroad), Asian Americans are often viewed and treated as perpetual foreigners.
Many of us have lamented and lived in fear with the increased violence against Asians during the COVID-19 pandemic. It was only several decades ago that thousands of Americans of Japanese descent were incarcerated, suspected of disloyalty to our country. We often feel the stigma of not being accepted as American when we hear jeers like “Go back to China!”
Asian Americans with Our Ancestral Cultures
At the same time, we recently saw an Asian American athlete do just that—go to China. To be sure, figure skater Zhu Yi, born Beverly Zhu, didn’t go back—she was born and raised in California. Renouncing her American citizenship, she now represents China in competition.
But Zhu hasn’t been accepted by many in her adopted nation. On top of the humiliation of a poor showing at the recent Winter Olympics, she received much criticism from the Chinese public. She was disparaged for being American-born, disgraced for not speaking the language fluently, and reproached for showing emotion. The cumulative message from the Chinese people? Zhu Yi isn’t one of us.
Watching Zhu Yi’s reception is a painful reminder for many Asian Americans that, among people of our ancestral lands, we often don’t belong. We are frequently seen as foreigners when we visit Asia. We are often, like Zhu, chided for not speaking the language well. Being unfamiliar with or misunderstanding the culture of our immigrant relatives, we are sometimes labeled as disrespectful. We are derisively called “Twinkie” or “banana.”
Nowhere to Belong
Some call this whole experience liminality. Asian Americans often straddle two worlds—but we are not at home in either of them. We are not fully received as Americans. At the same time, we are not fully received by those in our ancestral culture. In short, we have nowhere to belong.
For many with this two-worlds, liminal, and hyphenated experience, we have a deep longing. We have pain and stigma, never having the experience of being at home somewhere. We struggle and strive, desiring to belong.
A Call to Belong
With the constant experience of not belonging, I am reminded that my hope is not in American society. I am reminded that my hope is not in my ancestral culture either. In fact, my hope is not in this world at all.
When Jesus calls people to follow him, it comes with a renouncing of loyalty. In his first spoken words in the Gospel of Mark, he calls for a turnaround: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel. (Mark 1:15)” The word translated as gospel is euangelion, a word that was prominently used to announce the presence of a ruler—it was considered good news that this figure was in charge (see Isaiah 52:7). Jesus was calling people to turn from their ways, join the Kingdom of God, and submit to him as the King.
Jesus’s call to discipleship is a call to transfer allegiance. A repeated theme throughout the teachings of Jesus and his apostles is that there is no middle ground; one must choose. We receive the message that one cannot serve both God and money (Luke 16:13). To follow Christ means denying ourselves (Matt 15:24) and it feels like death (Luke 9:24–25). We are called to choose obedience to the Spirit’s desires over the desires of the flesh (Galatians 5:17). We cannot have both friendship with the world and friendship with God (James 4:4). For Asian Americans, with our loyalty questioned in both America and our ancestral culture, we are called to have a single allegiance to Christ.
Here’s the great news: with this new allegiance comes hope. We belong. For those who do the will of the Father, Jesus calls them “my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:47-50). Because of the death and resurrection of Christ, we have the hope of eternal life, which is knowing God (John 17:3). We can be called children of God (1 John 3:1). For Asian Americans, in the midst of experiences of not belonging, in Christ, we can have hope of eternal belonging.
Being disciples of Jesus means that we have citizenship. We are fully received as members of the kingdom of God. As we seek first the kingdom of God to which we belong (Matthew 6:33), we remember that we have been delivered from darkness into this kingdom (Colossians 1:13). This is a value that my wife’s grandfather repeatedly reminded her about, and we are instilling in our own children. As Asian Americans who follow Christ, our hope is not in America nor our ancestral homeland. Ultimately, we belong elsewhere:
But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.
Philippians 3:20-21
I constantly experience the tension of being of two worlds but not at home in either. But through this, I am reminded that my belonging is with the kingdom of God. My citizenship is in heaven. My hope is in my eternal home–where there will be no more pain, no more tears, and no more liminality.