Community members gathered to mourn Justin Ferrari’s tragic death and speak out against gun violence (photo: Alan Berner, Seattle Times).

People often ask me if I feel “safe” in our neighborhood, and it’s a question that usually has implicit racial and socioeconomic undertones, even if they are genuinely curious or concerned. What saddens me about these events (in addition to the tragic loss of life and the many lives ruined by senseless violence) is the entrenched social and political polarization that comes as a result of frustration, scapegoating, and misunderstanding of under-resourced urban neighborhoods.

Though the dangers are real and the questions are many, we must always keep (at least) two things in mind:

1. There are no simple, singular solutions to the “constellation of generative forces” (to appropriate Jennings) that create a toxic environment of poverty, violence, and urban racial segregation. This recognition does not dismiss “personal responsibility” in favor of “gun control,” nor does it succumb to the usual dichotomies of victimization or exceptionalism. Rather, I am simply suggesting that we always need to approach these challenges with a plurality of perspectives (cultural, political, familial, etc.) as we seek to understand and eventually undermine the structural cycles that perpetuate urban violence.
2. This kind of violence that may appear to be localized in the more “colorful” end of Seattle’s longstanding north-south racial divide is not simply that problem of those people over there. In fact, it is our problem together because our mutual peace (i.e., shalom, wholeness) is dependent on our recognition of belonging to one another. Again, it may seem that these shootings have nothing to do with you, perhaps because of your social, economic, or geographic location. But the truth of the matter is that you (and all of us) are complicit (to varying degrees) in the root causes of this violence because we are all bound together in “a single garment of destiny.”

Though I’ve long believed in MLK’s call to remember our interrelatedness (in stark contrast to our alleged rugged individualism), I’m glad that living and working in southeast Seattle for the past decade or so has made this belief more present and concrete in the day-to-day. I’m certainly not a hero, a martyr, a missionary, or an activist. On many days, I’m more of a consumer, a poseur, a gentrifier, and a hypocrite. But I’m trying to be a better father, leader, citizen, and neighbor. And on a good day, maybe a priest as well.

In the end, I hope the next week in my community will be better. We can’t live in fear and we can’t blame everyone else, but we can work together to begin the process of healing. And that begins with each of us.

Regardless of the temptation to fall into the usual camps and talking points on this “issue,” I sincerely hope that some higher profile discussion of the very human implications of this kind of legislation will be able to move people toward a more sophisticated understanding of marriage, sexuality, and public policy. At a very basic level, this debate is not (to me at least) primarily about “defending a traditional definition of marriage.” Rather, the central issue in my mind is about equality and justice. Will society be able to grant same-sex partners– many of whom are already living in legally recognized civil unions– the same protection under the law that is afforded to heterosexual partners? Or will we continue to perpetuate a tiered system where same-sex partners are– whether in word or deed– basically second-class citizens? I am convinced that this is one of the most important civil rights questions of our day.

And especially for people of faith, there is a lot of hard, thoughtful, prayerful, considerate, compassionate work that needs to be done– relationally, theologically, and practically. You may not be ready to flip a switch and jump over to “the other side,” whatever that “side” may be. That’s fine. At the very least, you need to educate yourself and enter into conversation with others in humility and genuine openness.

I’ve spent the last few years wrestling with these conversations in various settings, and I’m not done. But one thing I’m absolutely convinced of is that Christians do not need to fight, accuse, belittle, divide, and label one another as they politicize their “position.” Why does the church feel the need to “take a position” on everything? There are plenty of things the church does not have an “official stance” on, and yet strong opinions can still be held and debated respectfully.

Ultimately, the public policy issues and the church issues are separate but overlapping conversations. And as society moves inevitably toward greater acceptance of LGBTQ persons and communities, the church must learn to bear a more faithful witness to the radical hospitality and reconciling love of Christ.

Most of what I’m looking forward to is good conversations with a small group of grad students about the complexity of ethnic particularity in our multicultural, globalized, racialized society. What does it mean to be Asian American? And more specifically, why might it be important for non-Asian Americans to be conversant with Asian American history, experience, and culture? And just to add a third layer of reflection, what does any of this have to do with theology? That, in a nutshell, is what my course is about. I figure I have just enough time to answer one of those questions well, two of them partially, or all three poorly. We’ll see how it goes.

One of the interesting dynamics of the course is that it’s not an elective “just for the Asian students.” In fact, this is a required course for all of our students. I wonder how some will respond to this idea given the fact that the subject material seems like more of a “special interest topic” than a “core requirement” in a theology curriculum.

Well, the general tendency to marginalize “ethnic studies” as “elective material” is exactly the kind of thinking we are trying to dismantle in our program. How could anyone study theology (let alone theological anthropology, missiology, ecclesiology, etc.) without engaging the fundamental human reality of ethnos? I don’t think it’s a stretch to suggest that the blatant neglect of sophisticated cultural, ethnic, and racial discourse in graduate theological education is grossly irresponsible.

So I guess I’m looking forward to diving in to this topic, and seeing where it leads. Vincent Chin, William Hung, Yuri Kochiyama, Carlos Bulosan, Hudson Taylor, Edward Said, and Jesus? This should be fun!

I don’t think I take enough time to reflect on the real meaning of parenthood, mostly because so much of what parenthood requires– high-functioning multi-tasking, deep emotional reserves, patience beyond patience, physical and mental stamina, and so on– just doesn’t allow for much downtime.

Maybe if you have the good fortune of having the assistance of extended family, enough wealth to survive on a single income (or both), then the challenges of raising multiple young children is somewhat lessened. I wouldn’t know. What I do know is that raising kids is a wonderful, demanding, enriching, challenging thing.

What I’ve been noticing mostly of late is how my kids are reframing the priorities that formerly seemed so important in my life.

Vocational aspirations, professional achievements, and dreams about my community and the future seem to have taken a back seat to simpler things, like being fully present when my children need affirmation, being patient even (especially) when I’m exhausted, and being loving even when my ability to love seems so lacking. All of these recognitions were true when Jonas came along almost four years ago, but they feel all the more pressing now that my parental capacity seems to be maxed out. What is becoming apparent to me now is that I was still able to maintain a level of self-centeredness with just one child, but two has pushed that possibility even further to the margins.

Don’t worry, I’m not in any way claiming to have triumphed over selfishness (in fact, my ability to find new ways to focus on myself never ceases to amaze me). Rather, I’m finally realizing what I long knew was inherently true about parenthood: that to be a good parent is to die to yourself, and (at least for a season) to give as sacrificially as you can (within healthy boundaries) for the sake of those whose formation is dependent on your deep resources of love and compassion (thank God those resources are not rooted in my human ability).

I have all the respect in the world for Chris, who has undoubtedly borne the brunt of the overall parental workload. As Jonas turns four soon, and with Micah quickly approaching one year, I can’t imagine my boys being who they are without the constant attention and self-emptying (yes, as in kenosis) love of my wife, whose vital partnership (leadership, really) in the day in, day out work of being a caregiver has made our family more whole.

The reality on the ground, particularly for ethnic minorities in border areas, is still quite unstable and dangerous. Contrary to some media portrayals, the military oppression of various groups did not cease the second Hillary Clinton stepped off the plane in Yangon.

I’m genuinely hopeful about the ongoing democratic reforms, and I see great potential for substantive change under Suu Kyi’s leadership in conjunction with international diplomacy. But I also know how ruthless, manipulative, and violent the Burma Army can be. Regardless of appearances, a military junta does not disappear overnight, and the illusion of reform can always be a veiled attempt at re-positioning their power.

As the Karen people continue to run for their lives on a daily basis, I think about my own failures in shouldering the burden they asked us to carry some years ago. We’ve continued to give, we’ve hosted Burmese refugees, and I share with my students about the plight of the Karen whenever I can. And yet it all feels so… insignificant (because it is).

And so I think the Free Burma Rangers might be the most courageous people I have ever known. They embody so much of the loving strength and steadfast hope that so many Christians can only talk (or blog) about. But I look forward to the day when FBR’s work is no longer needed because of a free, fair, and functioning government in Burma.