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"Negotiating Identity with the Hyphenated Christ"

Acts 21:37-22:29

Sermon preached at Opening Worship of the 2007 AADVENT Conference
At McCormick Theological Seminary/Augustana Chapel

August 9, 2007 (Ordinary Time)


I am sure that I’m not the only one who has gone through this experience. While drinking my latte or amidst friendly conversation, someone with intrigue or curiosity asks me the question--the question of people like you and me: “So…where are you from?” I’ve been in Chicago since 1989, I breathe the Chicago air, its pollutants run through my veins and coat the walls of my lungs, and I consider this my home; so I reply, “Chicago.” Now clearly I’ve answered fully and sincerely the question of this intrigued, curious person; nevertheless, this answer is not what they were expecting, nor what they were looking for; nor what they wanted to hear. So, being experienced in this line of questioning, I know what follows next: the other question, “No, where are you really from?”

At this point, I intend to make this interaction as painful and cumbersome for them as it is for me; so, with this conniving intent in my heart, I reply, “Well, the South Side of Chicago. You know! Over by the docks on the Calumet River, the East Side to be exact. I’m straight-up South Side! Go White Sox!” [PAUSE] Well, needless to say, at this point, the interrogators are at best disappointed and at worst outright pissed. And I must admit: I’m loving every minute of it. I go off on tangents about Chicago history and geography, some of which is intended to school the ignorant interrogators. “Did you know,” I ask them, “that Chicago is the second largest Polish city, after Warsaw?” Then I tell them of the vast numbers of Polish émigrés and their children who grace us with that great Polish eatery on Archer Avenue, near Midway airport, and with the Euro-style dance clubs on Belmont and Pulaski. I tell them about the neighborhood I grew up in, where there were so many Mexicans—so many Spanish speakers, that Spanish was the dominant language; so much so, that some of the venders along Commercial Avenue, in order to attract non-Spanish speakers, would display signs of their window that would read: “We Speak English.”

Well, clearly these intrigued, curious interrogators have had it, and either they leave, or out of shear frustration, they scream, “What nationality are you?” “American,” I respond--just one more time for old time’s sake. “No! What ethnicity are you?” And the song and dance, the tango between me and my frustrated inquirer finally ends.

I’m not the only one who has had this experience. One of my students last fall, Sungyeon, wrote an article for the McCormick student newsletter speaking of a similar experience. And my friend, Jackie Marquez, was born in Chicago, and she has encountered this as well. And, Hardy Kim, a Detroit man--and a big techno fan to prove it--he and I share stories and laugh.

But the story doesn’t end there. Because whether we were born here or raised here, many of us were reared in a home that was intended to be a microcosm of the native land, of the land of our parents and grandparents—of Mexico, Korea, Puerto Rico, Japan, the Philippines, India. And despite the pressures from home to be who our parents are, to be who our grandparents were, to be Mexican, Korean, Puerto Rican, Japanese, Philippino, Indian, we nevertheless adopt as our own some of the sense and practices of the dominant American culture. We begin to assimilate in varying degrees to the way of life of the American milieu. We call the United States of America “home”. Trance, punk rock, and hip hop--not salsa or meringue or traditional music--are what get us moving, what stirs our souls, what gets us to shake what our mommas gave us. It is the trends of today’s fashion, and not the traditional garbs of old, that adorn our bodies. It is the Simpsons, the Griffins, the Jeffersons, Sanford and Son, and not the dynasties of centuries past, with which we resonate the most.

On our own, while affirming the Mexican, Korean, Puerto Rican, Japanese, Philippino, Indian blood that runs through our veins, we see ourselves as “American” or as “Asian American”/“Latino American.” And yet, even though we see ourselves as “American”, our fellow Americans— our friends and our enemies, our classmates and coworkers, our professors and supervisors, church folk and clubbers— our fellow Americans still asks us, “No, where are you really from?”

And it’s not as if we can go back to where “we’re really from.” We’re viewed with suspicion there. We don’t feel at home there because that is not our home. In Puerto Rico [by the way, that’s where I’m really from], I’m not embraced as part of them; rather, I get called a yanqui--“Yankee”. Mexican Americans get called los del norte--“those from the north.”

And all of a sudden, we realize that Mexico, Korea, Puerto Rico, Japan, the Philippines, India seems foreign to us; and the U.S., the land in which we reside, treats us as perpetual foreigners. All of a sudden, the country we claim does not claim us. All of a sudden, we find ourselves in the margins, on the outskirts--between two cultures, both of which don’t claim us (or at least, don’t claim us fully). All of a sudden, we find ourselves in the clash and dissonance between two cultures. All of a sudden, we find that we walk around with a question mark over our heads. All of a sudden, we find that the only place to sit, to live, to be in this world is on the hyphen that connects “Asian” with “American”, on the hyphen that connects “Latino” with “American”. All of a sudden, we find that life for us means constantly …negotiating …identity.

From our scripture this evening, it becomes evident to us that Paul knows a thing or two about the clash and dissonance between two cultures, and what it’s like to not be fully embraced by either. Paul understands the feeling of having a question mark over his head. Paul knows what it’s like to sit, to live, to be on the hyphen. Paul knows what it’s like to be constantly negotiating identity. When read through the lens of culture, this story of Paul in Jerusalem becomes our story--your story, my story.

Notice with me all the cultural stuff going on:

Also, the tribune can’t believe that Paul was born a citizen; in other word, he can’t believe where Paul is really from.

So, you see, Paul is very much like you and like me. Paul understands what I call “the hyphenated experience.” And yet--and yet!--Paul finds hope in his situation and we should do the same. The apostle capitalizes on his in-between-ness for the sake of the gospel, and we should do the same. Paul the Jew--Paul the Roman citizen, Paul the Egyptian-looking cat--surrenders his hyphen to Christ, for Christ’s sake and for his kingdom; and we should do the same. Paul finds that his hyphenated experience has put him in a place of grace; that his hyphenated experience has placed him where God is acting the world.

‘Cuz you see, in this fragmented world, we need people to stand in the gap, to be bridge builders--or better yet, to be bridges themselves. And you and I have been placed--whether we like it or not--in a place in human history where the bridges are needed. As such, we are in a unique situation to share the love of God between cultures. As such, we are strategically located to be kingdom agents between two worlds. And that is indeed a blessed place to be.

Not only that, our hyphenated experience has placed us--whether we like it or not--in the margins, away from the centers of power. And while through the world’s eyes, this is considered bad, we discover through scripture and experience that God is in the margins, with those who have been disenfranchised by society: God is with the homeless, with the poor with single mothers, with ex-convicts, and victims of all types of suffering and oppression. And that is indeed a blessed place to be.

Not only that, but as we stay in the margins, as we sit on the hyphen, we recognize that Jesús-- Jesucristo--whom we follow, was bicultural (he was a Jew who spent his childhood in Egypt); and that he stood on the margins of the poverty-stricken Galilean countryside. As we stay in the margins…

We discover that there is good news in the hyphen on which we sit; that there’s multicultural good news for hyphenated people. 

We discover that we serve a hyphenated Christ, of whom John speaks as the Word [hyphen] made flesh. 

We discover that we serve a hyphenated Christ, who the creeds affirm to be fully God [hyphen] fully human.

And because the hyphenated Christ stands in the margins, we realize that the world’s margins have been redeemed and have become the centers of God’s activity in the world, of God’s dealings with us. And because the hyphenated Christ stands in the margins, we find our own hyphenated selves in the very place of grace--in the world’s margin to be sure, but in God’s center--in the very place of grace.

And of course, the greatest news of all: this hyphenated Christ gives us a new identity, as children of God, as citizens of God’s reign, as Christians.

And this new identity can not be taken from us.

And this new identity cannot be challenge by questions like: “where are you really form?” 

And this new identity gives us, not a question mark, but an exclamation point over our heads. 

And this new identity gives us a purpose: God’s purpose for us. 

And this new identity remains with us for all eternity.

So while we live our lives constantly negotiating identity, we have an eternal identity in Christ that is non-negotiable.

So while the world seeks to label us, we can rest assure of the sign given to us at baptism.

So while the many cultures of which we’re a part may reject us, God indeed has chosen us.

So while the U.S. Census attempts to put us in a category, God has placed us in a calling.

So while identities are forces upon and taken from us, by God’s grace we have freely received the right to be called children of God.

And no thing and no one can take that away from us.

So that’s the good news! That is the good news: that the hyphenated Christ moves in the margins; that Christ is multicultural good news for hyphenated people. So there’s the good news:

that while we negotiate identity in the world, we do so with the hyphenated Christ;

that while we negotiate identity in the world, we do so as Christians;

that while we negotiate identity in the world, our identity as God’s people--as a holy people, as a royal priesthood, as God’s beloved--that identity will never be taken from us.

Good news indeed! Amen, and amen!