Two Letters
Chaelin Jung
To those who have been hurt by the Church,
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the pain this institution may have
caused you, the ways it has been complicit in atrocities
throughout history, and, above all, the fact that it hasn’t always
been the reflection of Christ that it is called to be.
From the institution of slavery to the legacy of colonialism in
the Global South to the white-savior complex, it’s easy to see
the historical evil that has been done in the purported name
of Christianity. And I would be lying if I claimed to not be
guilty myself. I’ve had friends belonging to the LGBTQ+
community who told me of experiences like public shaming
by church members and condemnation of Christian family
members. I can’t even imagine how hurt they must have been
when I tried to gloss over their pain with empty platitudes
about the love and goodness found in Christianity. To those
friends, I’m sorry. I should have been a better listener and
a better friend. I should have sought to understand your
experiences instead of simply seeing it as another opportunity
to proclaim my faith.
I think this hypocrisy I am guilty of is similarly apparent
in many other Christians, especially those whose actions
matter on a national and international level. Perhaps you’ve
wondered: how can politicians claim to be Christian, yet
promote policies that strip humans—made in God’s image—
of their dignity? Why does a God we proclaim to be all-loving
and good allow suffering in the world? Every time I hear of
the latest shooting or asylum-seeking children put in cages or
incident of police brutality, I too find myself angry at God
for permitting such things and frustrated at the Church for its
inaction. These big questions of suffering and evil are ones
humanity has been wrestling with for centuries, and I would be
grossly oversimplifying if I tried to explain my understanding
of these topics within the confines of this apology. But I always
go back to the things I do know: God is sovereign (Colossians
1:17), He sees our pain (Psalm 34:18), and He is making all
things new (Revelation 21:5).
You probably have many more questions, and I probably won’t
have the answers. But I hope that doesn’t discourage you from
seeking out faith yourself. In fact, I would encourage you to
continue asking challenging and messy questions, especially
as they relate to your own experiences and identity. Because
despite the ugly divisiveness of our time and the categories
of us vs. them that constantly pit people against one another in
everything from politics to ethnicity to religion, I still believe
that individual conversations built on respect and trust are
the most effective tool for mutual understanding. In the Bible,
James similarly urges us to be “quick to listen and slow to
speak” (James 1:19, NIV). For example, when I was working
with refugee populations during a summer internship, I met
countless volunteers, many who came with church groups.
They arrived with fears and doubts about what would it mean
to openly welcome refugees into the community: “How can
we know they’re good people?” even “Why can’t they just go
back to their home countries?” But when they met the refugee
families and heard their stories of hardship and resilience,
their hearts softened. Critics became champions, the fearful
now the fiercest of advocates.
I illustrate this example because I believe that everyone
needs these encounters and personal experiences to look
beyond what we may have been inculcated with by media,
popular opinion, and even our own ignorance. The Church
needs these experiences, and we need you to help us better
understand you as an individual. So I urge you to seek out
conversations with those who belong in the Church, and call
us out when you see ignorance.
While the outlook may seem gloomy, we can find hope in the
redemptive work God is doing in and through His people.
From prison reform to treating AIDS to addressing human
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