Black and White? No, It's Grey

Reflections on the self-righteousness of western Christianity

I’m very comfortable being in the grey. But growing up in Japan from the ‘90s onwards specifically within American spheres heavily influenced by streams of Christian Fundamentalism and/or Pentecostalism (e.g. school, youth group, church), a lot of things were presented as black and white – as dichotomies – either right or wrong, here or there, with or against.

At the most basic level, as long as it was ‘Christian’ – a very narrowly defined Christianity, it has to be said – it was right. Our school library required us to get written parental permission before we could borrow Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy which was hidden away in the Restricted Section (read: librarian’s office) because of its so-called anti-Christian content. But Christian authors? Perfectly fine, even encouraged. And I’m not talking light fluffy stuff either. I’m talking Frank Peretti and his rather dark books for teenagers entitled Hangman’s Curse and Nightmare Academy starring a family investigating supernatural occurrences involving ghosts and witches, murders and disappearances – oh, and whose teenage children also debate their teachers on evolution in class. (To be fair, I loved them as a kid.)

Music as well. ‘What are you listening to?’ parents or teachers or other authority figures would demand, ears perking up to the sound of devil’s music (e.g. punk rock/metal/screamo). ‘It’s okay! They’re Christian!’ we’d reply in irrefutable justification (and rebellious glee) as we blasted MxPx or Demon Hunter. Imagine when I secretly trawled through the CD wallet of one of our youth group leaders at a winter camp and discovered in it (gasp) an Eminem CD(!) with a Parental Advisor sticker(!!).¹

Where’s Justin? (This is like Where’s Wally? Asian Level 100 lol.)

This black-and-white approach also infiltrated attitudes towards the ‘outside world’ – the world located outside our cosy little western bubble, the world that was decidedly not Christian – which was Japan. I wasn’t allowed in yōchien (Japanese kindergarten) to join my classmates in writing my wishes on tanzaku (colourful strips of paper) to hang on a tree at Kashiwa station during Tanabata (see photo above). I wasn’t allowed to play with Pokémon because it promulgated ‘evolution’. I definitely wasn’t allowed to play with Yu-Gi-Oh! presumably because of all the evil spirits. I didn’t really understand why or why not at the time, only that it was just wrong, that I wasn’t to as a Christian. Probably the same reasoning as to why so many American evangelicals refused to let their kids read Harry Potter because it was sorcery and witchcraft. (I too was almost not allowed to read Harry Potter.)

Obviously everything about Japan couldn’t be rejected, but some people did their very best. In middle school, we had an elderly white American biology teacher continually tell us off for speaking Japanese to each other in the classroom. With no hint of irony. When we were in Japan.

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This worldview subsequently led to more serious repercussions in my 20s. What was taught within that microcosm was established truth and right(eous)ness. The natural implication of such a clear dichotomy is that what is right stems solely from the western framework, and everything non-western (even if unintended) is false and wrong.² Japan wasn’t just non-Christian; it was un-Christian.

It was especially disconcerting when such stark teachings and theologies, particularly those of a Pentecostal slant dominated by a spiritual warfare worldview – the belief in a cosmic battle between God (and his angels) and Satan (and his demons) – had practical negative impacts on the lives of people beyond the bubble.

For example, Obon, the August festival of honouring the spirits of one’s ancestors, was demonised without any room for discussion, negotiation or compromise; devoid of any sympathetic understanding for its deeply engrained significance for Japanese people – symbolically on a historical level and practically on a relational level. When friends of mine – Christian converts – were shunned, ostracised or even disowned by their families for refusing to partake in traditional rituals, others often reacted with passive resignation as if to say tough luck, ‘twas an inevitable sacrifice fighting for God’s Kingdom.

Actual human lives were at stake – humans made in the image of God, deserving of all respect and dignity and love. Yet often times they seemed to be relegated to simply being pawns on the spiritual chessboard of life where one’s goal was to win battles and ultimately the war – checkmate Satan – regardless of the cost and collateral damage. Yes, to engage seriously with the spirit world is crucial; but to view it through a narrowly dichotomous lens strips it of any possible nuance and ambiguity.³

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Another example: I was teaching English to businesspeople who worked for a company which sourced Buddhist tombstones, and the CEO asked me if I could come to one of the temples to teach English to kids. Several people warned me against doing so, so as not to enter into ‘enemy territory’ and expose myself unnecessarily. Now I believe in the spirit world more so than most people, and have had extensive spiritual experiences. Have I felt spiritual oppression at temples before? Yes. But I have also not felt spiritual oppression at temples before. I have also felt spiritual oppression at Christian gatherings. I understand the need for caution and discernment, I really do. But I also now understand there is rarely any textbook formula to follow – it more likely requires wise case-by-case discernment rather than a simplistic blanket statement and generalisation.⁴

And what happens when you live in a predominantly non-Christian culture? Does that mean 99% of Japan/Japanese is ‘enemy territory’? In fact, I look at the so-called ‘Christian’ West and it’s clear we’re all susceptible to evil influences, including Christians and churches. It’s one thing to want to share the good news of Jesus with those who have never heard of him; it’s another to do it by pointing out the speck in their eye but not noticing and dealing with the plank in your own eye.

This western dualistic worldview forces you into a corner: to believe in one is to reject the other, so choose your side carefully – kind of like Choose Your Own Adventure, except you can’t turn back the pages to explore other paths, there’s no going back. There is no middle ground. It doesn’t leave any room for any doubts, because to doubt is to not have faith, and what could be more heretical, dangerous and undermining than that.

I am now of the probable persuasion that to doubt is part and parcel of having faith. What is life if not full of mystery?

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Being in the UK for the past decade has been surprisingly refreshing, primarily because Brits, including British Christians, place high value on nuance and thankfully (for the most part) seek to avoid America’s relentless polarisation and sacred/secular divide. There is ample space for ambiguity.

You can see this engrained in higher education. When I first went to the UK for university I was advised that it was best to avoid writing essays in an American style, i.e. polemical and clearly arguing for a certain side; instead the best approach would be to provide evidence for both sides, then conclude with ‘well I think this side is more convincing, but I also understand the other side well, too’. My supervisor’s final advice to me as I was putting the finishing touches on my dissertation was to make sure my wording had enough nuance in order to avoid unintentional offence, to not put the markers off especially if they inherently disagreed with my stance.

I recently heard a pastor who was preaching on different theological views of predestination incisively say:

‘You’re very welcome in this church whichever of those views you take, providing you can play nicely with people who take a different view. If you feel the need to bash other people over the head with your view, well, please don’t do that. If you think it matters that much, then this is probably not the place for you.’

That is quintessentially British.

Just a few examples of helpful correctives I’ve come across:

• British Christians calmly point out the Christian messages in Harry Potter – a far cry from the mass hysteria I’ve witnessed before.

• Catholics are considered as fellow Christians. There was an atrocious amount of demonising Catholics by Protestants around me growing up.

• I went from being utterly horrified by my university flatmates drinking at midday to soon thoroughly relishing a pint for lunch thanks to post-church pub trips which facilitated the best times of fellowship. A pastor also said he didn’t consider smoking or gambling a sin; it was just unwise and unhealthy. I grew up in a milieu where even dancing was sinful and thus was completely banned at my school; we never got to experience prom, only a banquet (essentially prom minus the dancing).

• Evolution is more readily considered; the British Christians I’ve encountered don’t really preach creationism. There’s less widespread fundamentalist belief in biblical literalism (i.e. taking every word of the Bible as strictly literal); there’s a default understanding of the importance of context and genre. It was quite revolutionary for me to find out there are even Christians who believe the first eleven chapters of Genesis to be symbolic (but no less real).

And to think a lot of this would be viewed as heresy or sinful in light of my upbringing. I was thankful to discover there were faithful, genuine Christians who had different beliefs and behaviours – and they were fine to exist, they weren’t sentencing themselves to eternal damnation. It’s worth noting that this British mentality conducive to exploring various perspectives has also given me the space and freedom to decolonise.

I can understand why people like things to be black and white. What human likes living in/with uncertainty? Picking a side you believe is right and true can provide steady reassurance. But I’ve found that Christianity is full of paradoxes; and ultimately I would prefer to cultivate unity in diversity rather than (dis)unity in conformity.⁵ I also understand why Fundamentalists might react violently to biblical non-literalism; they fear that if you unpick one thread, it’ll lead to unpicking all threads. In other words if you start doubting one part of scripture, you’ll end up doubting all of scripture. One, I think that’s an extremely ungenerous view of humanity, as if people aren’t capable of nuance or living with paradox; and two, I don’t think God is so insecure or miniscule as to not be able to handle our questions or doubts.

Krish Kandiah’s Paradoxology: Table of Contents

This black-and-white approach never sat well with me, and not just because it grates with my personality (e.g. non-confrontational, peace-loving, always wanting to find the best in people, always wanting to give others the benefit of the doubt). But this also doesn’t mean I don’t have my own opinions or I only have half-arsed convictions – it just means I’m much more open and inclined to hearing others’ perspectives even if it proves me wrong (and who isn’t?). As long as I seek to love God and love people, and have a strong desire to discover what is true, I’m very comfortable wading around in the grey, learning from everyone and recalibrating myself as necessary. I’m also very happy to resign myself (not passively but proactively) to the fact that things may very well remain a mystery on this side of life; and to trust that all will be made clear at the very end, on the other side.

1. For the record, the first Parental Advisory sticker CDs I bought (secretly, of course) were We Don’t Need to Whisper by Angels & Airwaves and The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. The slight guilt I felt was assuaged by the fact that neither of them had too many swear words.

2. There was little space within that framework for exploring a properly contextualised Japanese model of being a Christian; the Japanese people within this milieu were inevitably assimilated into a western Christian mould.

3. The Spirit/wind (Gk: pneuma) ‘blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes’ (John 3.8). What is this hubris that we claim to fully know and understand the Spirit’s work in and through our lives, and the lives of others?

4. Don’t get me wrong: I 100% believe in spiritual warfare, and that stems from very personal experiences of the spirit world – both extremely positive and extremely negative. Rather, I’m more wary of a hasty dichotomising of good and evil, especially when our discernment can be so fallible.

5. Besides, Christianity is a ‘now-and-not-yet’ religion – God’s Kingdom is here (in part) now, and will come (in full) at the end of the age – and therefore ‘both-and’ sums it up better than ‘either-or’.