Our China narratives emerge from the confluence of our own personal stories and our perceptions of China and its church.
We bring to China our view of the world and our place in it, our sense of “the way things ought to be,” our values and priorities. Through this lens, we try to make sense of a culture and people very different from ourselves. We look for points of similarity, and when we find them we feel the story is starting to make sense. But more often than not, it is the incongruities that stand out, accentuating the differentness of China.
How we frame these differences determines the trajectory of the story. If we approach them with a sense of appreciation, we are in a position to learn, and our own stories are enriched as a result. If, on the other hand, we respond with defensiveness or disdain, our China stories simply serve to reinforce our own cultural biases.
Missionary anthropologist Darrell Whiteman explains that these biases are difficult to acknowledge since we tend to take our own cultures for granted. Like the proverbial fish that is unaware of the water in which it swims, says Whiteman, “We have been ‘swimming’ in our cultural water for years, and so we are unaware that our human nature has been shaped by our culture. We assume they are the same… We need to experience other cultures in order to understand our own.”1
This water we swim in includes our national identity. Whether we choose to admit it or not, our perceptions of China and its church are significantly shaped by the cultural and political expectations of the place we call home. The historical and contemporary relationship between that place and China also becomes part of the story. Saying that we will steer clear of politics—that we are focused on a kingdom that is not of this world—does not get us out from under the shadow of these geopolitical events.
For Americans serving in China, the nature of this relationship has offered a unique window of opportunity. Yet even as China’s relationship with the West has ebbed and flowed through the centuries, so the fragile relationship between China and the US that has borne much fruit over the past several decades now seems to have reached a critical turning point. Many see a window that is rapidly closing. For some, it already has.
Different Dreams
As journalist James Mann observed nearly two decades ago, the American vision of a China that was becoming “more like us” ushered in an era of optimism. Riding a wave of cultural and educational exchanges, business opportunities, and invitations to come and participate in China’s modernization drive, Americans flocked to China and became part of that country’s historic transformation. For many inside and outside China, this transformation was not only economic and cultural, but also spiritual. Deep bonds of friendship were formed. The church in China was built up and in turn the global church was enriched.
Yet as Mann pointed out, cracks in the bilateral relationship were already beginning to appear. Anticipated advances in human rights and legal reform were slow to materialize. Tensions flared over trade and territorial disputes. Perennial differences that had long plagued the relationship took on new significance as China’s commitment to international norms was called into question. Participants on both sides of the ocean grappled with diverging expectations in an increasingly fraught relationship that had come to epitomize the Chinese idiom, “Same bed, different dreams.”
In the whiplash experienced since Xi Jinping rose to power and jettisoned much of China’s Deng-era reform policies, Americans have been asking what has changed.
Fundamental Interests
As far as China is concerned, its fundamental interests have not changed. The “China dream” of a prosperous, secure, and unified country, respected on the world scene and unobstructed by foreign demands, predates Xi. An amicable Sino–US relationship may have done much to further these interests, and it may do so in the future, but the relationship itself is not the goal. In the current era of great power competition, pragmatic considerations and a defensive posture take precedence over collaboration. Whereas foreign investments in education and cultural understanding, including with Chinese Christians, may have been seen as positive contributions, today they are more likely to be viewed as a threat.
This, too, is part of the water we swim in, water that has become increasingly murky and difficult to navigate. For American Christians engaged in China, our story is not synonymous with the US–China relationship. Our loyalty is not tied to a political agenda. Yet neither can we pretend that we somehow operate outside this turbulent political context. Given the condition of the relationship, gestures that had previously been seen as innocuous, or perhaps even beneficial, are now imbued with political meaning. Conversations, emails, visits, invitations, social media posts, public statements on behalf of Chinese believers—all can be appropriated—by either side to construct a story that is not of our making but in which we unwittingly play a role.
In this current reality, themes of disappointment, longing, grief, indignation, perhaps even anger or cynicism, may find their way into our own stories. These themes are real, but they are not the whole story. We are reminded that our stories are part of a much bigger story that is being written as God’s purposes are fulfilled, both in China and in our lives. In this confluence of stories, may we have the courage to lean into what is, and eyes to see God at work in what is to come.
