In the novel Our Missing Hearts, Celeste Ng imagines an American society that labels China “our greatest long-term threat,” pulverizes Asian language books into toilet paper, and ostracizes people with Asian connections. After being locked in China during the COVID-19 pandemic, I arrived back for a visit to a U.S. that in some ways resembled Ng’s fanciful society. Mid-term election advertisements referred to China as an enemy, and news headlines reported on violence against people of Asian descent. In one case, a university student was stabbed because she looked Asian. Her attacker claimed it “would be one less person to blow up our country.”

In Christian circles, the headlines have followed similar paths. In February of 2022, Christianity Today reported on a Pew survey which asked participants to decide whether they viewed China as a partner, competitor, or enemy. One third of respondents—including 37% of Catholics, 46% of Protestants, and 56% of white evangelical Protestants—chose “enemy.” In personal interactions, people wondered why I planned to return to China even though it has been my home for more than twenty years. At church, one person described China as evil. Another friend suggested my attempts to look for good in the Chinese people might come across as Stockholm syndrome. I hoped she was joking.

Although news headlines in China have in similar fashion long pointed out American flaws, rhetoric on both sides of the ocean has not always been as negative as the current season. In the 1990s on my first trip to China to teach English, every cross-border encounter began and ended with a banquet. Every banquet included a speech, and every speech touted “building bridges of friendship.” Some large cities built bridges by having a Friendship Store where foreigners like me could interact with clerks in English and purchase some Western products. We could stay and even live at a Friendship Hotel. Moreover, for many years, provincial and national governments have honored foreigners who make significant contributions to Chinese society with a “Friendship Award.”

English played an important role in the bridge building. In the last century, English became one of three basic subjects in school along with Chinese and math and was compulsory from grade 7 through two years of university. (By the early 2000s, this requirement had expanded to include grades 3-6.) English teachers, especially those from native English-speaking countries, were in high demand. When people like me answered the call, schools welcomed us with open arms. They gave us a place to live and provided an interpreter. They might offer regular transportation to the local Friendship Store and hosted us for friendly banquets where they generously served more food than we could possibly consume.

Looking back on my earlier days in China from a twenty-year perspective, the bridge building with foreigners like me went much deeper than providing for our basic needs and offering friendship. The Chinese people also patiently took steps toward us by acquiescing to our cultural patterns, perhaps much more than we did to theirs. When I first arrived, I took pride in treating everyone as an equal according to my cultural values. I insisted that students address me with my first name rather than a title, attempting to shrink the power distance between teacher and students that they were accustomed to. Years passed before I realized how my efforts toward parity in relationships might cause discomfort to my students not to mention disrespect to those in positions of authority over me.

About ten years in, a department head invited me to a banquet, and I refused because of an appointment with students. Immediately, I sensed that the conversation had gone awry. A few days later, I used the experience as a case study in a culture class. “We never refuse an invitation or a request from a leader,” my students gravely explained. With deep embarrassment, I reviewed the many times I’d politely—or so I thought—declined an invitation or denied a request from a leader. Although my pride and inexperience led to other cultural mistakes, my students, not to mention department leaders, always interacted genially with me. Even more, they showed me respect which seemed above my station.

A value for harmony also played a role in the bridge building. The Chinese concept of harmony is tied to the belief that the group takes precedence over the individual. Harmony comes when everyone in the group fulfills their role in the social hierarchy. In Seeking Refuge: On the Shores of the Global Refugee Crisis, the authors explain that in some societies (like China) children are raised “to value traits that promote group cohesiveness and harmony, such as loyalty, hierarchy, respect of elders, and hospitality.” As someone who plays musical instruments and enjoys singing, I see Chinese ideals of harmony in terms of music. All the different voices, the main melody and supporting parts, all members of the group and different levels of the hierarchy, are meant to blend together into a beautifully harmonious composition.

After developing a deeper understanding of the Chinese value for harmony, I could see how my department leaders were attempting to build harmony with me across our cultural divides. Rather than taking offense at my thoughtless lack of respect though they were up the hierarchy from me, they valued my diverse voice and offered hospitality and loyalty. When I sensed a miscommunication and asked for help, students, friends, and even leaders would gladly analyze cultural differences with me, and we would amiably and harmoniously laugh our way out of confusion. One dean and I jested about the cross-cultural complications of exiting a banquet room in mixed company. He and I had both been influenced by an old tradition in my culture of “ladies first,” but we were living in his hierarchical society which follows a “leaders first” norm.

One of the most important lessons I have learned about Chinese harmony came in my home country rather than China. A group of Chinese English teachers was visiting the university where I was employed. When a kerfuffle occurred between our two countries, a news reporter showed up to interview them. After questions about their experiences in the U.S., the reporter directly asked about the conflict. To comment negatively about their government would have shown disrespect and broken harmony up their social hierarchy. Criticisms of their host country would have torn down bridges of friendship and hospitality. One of the teachers wisely voiced, “That’s between governments and has nothing to do with common people like us. We common people can live in harmony with each other.”

In the last few years in China, I’ve heard this message again and again. When conflict between our governments has come up in personal conversations, friends and even strangers have reassured me that we—the 老百姓^ℹ️ or common people—are at peace. In fact, not long before I left China for my visit to the U.S., I went in to take leave of my school leaders. One dean elicited a promise from me to work at building harmony between my home country and hers. In an ensuing conversation with a different dean, I initiated the promise. “I will try to build a bridge of friendship,” I stuttered in Chinese. He patiently corrected me, and then as if proving his willingness to participate in the work, he said in English, “friendship,” followed by words of respect for my elderly parent and hospitable greetings for family and friends.

Looking back over twenty plus years in China, one long-term relationship is an example of bridge building to me. A few years after moving to China, I switched to a new school in a different city. Since the youngest member of the faculty was supposedly the most energetic and least busy, Xiaohui was assigned to take care of me. She accompanied me through each step of the complicated procedure for procuring a residence permit and acted as my interpreter. At one point, she was assigned to eat lunch with me between classes. In spite of the extra (and menial) responsibilities, she never made me feel like a burden. Instead, she always interacted graciously with me and performed her tasks with pleasure. Outside school, she invited me to her home where her family welcomed me warmly, and we developed a relationship which culminated in an invitation to give a speech at her sibling’s wedding.

Xiaohui also introduced me to her boyfriend, and he started auditing one of my English classes. I invited the two of them to my home for American meals, and we went on outings together. Although we were different culturally, philosophically, and personally, we found common ground, and largely due to Xiaohui’s bridge building, we became close friends.

Many years into our decades-long friendship, Xiaohui and her boyfriend who had since become her husband told me the story of our relationship from their perspective. As we grew closer in those early days, their like and respect for me motivated a desire to help me. “Why was a skilled and kind person like Emery wasting time on a pointless religion?” they wondered, and so without my knowledge they pretended an interest in my “religion” in order to convince me to abandon it. Of course, at the same time, unknown to them, I was doing just the opposite out of respect and affection for them.

Xiaohui’s boyfriend started joining us for lunch twice a week, and they asked me penetrating questions. I don’t remember how I answered, but I do remember a conviction to focus on essentials and keep my opinions to myself. Their questions and my essentials landed on soft hearts instead of ones hardened by confrontation, conflict, and disagreement. As a result, in different times and ways, we were all changed. For eternity.

The Chinese people I know, whether up the social hierarchy from me or down, have taught me valuable lessons about harmony. They have shown me how to separate a government from her people and build bridges of friendship from one human heart to another. For many of them, “as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” seems to be their motto even when it requires giving up their rights to position and power. Most of them do not acknowledge their Creator, but to me His imprint is evident in their values. Jesus is a bridge builder after all, having nailed Himself across the chasm of broken harmony as the Way of reconciliation.

Chinese harmony is, of course, imperfect, and sometimes their bridges of friendship collapse. Yet, their imperfect human example inspires me to look to the perfect model I find in Jesus, the Conductor of the universe who authored (and lived out) a composition of harmony in four parts:

Love your enemy.
Into hate, be kind and good.
Repay curses with blessings.
Pray for your tormentor.

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Image by Roman Grac from Pixabay