Bearing Brokenness

“The vexation of a fool is known at once, but the prudent ignores an insult.” – Proverbs 12:16

I’ve lived in enough suburbs in my life to know that ours is not a normal one, but lately I feel like the veil has been drawn back on some of the brokenness where we live, the anger and resentment, the disconnectedness and withdrawal. At root are systemic issues, like neighboring houses having to deal with an elementary school of nearly 500 kids having only ten parking spots. Paying millions of dollars for a house in such poor condition it’s barely livable. Constant issues finding parking. Heavy traffic in small suburban streets not designed to handle it. Being stuck in a house that, if sold, would not bring enough to buy anywhere else to live nearby. The intense work lifestyles necessitated by being able to afford living here. The constant egress of families to houses with bigger yards and lower mortgages: getting to know people only to hear they’re leaving.

I’m realizing that, when I moved here, I stepped into a somewhat unfavorable narrative. With past moves, I was a favored resident entering an elite program, a welcomed family moving into a suburb looking for homeowners, an esteemed physician entering an underserved area. And while I encountered things like racism routinely, somehow it was so kindly meant that it never hurt as much as some of the open hostility, or simple erosion of common civility, I’ve experienced from strangers here. I’m aware that in moving here I’m one of many coming into an already-overcrowded area. I’m another Asian in a place overtaken by them. I’m someone who didn’t have to go through what everyone else did to live in the house we do.

We did not come here, like most people, to work in tech: we came here because we gradually felt the unavoidable call to live out the gospel in this neighborhood. And part of that, I’m realizing, is bearing its brokenness. I do this often as a parent. When my kids act out, rage or scream terrible things, or simply whine on interminably, and I respond in a calm, loving, consistent manner—I am bearing their sinfulness in a way that costs me. It takes a lot of energy to absorb their behavior. To repeatedly not take it personally. It sometimes leaves me feeling battered or fatigued in a way difficult to put into words. But I do it because I have been called to do it. 

To bear hostility without responding in kind is the very bearing of the cross. It is to absorb the bitterness, the past accumulated hurts and anger and sinfulness of others, as Jesus did ours. It is not without cost to us. But it is the gospel.