Photo by m01229

By Dorcas Cheng-Tozun

I have a confession to make: I’m not very good at using those self-checkout machines at the grocery store. Somehow I end up losing track of which items I’ve scanned, or my reusable bags mess up the weighing mechanism and the attendant on duty has to release me from a locked system.

This happened to me just the other day, as the self-checkout machine struggled to comprehend the weight of my purchases and my two reusable bags. “Please wait for assistance,” it kept telling me.

A few moments later the attendant came over. “I remember you,” she said firmly but not unkindly. “Since I’ve had to do this a couple times with you, I’m going to need to count your items.” She counted, verified the sales record on her computer, and then unlocked my system. “You’re fine!” she said cheerily.

But I wasn’t fine. I was horrified. Her subtle inference that I might have been trying to shoplift — and her less subtle inference that I was a bit of a regular troublemaker — made me feel terrible. Though I had done nothing wrong (aside from being unable to master a less than intelligent contraption) and had no intention of doing anything wrong, I kept replaying the incident in my mind for the rest of the day. Each time my heart rate would go up, my skin would get all tingly, and I’d want to shake my fists in the air and cry, “How? How could she think that of me?”

It was an outlandish response to the most trivial of exchanges, but I couldn’t stop myself. Only later that night could I actually name what I was feeling: shame. And then I finally understood why I couldn’t shake the experience. Shame has always had, and continues to have, a remarkably scary level of power over me.

I know I’m not the only one, especially among Asian Americans. Our vulnerability to shame is so strong I sometimes wonder if it’s buried in our DNA, as much a part of who we are as our love of food and our sense of filial piety.

Because of my overdeveloped sense of shame, I’ve been wary of authority figures my entire life. I can’t feel comfortable anywhere unless I know the rules. My inner critic is so well developed I even dream self-judgmental dreams. There are few things I fear more than the thought that I may have done something wrong — a thought I have fairly often.

For most of my life, shame has been one of my most faithful companions, and grace was no more than a concept I heard about at church. While the love of money is the root of all evil, shame, I believe, is the root of all spiritual bondage. Shame makes us want to hide; it keeps us fearful and anxious; it convinces us that we are not worthy of forgiveness or love or care. It keeps us small in our own eyes, so small that we cannot lay claim to our identities as sons and daughters of the Most High God.

When I lived in mainland China for two years, I lived in an industrial city that was the most graceless place I have ever been. In every aspect of life, from boarding subway trains to the workplace to the customer service (or lack thereof), there was no mercy, no compassion. No acknowledgment that you were another human being deserving of dignity and respect. Add to that the ever-vigilant government authorities, just waiting for someone to do an unapproved Internet search or say the wrong thing over a tapped phone line (i.e. all phone lines) or attend the wrong kind of meeting, and you have the perfect conditions for a life experience where your only hope is to not get in trouble and survive with your body — if not your spirit — intact.

Almost all the locals I met there were depressed and broken. They sincerely believed they were worth nothing and could do nothing. Though we lived in one of the richest cities in the whole of China, the souls of the people were starving. And in that place, I saw how I had been spiritually starving my entire life as well.

As a lifelong Christian, I have occasionally struggled with the questions: Do people really need Jesus? Does knowing him change our lives that much? But when I finally understood the power that shame had over me and many of my fellow Chinese, I knew without a doubt that Jesus’ message of grace and unconditional love was the only antidote that could save us.

I saw this over and over again as I led a Bible study with a couple dozen Chinese nationals. When they fully grasped how deep and complete and eternal Jesus’ love was for them, how all-encompassing his grace, they were transformed in remarkable ways. They became hopeful and joyous, courageous and peace-filled, confident and inspired. Shame still haunted them, and occasionally overcame them, but they were clearly on the path to spiritual freedom.

I know from personal experience that it isn’t easy to battle the power of internalized shame. Fortunately I have plenty of tools to help me: the Scriptures, the nudging of the Spirit, the voices of trusted friends. They all remind me that shame need not have a hold over me. It’s a message we can and should be giving to one another in the Asian American community every opportunity we can: Jesus’ grace and love are bigger than anything I could ever do wrong, want to do wrong, or be accused of doing wrong.

And that may just be the best good news ever for someone like me — shame addict, self-checkout neophyte, and beloved daughter of the Most High God.

Dorcas Cheng-Tozun is a writer, blogger, and editor whose personal essays and short stories have been published in Hong Kong, the UK, and the US. She is particularly passionate about telling true stories of the messiness and beauty of human connections, of sustainable social change, and of the surprising, sometimes humorous ways in which God works in our lives. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and young son. Visit her at www.chengtozun.com or follow her on Twitter: @dorcas_ct.