To our beloved Black siblings, On this day, June 1st, 2020, we write to express our solidarity with you. In the past weeks, we witnessed the murder of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, and too many others. We then witnessed the escalating violence that the police have perpetuated in our shared communities, while people gathered and risked their lives to protest the ongoing police brutality with which this nation continues to reckon.

Growing up in a non-denominational conservative immigrant church, Advent was not a familiar concept or practice. It was not until I entered university, and participated in religious activities with a denomination that incorporated more liturgical elements, that I learned some Christians would spend an extended period of time before December 25 to reflect on the coming of Christ. It was easy to fold Advent into my personal faith tradition during that time because it made sense for me – I liked the practices of reflection, anticipation, and seeing hope during a tumultuous time.

I am Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian), Japanese, Irish, Swedish, and German. Living in the Bible Belt throughout childhood and adolescence was turbulent and at times hostile for someone mixed-race, queer, and transgender. But the silver lining I found despite my turmoil were the numerous encounters I had with who I believe to be a living and resurrected Jesus. These transcendent experiences were what sustained me through 10 years of teaching and preaching that said while everyone “sins and falls short the glory of God,” people like me were especially sick, broken, something to be prayed away, managed, or erased. I embraced this hermeneutic despite what it cost: my physical safety, mental health, and overall spiritual well-being.

Decolonization is not a metaphor, Eve Tuck and Wayne Yang insist. Carelessly calling to decolonize things like schools and other such institutions metaphorizes decolonization. To do so kills the very possibility of decolonization and re-centers whiteness; it is yet another form of settler appropriation. What would it mean then to decolonize something like theology – and Asian American theology at that? I want to suggest that decolonizing Asian American theology requires giving up the search for physical belonging, replacing it with a theology of landlessness, and to be in solidarity with indigenous struggles for sovereignty.

We all have each had transcendent experiences of nature. Hiking meandering brown brushstrokes of dirt trails in the Redwood Forest walled by towering trunks of timber like giant pencils growing from the ground. Sights of geological phenomena like the lava red craters of the Grand Canyon or the steel blue rises of the Grand Tetons with bleached white toupees. Maybe like us, you have also been in the midst of preternatural landscapes that could only be matched by our childhood dreams of heaven. In those moments, we take a breath. A sigh of relief. It is as if creation talks to us in its sights and sounds, smells and textures. Creation affects us in its commanding equilibrium, grounding our souls to the rhythms and reverberations of peace. But it’s not the only way it communicates.

Sustainability consciousness does not come naturally in a culture of capitalism. Capitalism teaches us to master the art of taking from the land. It reinforces a consumer relationship with resources, automating a modus operandi within us that prioritizes accessibility, convenience, and affordability. It plants a seed of consumerism within us at such an early age, seducing our eyes with all the possibilities of what we can have and overwhelming us with the question “what do you want?” that when we finally realize that production of a thing comes at a cost, it is too late. Uprooting our lives is too unimaginable. And everything does come at a cost. Much of what we consume comes at a cost far too costly than what it is worth. What might not cost us in dollars may cost us the earth. Incorporating sustainability practices into our everyday is a practice of decolonizing our minds, and therefore, unbecoming colonizers of the land.