I recently spent a Sunday with one of my friends from Eastern University at their church, a Chinese congregation in the Center City neighborhood of Philadelphia. I visited for a Bible study and a fellowship group meeting and found their form of Christian practice to be very different from my own—it was  remarkable, impactful, and memorable. 

I didn’t begin my day with the intention to visit my friend Anh’s church with our mutual friend, Dana. We were so curious about what the church looked like on the inside. I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and, as the door opened, I realized how different the physical space of the church was from my own. 

I wanted to respect their space as a guest, but I also wanted to be curious and not be a cause of discomfort or disrespect. That’s a fine line to balance. In this, I found inspiration in Dana. She encouraged me to wander off and be curious. She felt at home and that was contagious.

The kitchen reminded me of my own teenage experience of another church in Southwest Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. That church was a Vietnamese Church where I had started to learn more about Jesus after being raised Buddhist. That Vietnamese church helped me to construct a foundation for my faith.

Like the kitchen at the Vietnamese church, the kitchen at the Chinese Cultural Church was huge. I wondered if a big kitchen could be a sign of a happy and healthy community of faith. 

Mugs hanging together on the wall spoke to me as the representation of love, hospitality, and the meaningful relationships forged in the church community. Even though Latter-day Saints avoid drinking tea, I felt welcomed into the Chinese church through these mugs. They were signs, or reminders, of hospitality and friendliness to the community.

When I was nineteen and attended the Vietnamese church, I struggled with depression.  Someone close to me helped me to understand that my depression didn’t have to make me only see the world in such grayness. I could choose to see life with added colors. The mugs reminded me that I’ve now chosen to live in color with the love and memories of my wounded childhood. This perspective has given me a beautiful adulthood. 

I am grateful for the ways mundane objects like mugs in a Chinese church can serve as a stand-in, or a proxy for, an important part of my identity and a choice I’ve made to live into a more colorful life. Experiences like these allow me to recognize my love and complicated relationship with my own culture and my own faith.