Decades after the last of Western empires withdrew from their colonies in Southeast Asia, the impression often remains across the region that Christianity is a Western religion. The reasons for this association with imperialism are numerous and complex, of course. But a major factor continues to be that Asian Christians typically come to faith with the help of methods and materials which have their origins in the West. Becoming Christian in Asia can also entail a conversion to naturalism, individualism, and other Western worldviews which are more cultural than biblical in nature. Given this reality, we should ask how the shape of our faith differs if we take seriously the fact that God revealed the Bible to his people in ancient West Asia rather than in Europe or North America. The welcome surprise is that modern Asian lenses can sometimes illumine the truth of God’s Word more clearly than by using solely Western lenses!
This realization struck me a few years ago when I was rereading Psalm 121, one of my favorite passages in the Old Testament. Even though I am ethnic Chinese, my upbringing has been in America and my academic training in Western institutions. These influences had hampered my understanding of the familiar question-and-answer which opens the psalm: “I will lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (vv. 1–2; author’s translation). Without knowing it, I had come under the influence of the standard view in Western theology and culture that passages such as Psalm 121 are about nature as a reminder of God’s help (a theme made popular by The Sound of Music). As further reflection allowed me to regain a set of more ‘Asian eyes’ in reading the Bible, I came to see that the beginning of this psalm is a rhetorical question which actually expects a negative answer—no, not from the mountains!
For if it were true that Yahweh shows his special presence in the mountains (Ps 121:1), the psalmist would not answer their1 own question that Yahweh is the “Maker of heaven and earth” (v. 2). Modern people who are weary of noise and congestion tend to regard mountains as places of rest and refuge, but this clashes with the view of people in ancient West Asia that they were instead the place where fearful powers dwelt.2 The Arameans harboured just such a superstition about Yahweh (1 Kgs 20:27–29). Israel had its own version of a similar syncretism in attempting to worship Yahweh at the “high places” (e.g., Deut 12:2; 1 Kgs 3:2–4; 2 Kgs 17:7–12). These were the Canaanite sites that were formerly used to venerate nature deities such as Baal and Asherah. In such a context with more similarities to non-Western than Western cultures, Psalm 121’s beginning is a declaration about Yahweh’s rule over a polytheistic world of nature gods and mythological powers. It would be mistaken to see the sort of contrast between an invisible, spiritual God and visible, physical objects that a Western-style monotheist would naturally draw.
The rest of the psalm continues with this keen awareness of other spiritual forces and powers which have physical manifestations. Unlike other Canaanite nature deities, Yahweh is alert enough to keep the psalmist from falling because Yahweh does not slumber and sleep (Ps 121:3–4). In this regard he contrasts with Baal, who needs to die annually in “sleep” and “wake” again as part of regenerating the created order. It was for this reason that Elijah mocked the prophets of Baal by accusing their god of being either too drowsy or dead to hear their cries, despite their self-inflicted wounds (1 Kgs 18:27). And adding a Mesopotamian accent to its critique, Psalm 121 identifies Yahweh as Israel’s real guardian (v. 5) by proclaiming that “the sun [shemesh] will not harm you by day, nor the moon [yareakh] by night” (v. 6). The Hebrew terms used here are cognates to the names for the Mesopotamian sun-god Shamash and Ugaritic moon-god Yarikh. This echo lends these verses a supernatural thrust that tends to be lost on modern people who view the “natural” sun and moon as merely balls of gas and rock in the sky. Average Israelites felt a real temptation to worship the heavenly bodies in Israel’s popular religion, as seen in the OT’s many warnings against venerating them (e.g., Deut 4:19; 2 Kgs 23:5, 11; Ezek 8:16).
For these reasons, Psalm 121 is one of many biblical examples which instructs Asian Christians on faithful living in traditional societies where people live with constant anxiety about the supernatural. The solution to such fear lies not so much in emphasizing the theological distinction between Creator and creature (as more Western Christians would do), but in seeing that Yahweh is the best of all deities and powers. Unlike Baal, the sun, the moon, and other forces, Yahweh is uniquely dependable to “guard” (shamar) his people throughout all time and space: “The LORD will keep [shamar] you from all harm—he will watch [shamar] over your life; the LORD will watch over [shamar] your coming and going both now and forevermore” (vv. 7–8). He exercises constant care for his people that no other deity can provide, but to experience this blessing requires the kind of repentance that turns away from all other powers and toward Yahweh alone. In the process of doing so, biblical faith can become good news indeed when it is seen more clearly with Asian perspectives.
So as Asian interpreters, let us read and reread our Bibles carefully with our native cultural categories in mind. With God’s help, we will arrive at better understandings of God’s revelation—originally from and for Asia—than we could achieve with merely Western theology and approaches. And in the process, we will cultivate a deeper biblical literacy that helps to address the misconception that the Christian faith is mainly for Westerners!3
For Discussion
When and where have you heard the charge that Christianity is a Western religion? In what ways might rereading the Bible with Asian eyes equip you with the tools to respond?
