I speak to this issue out of fear. I earned a degree with the goal of serving the church, specifically the Christian Reformed Church. If I am ever blessed to have the opportunity to serve in a higher office within the denomination, this conversation will come back to haunt me. Should we decide today to go with a quota system where we say a certain number of our leadership positions need to be filled by people of color, I fear that if I ever gain a position of leadership in this denomination I will ask myself if I am indeed worthy of the job and the best candidate for the position, or if I was hired because of the color of my skin. I would like to know that I earned the position. I would like to know that I am not the diversity ticket checking the box. I speak against the motion.

I still see that microphone. I see the officers sitting at the front table in Calvin College’s old field house. I see the chair and reporter at the mic as they presented the motion on behalf of the advisory committee dealing with the lack of diversity within the denomination. That was my first Synod — and it indeed still haunts me. 

****

On January 29, 2025 a small plane and helicopter went down into the Potomac River, 16 miles from my house. The horror of seeing the familiar flight path — one I was in fact supposed to be on 4 days later — made for a sobering evening, in an already devastatingly heavy month.

The very next morning, the administration appeared on air and instead of offering the token “thoughts and prayers,” the blame was placed on diversity initiatives which failed to put the best and most competent people in important positions. “Brilliant people have to be in those positions.” 

Since then, our news cycles have been filled with headline after headline about the internal civil war in our country over DEI initiatives. Whether it’s a university fighting to preserve the ability to hire as they feel led, religious institutions claiming exemptions, or Fortune 500 companies actively resisting the mandates, the crossfire is frantic from all sides. Not a day passes without at least a mention of it in our feeds. But. Who is standing in the middle ducking for cover or pulling contortionist acts to avoid the rhetorical ammunition? Us. 

I am a Korean adoptee — born in Seoul and adopted into a Dutch Christian Reformed family in Denver, Colorado at six months old. With 100% Korean blood, I was raised surrounded by generations of Dutch heritage, represented in my church, school, community, secondary education, and career.

I can name countless moments — both micro aggressions that slice like papercuts, and macro aggressions that cut to kill — that have reminded me of my race. Being introduced to others as “adopted,” being spoken to slowly with syllables being drawn out as though drunk on ignorant, words yelled out a car window while I was simply out for my morning run, assumptions that my own children must be adopted to have such light skin.

Yet, culturally I was raised Dutch Reformed. I grew up seeing very few people of color, often forgetting my own race until I looked in the mirror. I speak the Reformed language fluently — no accent or trace of being a foreigner. I bear the complex mismatch of my physical appearance and cultural upbringing; an ill-fitting garment of identity that never quite fits properly anywhere. 

And I’ve come to the realization that this particular garment has afforded me a very unique position in the swirling DEI conversations. For better or worse, I can straddle the line, see the argument from both sides. I see, nay, I feel both the cause and the effect. I raise my fits and shout my battle cries against the injustices taking place, while at the very same time huddling for protection of my very personhood. 

Here’s the cold, hard truth. Without DEI measures in place — without intentional care to reverse generations worth of hiring practices that excluded people of color, women, those with disabilities, the LGBTQ+ community and more — people like me might never have the opportunity to hear the words “welcome to the team.” The steady bleed of exclusivity isn’t fixed with a patchwork band aid job. 

But here’s another cold, and maybe harder truth. Our efforts in this space have already failed us. When a person’s humanity is treated as a quota or a way of “rounding out the team,” the effort to raise them up is quickly met with all that threatens to push them back down. It’s not just about the headlines we read, but about what they mean on a personal level for those they represent. What they hear in the midst of all the noise. 

• DEI hire. 
• It’s up to you to represent all of us well. 
• Prove yourself.
• You need the law to be equal. 

***

Fast forward 16 years from that Synod floor debate. I did have the honor of serving the denomination in a leadership capacity until very recently. Those years were filled with tremendous highs and unbearably deep lows. That’s a story for another day. But that microphone moment resonates in the here and now with a message for us today. 

Don’t quell your protests. They are needed and must be heard. Fight for diversity. Champion equity and inclusion with your Revelation 7 defiance in hand. But that cannot be it. Don’t just fight for the cause. Work for, pray for; and most importantly, allow yourself to be changed deeply by a holistic vision where DEI is simply a way of being in this world and existing with one another. Not a political weapon, not yet another reason to blame those with whom you disagree. Instead, something that shapes every interaction, guides every conversation, and opens your heart to do the work necessary so that all might belong in body and soul, in life and in death not only to their faithful Savior, Jesus Christ, but also to one another. 

Header photo by Miles Peacock on Unsplash