Lost in Someone Else’s Armor

By Michael Sugihara

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or many years, I’ve viewed my Japanese American heritage as more of a challenge to overcome, than something worthy of celebration. It was a wall I had to climb or something that would keep holding me back. Sure, being Japanese became "cool" when sushi, boba tea, and anime rose to popularity. But, more often than not, life experiences told me that the less Japanese I could act and the more American I could appear, then I would actually be cool.

The biblical story of David and Goliath has helped me to contextualize much of my life as a Japanese American: I’ve tried to convince myself that I could make someone else’s “armor” fit.

In 1 Samuel 17, we read that while King Saul reluctantly allows David to fight Goliath, Saul first dresses David in his own kingly tunic, armor, and sword. But, David responds, “I cannot go in these…because I am not used to them” (1 Samuel 17:39). David then takes this armor off in favor of his own staff, selects five smooth stones to pair with his sling, and goes to meet Goliath.

Unlike David, it’s taken me much longer to accept that I’ve also been wearing someone else’s armor. In my life, Saul’s armor has represented the dominant, American culture – a culture that I’ve internalized as the picture of credibility, influence, and respect in the world around me. While I’ve known for some time that this armor didn’t fit who God had created me to be, I’ve also been fearful of who I would be if and when I took it off. So, I’ve kept it on and tried my best to blend in.

What has it felt like to wear someone else’s armor? Imagine with me…

• Hearing your mom say Japanese words like “karaoke” and “teriyaki” with Japanese diction around your friends. You begin to feel flush, small, and…frustrated. You wonder: “Why does she have to keep saying it that way? Doesn’t she know that’s not what other people do?” 

• Smiling politely when someone shares their surprise at how well you speak English, says your last name loudly with an exaggerated accent, or asks, “So, where are you really from?” Under your breath you tell yourself, “Don’t make a fuss, don’t be upset, it’ll pass. Just be grateful that they’re letting you stay. Shikata ga nai (It cannot be helped, it has to be).”  

• Looking around a room and noting that you are the only person of color among a large group of your friends, co-workers, or fellow ministry leaders. Surprisingly, you feel a strange swell of accomplishment and pride rising up inside… “Look at you. You made it.”

I believed that these experiences were all necessary steps towards my version of the American dream – to be that charismatic, successful leader on the stage. Be confident. Be heard. Be that guy. 

Throughout my childhood and early twenties, wearing this armor did appear to have some value. I thought it helped me to brush off the looks, laugh off the comments, and keep pressing forward. It was approved of, attractive, and comfortable to others. I was voted prom king, graduated from an Ivy League college, am a founding executive director, have an amazing wife, and wonderful family and friends. It was all worth it in the end, wasn’t it?

No amount of perceived success could change the truth - this armor wasn’t designed for me. Even further, what I’ve come to humbly understand is that wearing someone else’s armor always comes at cost, both to myself and to others.

Last summer, I met with about 50 other Christian on Zoom, Asian Americans from across the country to discuss Christian leadership. The speakers were thoughtful and the sharing was encouraging, but what stood out most to me was a one-off comment made by the call organizer: “When we thought of who we could invite to speak on this call, only two Christian, Asian American leaders came to mind.” Muted laughter followed across the little Zoom boxes. 

While I sensed this comment was meant to inject some levity, and that there are in fact, more than two Christian, Asian American leaders, there was something about it that hit me in the gut. It confronted the ways I’ve continued to view myself. Personally, I’ve wanted to be known as just a Christian leader. I’ve wanted to be accepted in spite of being Japanese American. In that moment, I couldn’t shake the feeling that God was speaking directly to me:

“Michael, I created you and I do not make mistakes. I made you Japanese American. Are you willing to trust me and start living into who I’ve created and called you to be?”

After I logged off the call, I sat in silence for a long time. My heart ached and tears began to flow. I didn’t know what it would mean to say “yes” to this invitation, but I decided I had to find out.

What followed this decision has been an incredibly challenging and powerful journey of God beginning to reveal the true armor he designed for me. In the story of David, we see that he had to first take off Saul’s armor before he could put on his own. And, when he took up his own armor – his five stones and a sling – he was mocked by Goliath. So often, the breakthrough that God is calling us towards requires us to break with something, new learning first requires us to do some un-learning (Ephesians 4:22-24). And, in the process, we may often appear foolish to others (1 Corinthians 3:18).

One lie that I’ve had to unlearn is that being Japanese American shouldn’t impact me today. During WWII, 120,000 people of Japanese descent (over 66,000 who were U.S. citizens) were incarcerated solely because of their race. While this included many of my relatives, like my grandparents, I had primarily viewed this as history. In my mind, the incarceration was terrible, yes, but it was also the past. In fact, didn’t my grandparents and others work day in and day out so that being Japanese didn’t have to impact who we could be and become in America?

Today, as I reflect on what it means for me to be Japanese American, there is depth, nuance, and tension. There is brokenness and liminality. There is complicity and boldness. There is a need for repentance and for forgiveness. There is unhealthy shame and healing authenticity. There is mochi making, paper crane folding, kimonos, Girl’s Day dolls, and katsu curry at Renga Tei restaurant. There is also a multi-generational tradition of faithfully following Jesus through Chicagoland Japanese American churches like Lakeside Church and Christ Church Presbyterian.

Because of the Gospel of Jesus, I know that my worth and value - what is beautiful about who I am - is received, not earned. No country, president, or executive order can take away what the King of Kings has already freely given to me (Romans 6:23). No one's voice, including my own, defines me or matters more than my Heavenly Father's. And, do you know what? He says that I, Michael Masao Sugihara, am wonderfully made – created and called (Psalm 139:13-14). Who I am is not and never was a mistake. Broken, imperfect, and a sinner, yes, but not a mistake.

My journey is far from complete. As I continue to gain clarity regarding the good works he has prepared in advance for me to do (Ephesians 2:8-10), I thank God for the armor he has given me to wear. Armor that, for me, merges what I know to be my shared purpose as a follower of Jesus with whom he has uniquely created and called me to be – as a son, brother, husband, friend, community member, leader…and, as a Japanese American.

Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash

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Michael Sugihara serves as the founding Executive Director of Third Collective (formerly Emerging Leaders Initiative), a vibrant community pursuing faith, relationships, and purpose - together. In this role, he's had the unique opportunity to come alongside many diverse, Christian leaders to help them to become all of who God created and called them to be. A graduate of Cornell University, Michael currently lives in the Lincoln Square neighborhood of Chicago with his amazing wife, Jacqueline, and can often be found enjoying a cup of coffee, reading a book, or trying to learn something new.