On Sunday night, I had the joy of bringing the message for our church's fourth Advent service. For this blog post, I've added a few things I wish I said Sunday night, as well as shortened my message a little.
Advent, which means "coming," is a period of four weeks when Christians remember the coming of Jesus into the world. Thus the season of Advent ends on Christmas day, when we celebrate Jesus' birth. Advent is also a time when we look forward to Jesus' second coming.
Luke 1:39-56
What I can't get away from in our Advent passage is that it seems to be overflowing with joy. Leading up to the passage, the angel Gabriel has told Mary that she will give birth to the Son of God. Mary wonders how this can be, since she’s a virgin, but in the end she says, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.”
Then the angel leaves, and our Advent passage begins: “At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth.” Elizabeth was Mary’s relative, and we find out earlier that Elizabeth is elderly and barren. She and her husband, the priest Zechariah, have prayed for a baby, and an angel tells Zechariah that they will have a child--John the Baptist.
By the time Mary greets Elizabeth, Elizabeth is six months pregnant. This alone is cause for joy. Elizabeth and Zechariah have wanted a child for so long, and now God has given them one. Mary greets Elizabeth, and when “Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.” More joy there. Then Elizabeth exclaims, in a loud voice (and when people exclaim in a loud voice, it usually means they’re joyful), “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?”
Have you ever had something so great and amazing happen to you to make you wonder, “Why me? What did I do to deserve such a thing as this?” That’s probably the kind of joy Elizabeth was feeling. But notice that Elizabeth isn’t filled with joy only because she is pregnant. She asks, “Why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” Elizabeth is rejoicing because the mother of her Lord has come to her. She is rejoicing because of Jesus.
When Jesus comes into the world, he brings joy. I don’t even know if Jesus is in his mother’s womb yet, but he’s already bringing joy to Mary and Elizabeth (and baby John the Baptist).
Jesus brings joy as an adult, too. If you read through the gospel of Luke, you’ll find that Jesus heals Simon's mother-in-law from a high fever, forgives a sinful woman, heals a demon-possessed man, raises a girl to life, heals a woman who has been sick for twelve years, and more. Usually, when I think of Jesus’ miracles, I am amazed at Jesus’ power. But can you also imagine how much joy these people must have felt after being touched by Jesus? Now they are no longer drowned in guilt, bound in sin, or paralyzed by a disease. Now they can live full, complete, whole lives. Jesus brings joy, and as we see in our Advent passage, he brings joy even before he is born.
But not everyone receives Jesus with joy. After Elizabeth’s exclamation, Mary sings a song, in which she says, “[The Lord] has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.” While Jesus’ coming into the world brings joy to those who welcome him, Jesus also brings a reversal, a dethroning, to those who reject him.
Which side are we on? Does Jesus’ coming into the world, does his kingdom, bring us joy, or fear? Or a little bit of both? When he comes, will he scatter us, or lift us up? Will he empty us, or fill us with good things? Could it be that Jesus is already at work in us, scattering our pride so that we may one day be prepared to welcome him when he comes again? Could Jesus also be at work bringing us joy during our time of waiting?
Our Advent passage is interesting because we can read it two ways. First, we can read about how Mary and Elizabeth waited for the Lord’s first coming. Second, we can read about how we are to wait for Jesus’ second coming.
These past four weeks of Advent, our Master of Christmas, Alec, has asked us to reflect on the question, “How do we wait?” Our passage may be helpful in answering the question because in the passage we see two women waiting, not only for their children to be born, but for the Messiah to come into the world.
So, how do we wait? One way I think we wait for the Messiah is a way I’ve already mentioned: we wait joyfully. Just as Mary and Elizabeth joyfully awaited the Lord’s coming, we, too, joyfully wait for his second coming. Or at least that’s how we’re supposed to wait.
When I was a kid, I heard people say that Jesus was coming at a time when no one expected him. So whenever I thought about Jesus’ return, I would think, “Maybe Jesus will come back today,” in an attempt to delay his coming. I figured, if Jesus is coming on a day when no one expects him, and if I’m expecting him to come back today, then he won’t come back today! I’m not sure why I didn’t want Jesus to return; I guess I wanted to enjoy life, and didn’t want to go to heaven quite yet. I must have thought that life before Jesus’ coming was better than life after his coming.
I don’t think about Jesus’ second coming as often as I used to, but thinking about it still brings me some anxiety. During the first week of Advent, we looked at a passage in Luke 21 regarding the end times. Some verses in Luke 21 just don’t sound joyful, like this one: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven,” and this one: “Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken.” And this next passage kind of contradicts our Advent passage: “How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers!” What are we supposed to believe about Jesus’ second coming? While our Advent passage shows Mary and Elizabeth expecting the Lord joyfully, this Luke 21 passage shows pregnant women dreading those final days.
I’m not exactly sure what to do with this, but I wonder if maybe we should see the troublesome end times as birth pangs. Trials and tribulations will come, just like the pain that comes in giving birth, but the pain does not match the joy that will come when life is brought into the world. So even though we are told to watch out for that day, we should not forget to wait for the Lord joyfully.
But our joy does not rest only in some future day. Elizabeth tells Mary, “As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.” Baby John the Baptist leaps for joy in Elizabeth’s womb as soon as the mother of Jesus says “Hello!” Elizabeth (and John the Baptist) experience joy before Jesus comes into the world. So we, too, can encounter the joy of the Lord during our time of waiting.
Where is our joy? If Jesus brings joy to those who welcome him, then is he bringing joy to us? Are we welcoming him? Where is Jesus at work in our lives, in our church, in our neighborhood? What streets does Jesus walk on? Maybe by remembering joyful experiences, we can see Jesus at work among us.
One afternoon earlier this semester, while I was taking a nap, I dreamed that I was tutoring. Each week, some friends and I tutor elementary school students in the church classroom. When I woke up from my nap, I felt joy having remembered times with the students. I thought about how some students, during the first few weeks, did not want to do their homework, but are now eager to do their work and study hard (for the most part). I thought about how Gilbert, who recently graduated high school, has helped students with their English homework and has kept kids in line during Knock-out matches.
I think it’s important to remember joyful times like these because they encourage us, and maybe they also show us where Jesus is working among us.
Mary and Elizabeth teach us to wait joyfully. How else do we wait? Together. When Mary heard the good news that she would give birth to the Son of God, she didn’t keep the news to herself, but hurried to tell Elizabeth. And after they greeted, “Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home.”
Joy and togetherness are connected. I think it’s impossible to rejoice, to celebrate, by yourself. How would you rather celebrate your birthday? By sitting alone in your room all day, writing your thoughts about turning 22? Or by your friends surprising you, coming over and singing happy birthday?
In the same way, this is how we celebrate Jesus’ second coming: together. Pastor Steve and Alec could have asked us, for the Sunday morning and evening Advent services, to meditate on scripture passages in silence, alone. And there is a place for studying the word by ourselves. But here we are, gathering together each week to celebrate with one another that Jesus is returning. When we’re together, we encourage each other, learn from one another, and enjoy each other’s company, looking toward the day in which all creation will celebrate together. It will be like a birthday for all creation because when Jesus comes, he will finally make all things right and new, bringing peace, righteousness, justice, and his kingdom of joy to the world. If he brought joy and hope the first time he came, how much more will he bring joy and hope in all their fullness the last time he comes?
So, how do we wait? Joyfully and together. Just as Mary and Elizabeth waited joyfully together for the Lord's coming, we too wait for the joy that will come when Jesus returns. And just as Mary and Elizabeth (and baby John the Baptist) celebrated the joy that was already present, we remember the joy that has already come to us in Jesus, in his work in the world, and in his presence among our lives even now.
27.11.09
Family (haiku)
When the sky turned black,
you folded these plastic bags
into stars, diamonds.
For Obaachan
you folded these plastic bags
into stars, diamonds.
For Obaachan
15.11.09
Trimming (poem)
Junipers needed trimming.
Overshadowed the bugs that eat the bougainvillea,
sea-glitter birdseed on the pavement, that
house behind my parents' house.
Overshadowed the bugs that eat the bougainvillea,
sea-glitter birdseed on the pavement, that
house behind my parents' house.
5.11.09
Discipleship and scholarship
What does it mean to be a Christian college student? Can we be Christians and scholars at the same time?
This morning, Mark Carter preached from the Beatitudes in Luke. At one point, he paraphrased them for us Loma scholars, saying something like, "Blessed are you who struggle for academic excellence, for you shall learn truth."
That surprised me. So God appreciates my studying how aldehydes become carboxylic acids? All the hours I've spent reading about past participles or the theatre of the absurd or Sonny's blues were, in God's eyes, good?
In high school, I worked hard on homework, but I didn't think doing homework or studying aligned with my faith. I thought academics prevented me from doing more important things, like reading the Bible or evangelizing. Yet I studied, reasoning that in so doing I was rendering to Caesar what belonged to Caesar (or at least keeping mom from getting mad at me).
Then came Point Loma. One of the reasons I wanted to come to Point Loma was because an admissions brochure said something like, "Here we encourage you to study because in so doing, you obey the command to love God with all of your mind." The idea that studying was to be valued--in fact, that it was a way to love God--intrigued me.
During the covenant service at NSO, Dr. Brower validated studying, saying, "Your desks can become altars where your studying becomes an act of worship to God." Normally, when I think of worshiping God, I think of students in chapel listening to the electric guitar solo in "From the Inside Out." And then I think of singing other good songs to God, and even our life together, sharing a meal or listening to one another. But I hadn't before thought that worship could include studying.
How is studying a form of worship? Well, what is worship? I think worship is offering all of ourselves--our fears, our pains, our joys, our thanksgiving, our resources, our talents, our shared life--to God. And in studying, we offer our time, our energy, our efforts in order to learn and grow.
I suppose people can study without thinking that they are offering themselves to God. But they are still using the gifts and capacities God gave them, and I think there's something good in that. And no matter who we are, in studying, we are changed. A couple years ago in chapel, Dr. Kelle said that by studying, we develop the discipline of listening to the text, to the other, and thus we grow in our ability to love others. So perhaps studying is about worship because it is about discipleship.
As Christians, we are disciples, or learners, of Christ. Perhaps being college students can help us become Christ students. Perhaps staying up until 4 am studying for a calculus exam with a friend can teach us about perseverance and trying our best--and how it's a lot more fun when you're with a friend. Maybe discovering a new idea while we're writing an essay can teach us how adventurous it can be to listen for God's voice. Maybe feeling frustrated because I can't comprehend chemistry can help me be empathetic and patient towards other people who are frustrated in other areas of life.
I hope, at our university, we can be more frequently be encouraged to study--not just for the sake of getting good grades or graduating, but for the sake of studying, and for the sake of growing. If we're in college only to get a diploma, then we haven't fully developed into what we could be: students of God's creation, learning in awe about God's world and all its complexity, beauty, and depth. Disciples who keep learning and growing even after we graduate.
But then come the questions. Is studying chemistry, or any topic, a priority in the kingdom? Is it valued in the kingdom? Isn't it more important to be feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and visiting those in prison? Might studying distract us from loving God and loving our neighbor, from doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God? Can studying become an idol we worship, rather than an act of worship to God?
I hope that studying is an act of worship to God, but I'm still slightly afraid that there are more important, perhaps practical, things to be doing with my time. And I'm afraid that if I come up with an answer too soon, I won't fully grasp the balance between study and practice.
This morning, Mark Carter preached from the Beatitudes in Luke. At one point, he paraphrased them for us Loma scholars, saying something like, "Blessed are you who struggle for academic excellence, for you shall learn truth."
That surprised me. So God appreciates my studying how aldehydes become carboxylic acids? All the hours I've spent reading about past participles or the theatre of the absurd or Sonny's blues were, in God's eyes, good?
In high school, I worked hard on homework, but I didn't think doing homework or studying aligned with my faith. I thought academics prevented me from doing more important things, like reading the Bible or evangelizing. Yet I studied, reasoning that in so doing I was rendering to Caesar what belonged to Caesar (or at least keeping mom from getting mad at me).
Then came Point Loma. One of the reasons I wanted to come to Point Loma was because an admissions brochure said something like, "Here we encourage you to study because in so doing, you obey the command to love God with all of your mind." The idea that studying was to be valued--in fact, that it was a way to love God--intrigued me.
During the covenant service at NSO, Dr. Brower validated studying, saying, "Your desks can become altars where your studying becomes an act of worship to God." Normally, when I think of worshiping God, I think of students in chapel listening to the electric guitar solo in "From the Inside Out." And then I think of singing other good songs to God, and even our life together, sharing a meal or listening to one another. But I hadn't before thought that worship could include studying.
How is studying a form of worship? Well, what is worship? I think worship is offering all of ourselves--our fears, our pains, our joys, our thanksgiving, our resources, our talents, our shared life--to God. And in studying, we offer our time, our energy, our efforts in order to learn and grow.
I suppose people can study without thinking that they are offering themselves to God. But they are still using the gifts and capacities God gave them, and I think there's something good in that. And no matter who we are, in studying, we are changed. A couple years ago in chapel, Dr. Kelle said that by studying, we develop the discipline of listening to the text, to the other, and thus we grow in our ability to love others. So perhaps studying is about worship because it is about discipleship.
As Christians, we are disciples, or learners, of Christ. Perhaps being college students can help us become Christ students. Perhaps staying up until 4 am studying for a calculus exam with a friend can teach us about perseverance and trying our best--and how it's a lot more fun when you're with a friend. Maybe discovering a new idea while we're writing an essay can teach us how adventurous it can be to listen for God's voice. Maybe feeling frustrated because I can't comprehend chemistry can help me be empathetic and patient towards other people who are frustrated in other areas of life.
I hope, at our university, we can be more frequently be encouraged to study--not just for the sake of getting good grades or graduating, but for the sake of studying, and for the sake of growing. If we're in college only to get a diploma, then we haven't fully developed into what we could be: students of God's creation, learning in awe about God's world and all its complexity, beauty, and depth. Disciples who keep learning and growing even after we graduate.
But then come the questions. Is studying chemistry, or any topic, a priority in the kingdom? Is it valued in the kingdom? Isn't it more important to be feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, and visiting those in prison? Might studying distract us from loving God and loving our neighbor, from doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God? Can studying become an idol we worship, rather than an act of worship to God?
I hope that studying is an act of worship to God, but I'm still slightly afraid that there are more important, perhaps practical, things to be doing with my time. And I'm afraid that if I come up with an answer too soon, I won't fully grasp the balance between study and practice.
27.10.09
The peony and the rose
'Madame Magloire,' the bishop answered, 'you are mistaken; the beautiful is as useful as the useful.' He added, after a moment's silence, 'More so, perhaps.'"
- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables
Tonight in student ministries, we had a Halloween party. My core group carved hearts, robot-shaped kids, a cross, and a Jesus fish out of a pumpkin. I took the pumpkin home and set it on our doorstep.
- Victor Hugo, Les Miserables
Tonight in student ministries, we had a Halloween party. My core group carved hearts, robot-shaped kids, a cross, and a Jesus fish out of a pumpkin. I took the pumpkin home and set it on our doorstep.
9.10.09
Fiction
One partly cloudy afternoon, James was walking home from the bus stop. While walking through the Kentucky Fried Chicken parking lot, James spotted, beside a rusty storm drain cover, a card the size of half a sheet of paper. The card was the color of the sky, and on it was scrawled in a neon orange font, "The Shortcut Church." Below, it said, "We get you to heaven faster than any other church!"
James slipped the card into his backpack's small pocket as a souvenier, and continued walking home.
James slipped the card into his backpack's small pocket as a souvenier, and continued walking home.
12.9.09
Saturday Morning
"For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ."
I think these last lines of the book of Acts are my new favorite Bible verses. I wonder what Paul's rented house looked like. Did it have a front yard or a garden? Did Paul sweep the kitchen floors, scrub the toilet and bathtub, disinfect the sink? What did he make for lunch?
And he welcomed all who came to see him. May we in the Redemption House do that, too. I wonder if he struggled balancing hospitality with other responsibilities. Then again, he probably didn't have homework to worry about.
And boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ. May we do this, too. Together. Did Paul have roommates? Friends that he watched "The Office" with on Thursday nights? Did he write poems or epistles to God in his spare time, or enjoy conversations over dinner? I bet he did. I hope he did.
I think these last lines of the book of Acts are my new favorite Bible verses. I wonder what Paul's rented house looked like. Did it have a front yard or a garden? Did Paul sweep the kitchen floors, scrub the toilet and bathtub, disinfect the sink? What did he make for lunch?
And he welcomed all who came to see him. May we in the Redemption House do that, too. I wonder if he struggled balancing hospitality with other responsibilities. Then again, he probably didn't have homework to worry about.
And boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ. May we do this, too. Together. Did Paul have roommates? Friends that he watched "The Office" with on Thursday nights? Did he write poems or epistles to God in his spare time, or enjoy conversations over dinner? I bet he did. I hope he did.
9.9.09
Children's Prayers
The nights, my friend, haven't ever been this hot.
The children've stopped laughing, now they only sweat,
and you could put their sweat into a pot
and cook fish soup, so long's you've got a net.
Speaking of fish, I fried one on my foot
and how it got there heaven only knows.
Looked like it was sunburnt black with soot,
so then I toasted bread on my elbows,
alls I did was add a little cheese.
It melted in the night skyfall of smoke,
the children burning, begging, Jesus, please
blow out this heat. And then it's like God awoke
'cause when the children spoke, the sky turned pink.
Children's prayers must be that magic link.
The children've stopped laughing, now they only sweat,
and you could put their sweat into a pot
and cook fish soup, so long's you've got a net.
Speaking of fish, I fried one on my foot
and how it got there heaven only knows.
Looked like it was sunburnt black with soot,
so then I toasted bread on my elbows,
alls I did was add a little cheese.
It melted in the night skyfall of smoke,
the children burning, begging, Jesus, please
blow out this heat. And then it's like God awoke
'cause when the children spoke, the sky turned pink.
Children's prayers must be that magic link.
28.8.09
Southeast Sunrise
The belltower sun chimed from behind my head
through horizon lines of window blinds,
bubbling dry paint on my concrete nose
and leveling my desert legs,
a morning mural on my glassy feet.
through horizon lines of window blinds,
bubbling dry paint on my concrete nose
and leveling my desert legs,
a morning mural on my glassy feet.
25.8.09
"Enjoy the journey"
Today was the first day of my senior year, and probably my last day of rehearsing with Voices in Praise Gospel Choir. After the rehearsal tonight, and after the crew and I loaded the Rec Room wagon with the speaker, the black metal stands, the rubber cables, and the disassembled microphone held together by crinkled blue tape, and after we prayed with choir director Dr. Bogan, I told Dr. Bogan I couldn't stay in the choir.
"I want to stay," I said, "but there are some things that--yeah." I don't know why I didn't complete the thought and tell her my main reason of leaving, that I wanted to free up time for other things I'm committed to. But she understood.
"We know you are very busy, and that there is other work God has for you this year," she said. "So we release you to have the time to do those things."
Not only was I relieved that she wasn't mad at me for leaving; Dr. Bogan's words also encouraged me. God has work for me to do? And I'm making the right decision in leaving Gospel Choir to do that work? When I'm encouraged, the future becomes full of hope.
Dr. Bogan has given me much courage over the last three years. The first week of my freshman year, I went into her office to figure out my schedule and consider a major, since she is the academic advisor for undeclared students. She may have recommended a major, but even more, she gave me the confidence to trust in God during my time at PLNU.
"Look at Joseph, in the Bible," she said, explaining how Joseph's life had so many interruptions and sharp turns, but God ended up having a good plan for Joseph. She said God had a good end for me, too, and that I didn't need to worry about making a wrong decision. "It's the ending that counts, and God will bring you where he wants you to be. Don't worry about how you get there. What I want you to remember is to enjoy the journey."
I still need to remember that.
When I remember my three years at PLNU so far, the classes I've had, the rooms and passageways I've discovered, the people I've loved and who've loved me, I am amazed at such an overflowing gift. Sometimes, I don't know what to do with the rich experience of being a PLNU student. Sometimes, I feel like I shouldn't appreciate the experience because I don't deserve it.
Maybe I need to learn how to receive gifts, even extravagant ones that I think can't possibly be from God. Maybe God works in ways beyond our ways. Maybe God thinks thoughts beyond our thoughts. Maybe he wants me to be here. I have enjoyed this journey, this adventure, so much.
"I want to stay," I said, "but there are some things that--yeah." I don't know why I didn't complete the thought and tell her my main reason of leaving, that I wanted to free up time for other things I'm committed to. But she understood.
"We know you are very busy, and that there is other work God has for you this year," she said. "So we release you to have the time to do those things."
Not only was I relieved that she wasn't mad at me for leaving; Dr. Bogan's words also encouraged me. God has work for me to do? And I'm making the right decision in leaving Gospel Choir to do that work? When I'm encouraged, the future becomes full of hope.
Dr. Bogan has given me much courage over the last three years. The first week of my freshman year, I went into her office to figure out my schedule and consider a major, since she is the academic advisor for undeclared students. She may have recommended a major, but even more, she gave me the confidence to trust in God during my time at PLNU.
"Look at Joseph, in the Bible," she said, explaining how Joseph's life had so many interruptions and sharp turns, but God ended up having a good plan for Joseph. She said God had a good end for me, too, and that I didn't need to worry about making a wrong decision. "It's the ending that counts, and God will bring you where he wants you to be. Don't worry about how you get there. What I want you to remember is to enjoy the journey."
I still need to remember that.
When I remember my three years at PLNU so far, the classes I've had, the rooms and passageways I've discovered, the people I've loved and who've loved me, I am amazed at such an overflowing gift. Sometimes, I don't know what to do with the rich experience of being a PLNU student. Sometimes, I feel like I shouldn't appreciate the experience because I don't deserve it.
Maybe I need to learn how to receive gifts, even extravagant ones that I think can't possibly be from God. Maybe God works in ways beyond our ways. Maybe God thinks thoughts beyond our thoughts. Maybe he wants me to be here. I have enjoyed this journey, this adventure, so much.
2.8.09
Six years
Just when the jacaranda began to bloom,
the lavender flowers are now all blown away.
Next summer.
Next summer.
the lavender flowers are now all blown away.
Next summer.
Next summer.
13.7.09
The Philippines: Home away from home (away from home)
It's kind of weird being back in San Diego. Dad and Jon picked mom and me up from the LA airport yesterday morning, and while driving on the 405 South, I felt the lanes were too wide, the highway too empty of cars, the scattered skyscrapers amid burnt summer hills like Eiffel Towers.
When mom and I first arrived in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, it was 11 pm two weeks ago and we were greeted by Lolo and mom's friend Chacha. Chacha's husband Freddie drove us to Kamuning in Quezon City, where my grandparents live.
The car ride, and the first few days before dad and Jon arrived, were difficult because everyone spoke in Tagalog. Eventually, I picked up on some words and phrases:
"talaga?"- is it true?
"sandali lang"- just a minute
"dito"- here
"salamat po"- thank you sir/ma'am
"masarap"- this tastes real good
I said "masarap" many times. My grandparents and their katulongs (servants) had a meal prepared for us when we arrived at their house at 1 am. Some days, they'd prepare five meals. The food included longganisa, or sausage (which my roommate Jonathan introduced to me the Saturday of finals week), fried chicken, pancit, lechon, and rice. Coke Zero was present at every meal. Of course I ate mangoes, the sweetest and juiciest mangoes I'd ever slurped. The bananas were half the size of bananas we eat in the U.S., but three times as sweet. One day I tried a new fruit, atis, which is the size and color of a dirty tennis ball, except surrounded with ridges like the end of an artichoke. It breaks like bread and each ridge is a cream surrounding a black seed like a grownup watermelon seed. The cream tastes like a sweet pear with the texture of a banana. I said "masarap" many, many times.
Throughout the two weeks, my stomach was full, and so was my mind. The streets of Manila and Quezon City are so crowded. While some pedestrians gather on the sidewalk, others sift between vehicles. During the ride from the airport, one man knocked on our window, stared in through the tinted glass, and quickly walked on. Chacha explained that some people reach through windows to steal purses and other valuables. Through the windows my eyes were magnetized to billboard photographs of men and women and words, like in Times Square except without the flashy lights. The models looked dim and hollow, like ghosts. Beneath them were old houses and commercial buildings, with rusty tin roofs shaped like cardboard. I saw only two stop signs during my time in Manila. Honking cars, buses, motorized tricycles, and jeepneys fight for space on the road. It's like the 5 South at the end of a workday, but even on city streets.
The streets were so full that it seemed to me people needed refuge. And I think for many, that refuge is the local mall. In the hot and humid Philippines, malls provide comfort because they are air conditioned. But I wouldn't say they're really refuge; at Greenhills Mall, we got lost several times among rows of booths selling thousands of bags, thousands of flip flops, thousands of cell phones, thousands of necklaces and earrings. People would call out, "Sir, cellphone sir," and my eyes would dart back and forth between sellers, shoppers, shop signs, and souveniers.
About a week into our trip, the Philippines started to feel a tiny bit like home. Maybe because I was born there, lived there a couple years, and met family there. But it was weird because I've grown up in San Diego, which also feels like home. I felt a little like Desmond in the episode "The Constant" in the TV show "Lost." He sporadically travels back and forth between space and time, and unless he makes contact with a constant--someone he loves dearly in both worlds--he will die.
I think one constant between the U.S. and the Philippines was my mom. I was able to see her in her homeland, which showed me new things about her. We were also able to talk about things on my mind. Another constant was God. I tried to read the Bible, and we worshiped with my mom's church, Kamuning Bible Christian Fellowship. Sometimes, though, praying to God was difficult. I often wondered if God had left me. But when I called out to God from dark valleys, even when I could not put my pain into words, he heard me.
The pinnacle of our time in the Philippines was on July 4, when we celebrated Lolo and Lola's 50th wedding anniversary. Lolo called it a "Jubilee" celebration. We sang music and prayed and thanked God and I'm sure "masarap" was often said. Along with our parents, the cousins--Jon and Heidi, Ezekiel and Hayley, and Helsa and I--waltzed and cha cha cha'd.
I was thankful to know my grandparents a little better. I saw that Lola has a caring heart. One evening, someone was disappointed because I no longer remembered the piano pieces I used to play. He didn't understand how I could forget how to play, but Lola reasoned to him in Tagalog. I knew she was saying something like, "Josh is telling the truth. If you don't play the piano for a while, it's easy to forget how to play."
And I also saw that Lolo can be playful. One night, when we were sightseeing in Bohol (Lolo's island of birth), we rode a ferry down a river. Near the end of the trip, the ferry stopped by a dock to watch about 40 Filipinas and some boys with ukeleles sing songs and dance. At one point, a woman invited people to come on the platform to give donations and pose for pictures.
"Josh, you go now," Lolo told me.
"No way."
So Lolo got up and walked off the ferry onto the deck, dancing to the donations box, and then, out of nowhere, picked up a huge stick and began pounding it into a dirt pit along with the other women.
When mom and I first arrived in Manila, the capital of the Philippines, it was 11 pm two weeks ago and we were greeted by Lolo and mom's friend Chacha. Chacha's husband Freddie drove us to Kamuning in Quezon City, where my grandparents live.
The car ride, and the first few days before dad and Jon arrived, were difficult because everyone spoke in Tagalog. Eventually, I picked up on some words and phrases:
"talaga?"- is it true?
"sandali lang"- just a minute
"dito"- here
"salamat po"- thank you sir/ma'am
"masarap"- this tastes real good
I said "masarap" many times. My grandparents and their katulongs (servants) had a meal prepared for us when we arrived at their house at 1 am. Some days, they'd prepare five meals. The food included longganisa, or sausage (which my roommate Jonathan introduced to me the Saturday of finals week), fried chicken, pancit, lechon, and rice. Coke Zero was present at every meal. Of course I ate mangoes, the sweetest and juiciest mangoes I'd ever slurped. The bananas were half the size of bananas we eat in the U.S., but three times as sweet. One day I tried a new fruit, atis, which is the size and color of a dirty tennis ball, except surrounded with ridges like the end of an artichoke. It breaks like bread and each ridge is a cream surrounding a black seed like a grownup watermelon seed. The cream tastes like a sweet pear with the texture of a banana. I said "masarap" many, many times.
Throughout the two weeks, my stomach was full, and so was my mind. The streets of Manila and Quezon City are so crowded. While some pedestrians gather on the sidewalk, others sift between vehicles. During the ride from the airport, one man knocked on our window, stared in through the tinted glass, and quickly walked on. Chacha explained that some people reach through windows to steal purses and other valuables. Through the windows my eyes were magnetized to billboard photographs of men and women and words, like in Times Square except without the flashy lights. The models looked dim and hollow, like ghosts. Beneath them were old houses and commercial buildings, with rusty tin roofs shaped like cardboard. I saw only two stop signs during my time in Manila. Honking cars, buses, motorized tricycles, and jeepneys fight for space on the road. It's like the 5 South at the end of a workday, but even on city streets.
The streets were so full that it seemed to me people needed refuge. And I think for many, that refuge is the local mall. In the hot and humid Philippines, malls provide comfort because they are air conditioned. But I wouldn't say they're really refuge; at Greenhills Mall, we got lost several times among rows of booths selling thousands of bags, thousands of flip flops, thousands of cell phones, thousands of necklaces and earrings. People would call out, "Sir, cellphone sir," and my eyes would dart back and forth between sellers, shoppers, shop signs, and souveniers.
About a week into our trip, the Philippines started to feel a tiny bit like home. Maybe because I was born there, lived there a couple years, and met family there. But it was weird because I've grown up in San Diego, which also feels like home. I felt a little like Desmond in the episode "The Constant" in the TV show "Lost." He sporadically travels back and forth between space and time, and unless he makes contact with a constant--someone he loves dearly in both worlds--he will die.
I think one constant between the U.S. and the Philippines was my mom. I was able to see her in her homeland, which showed me new things about her. We were also able to talk about things on my mind. Another constant was God. I tried to read the Bible, and we worshiped with my mom's church, Kamuning Bible Christian Fellowship. Sometimes, though, praying to God was difficult. I often wondered if God had left me. But when I called out to God from dark valleys, even when I could not put my pain into words, he heard me.
The pinnacle of our time in the Philippines was on July 4, when we celebrated Lolo and Lola's 50th wedding anniversary. Lolo called it a "Jubilee" celebration. We sang music and prayed and thanked God and I'm sure "masarap" was often said. Along with our parents, the cousins--Jon and Heidi, Ezekiel and Hayley, and Helsa and I--waltzed and cha cha cha'd.
I was thankful to know my grandparents a little better. I saw that Lola has a caring heart. One evening, someone was disappointed because I no longer remembered the piano pieces I used to play. He didn't understand how I could forget how to play, but Lola reasoned to him in Tagalog. I knew she was saying something like, "Josh is telling the truth. If you don't play the piano for a while, it's easy to forget how to play."
And I also saw that Lolo can be playful. One night, when we were sightseeing in Bohol (Lolo's island of birth), we rode a ferry down a river. Near the end of the trip, the ferry stopped by a dock to watch about 40 Filipinas and some boys with ukeleles sing songs and dance. At one point, a woman invited people to come on the platform to give donations and pose for pictures.
"Josh, you go now," Lolo told me.
"No way."
So Lolo got up and walked off the ferry onto the deck, dancing to the donations box, and then, out of nowhere, picked up a huge stick and began pounding it into a dirt pit along with the other women.
22.6.09
Now it's summertime
Summer has been good so far. It's been about four weeks since school got out, and the days have been full like a slice of lemon in a glass of ice water. I've been working part time with PLNU's Marketing and Creative Services, which tells the university's story through publications like The Viewpoint alumni magazine. I have enjoyed working with the people there--I feel so lucky to have this job!
My dad and I have been carpooling to work, since his workplace is on the way to Point Loma. It's been nice talking with him in the car. It's kind of like the beginning of freshman year, when my dad would drive me to school. Those days were so precious, exploring the newness of college.
On my way to work, I often listen to 100.1, the Chrisian radio station. I used to be so critical of Christian songs on the radio, finding fault in a cliche phrase or a predictable chord progression. But now I appreciate Christian songs on the radio. They reveal the body of Christ ministering to the body of Christ through music. And there are some really good songs. There's one in particular, "Wait and See" by Brandon Heath, which is well written and encourages me that God has a plan for me, that he hasn't forgotten me.
I need to hear that. I want God to use me, I want my life to be meaningful. And while I find fulfillment in the relationships I'm in, mostly among family and church family, I am compelled into the future by hopefully discovering something that's not yet here, the good work he has prepared for me to do. I wonder what that work is.
In the meantime, my family's getting ready for our trip to Quezon City, the Philippines. My mom and I leave this Friday, my dad and brother leave three days later, and we return July 11. I'm looking forward to testing my patience on the 17-hour plane flight; it will be a good time to think, read, and write (at least for the first hour or so). Also, I'm expecting to be changed by the trip, seeing what life's like in the Philippines. And I'm most excited about celebrating my Lolo and Lola's 50th year anniversary.
A couple years ago, my Lolo wrote a letter to me saying he and Lola hope to live long enough to celebrate this day with all of our family, including my cousins in Torrance. And now the special day is less than two weeks away. We will all stay in my grandparents' house, and when we're not celebrating, we may visit places that are important to my parents.
I'm thankful God provided the money for travel expenses. Until Friday, I'll need to work a little, tidy up my room, and pack up. And now I need to sleep.
My dad and I have been carpooling to work, since his workplace is on the way to Point Loma. It's been nice talking with him in the car. It's kind of like the beginning of freshman year, when my dad would drive me to school. Those days were so precious, exploring the newness of college.
On my way to work, I often listen to 100.1, the Chrisian radio station. I used to be so critical of Christian songs on the radio, finding fault in a cliche phrase or a predictable chord progression. But now I appreciate Christian songs on the radio. They reveal the body of Christ ministering to the body of Christ through music. And there are some really good songs. There's one in particular, "Wait and See" by Brandon Heath, which is well written and encourages me that God has a plan for me, that he hasn't forgotten me.
I need to hear that. I want God to use me, I want my life to be meaningful. And while I find fulfillment in the relationships I'm in, mostly among family and church family, I am compelled into the future by hopefully discovering something that's not yet here, the good work he has prepared for me to do. I wonder what that work is.
In the meantime, my family's getting ready for our trip to Quezon City, the Philippines. My mom and I leave this Friday, my dad and brother leave three days later, and we return July 11. I'm looking forward to testing my patience on the 17-hour plane flight; it will be a good time to think, read, and write (at least for the first hour or so). Also, I'm expecting to be changed by the trip, seeing what life's like in the Philippines. And I'm most excited about celebrating my Lolo and Lola's 50th year anniversary.
A couple years ago, my Lolo wrote a letter to me saying he and Lola hope to live long enough to celebrate this day with all of our family, including my cousins in Torrance. And now the special day is less than two weeks away. We will all stay in my grandparents' house, and when we're not celebrating, we may visit places that are important to my parents.
I'm thankful God provided the money for travel expenses. Until Friday, I'll need to work a little, tidy up my room, and pack up. And now I need to sleep.
14.6.09
Beautiful Day
See the world in green and blue
City Heights in front of you
See the rooftops under the clouds
See the midnight clearing the streets out
See Tijuana sparkle at night
La Mesa mountains at first light
See the bird with a leaf in her mouth
After the flood, all the colors came out
It was a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It was a beautiful day
City Heights in front of you
See the rooftops under the clouds
See the midnight clearing the streets out
See Tijuana sparkle at night
La Mesa mountains at first light
See the bird with a leaf in her mouth
After the flood, all the colors came out
It was a beautiful day
Don't let it get away
It was a beautiful day
6.6.09
The Same Sand
The sand is caught between our feet,
the same sand that glowed gray beneath
the breath of the moon,
which lullabied the Hotel Del to bed
and cast a starry net into the sea.
the same sand that glowed gray beneath
the breath of the moon,
which lullabied the Hotel Del to bed
and cast a starry net into the sea.
3.6.09
June 2
That was no ordinary quesadilla.
It was prepared by the chefs at El Torito,
and had the grease and guacamole, yes,
and eating it was still a good idea;
but friendship was the spice that made it sweet. Oh,
how I love being a birthday guest!
It was prepared by the chefs at El Torito,
and had the grease and guacamole, yes,
and eating it was still a good idea;
but friendship was the spice that made it sweet. Oh,
how I love being a birthday guest!
11.5.09
A tack
My words are made of nails, pins, and plastic swords.
Listen, but you may be pierced or torn,
'cause inside, even I feel pressed back
between a wall
and a tack.
Listen, but you may be pierced or torn,
'cause inside, even I feel pressed back
between a wall
and a tack.
5.5.09
The Opossum
This is the story of the opossum that lived. Late tonight I was walking down the road to Wiley Hall. While passing by Finch, I saw the silhouettes of Jackie Armstrong and Andy staring into the bushes across the road.
"Just keep walking," Jackie said to me. I kept walking and noticed, in the ice plants and bushes to my right, a creature the size of a small, thin fooball. Its white fur was illuminated in the descending moon and the lamppost lights from nearby parking lots.
"He was hit by a car," Jackie said. I stepped away and the opossum stumbled onto the street, which was streaked in two places with what could have been oil, except for one spot where flesh seemed to bubble like small chunks of cranberry sauce.
The opossum slouched a few paces, slumped to its left side, hesitated, stepped forward, and sank again. "It looks like his rear left leg was dislocated from its socket," Andy said.
The headlights of a van approached; Jackie stood in front of the opossum and I raised my hand. A guy stepped out of the passenger's side and immediately knelt beside the opossum. The van veered out of sight. The guy took off his sandal and used it to nudge the back of the opossum, which wouldn't move.
"You better stay away," Andy told the guy, "you don't know if he might go crazy. If he bites you, you could get an infection worse than the swine flu. . . just kidding."
But the guy started petting the opossum, which turned its head sideways a couple times. "He's giving up," the guy said when the opossum still wouldn't move. "Most possums wouldn't let you touch them like this."
"Think we should put him out of his misery?" Andy asked.
"Is there a 24-hour public safety, where we could get a shovel?" the guy asked.
Although I didn't say so, I didn't favor killing the opposum. Maybe it could live, even without a functioning leg. I'm never sure what to do when it comes to putting an animal out of its misery.
I hesitated stepping on a beetle a couple weeks ago. It was afternoon, and I was walking up the hill by Hendricks which overlooks the field, and I noticed a beetle, half of its shiny black body pushed thin to the sidewalk and the other half wriggling. I decided there was no way it would live anything close to the life it was intended to live, so I closed my eyes and stepped on it, and then with a piece of paper picked up its still body and slid it onto the dirt on the other side of the chain-link fence. Although I was unsure if killing it was the right thing to do, I felt afterwards that maybe it could have been right.
But tonight seemed a different circumstance. For a few minutes, the opossum stood on the street staring out into the ocean, a scarlet narrow triangle slashed through its left cheek and ink black eyes, and then it began hobbling again, back into the bushes. As the opossum climbed over the crimson curb and onto the mulch, the guy put on his sandal and walked away. After I looked aside and back again, the opossum was nestled where two thick branches meet.
"Look, it's in the tree," Jackie said.
Then it began pulling itself up the branches, higher and higher until I could no longer see it.
"Think it'll be alright?" I asked.
"It looks like he'll be good," Andy said.
"He just needs some time to recuperate," Jackie said. "Like have you seen those soccer players when they injure their legs?" She held her knee as though it were broken. "They rest for a little while and then they get up again and score some goals."
Then she looked up in the tree. "Just don't get back onto the street, guy."
"Just keep walking," Jackie said to me. I kept walking and noticed, in the ice plants and bushes to my right, a creature the size of a small, thin fooball. Its white fur was illuminated in the descending moon and the lamppost lights from nearby parking lots.
"He was hit by a car," Jackie said. I stepped away and the opossum stumbled onto the street, which was streaked in two places with what could have been oil, except for one spot where flesh seemed to bubble like small chunks of cranberry sauce.
The opossum slouched a few paces, slumped to its left side, hesitated, stepped forward, and sank again. "It looks like his rear left leg was dislocated from its socket," Andy said.
The headlights of a van approached; Jackie stood in front of the opossum and I raised my hand. A guy stepped out of the passenger's side and immediately knelt beside the opossum. The van veered out of sight. The guy took off his sandal and used it to nudge the back of the opossum, which wouldn't move.
"You better stay away," Andy told the guy, "you don't know if he might go crazy. If he bites you, you could get an infection worse than the swine flu. . . just kidding."
But the guy started petting the opossum, which turned its head sideways a couple times. "He's giving up," the guy said when the opossum still wouldn't move. "Most possums wouldn't let you touch them like this."
"Think we should put him out of his misery?" Andy asked.
"Is there a 24-hour public safety, where we could get a shovel?" the guy asked.
Although I didn't say so, I didn't favor killing the opposum. Maybe it could live, even without a functioning leg. I'm never sure what to do when it comes to putting an animal out of its misery.
I hesitated stepping on a beetle a couple weeks ago. It was afternoon, and I was walking up the hill by Hendricks which overlooks the field, and I noticed a beetle, half of its shiny black body pushed thin to the sidewalk and the other half wriggling. I decided there was no way it would live anything close to the life it was intended to live, so I closed my eyes and stepped on it, and then with a piece of paper picked up its still body and slid it onto the dirt on the other side of the chain-link fence. Although I was unsure if killing it was the right thing to do, I felt afterwards that maybe it could have been right.
But tonight seemed a different circumstance. For a few minutes, the opossum stood on the street staring out into the ocean, a scarlet narrow triangle slashed through its left cheek and ink black eyes, and then it began hobbling again, back into the bushes. As the opossum climbed over the crimson curb and onto the mulch, the guy put on his sandal and walked away. After I looked aside and back again, the opossum was nestled where two thick branches meet.
"Look, it's in the tree," Jackie said.
Then it began pulling itself up the branches, higher and higher until I could no longer see it.
"Think it'll be alright?" I asked.
"It looks like he'll be good," Andy said.
"He just needs some time to recuperate," Jackie said. "Like have you seen those soccer players when they injure their legs?" She held her knee as though it were broken. "They rest for a little while and then they get up again and score some goals."
Then she looked up in the tree. "Just don't get back onto the street, guy."
23.4.09
Some questions I have
(Excuse the sloppiness.)
Should it be our goal, as Christians, to relieve the suffering (death, genocide, disease, loneliness, violence) of the world? Or should our primary goal be obedience to Christ?
Doesn't Christ tell us to love one another, to take care of the stranger, visit the sick and imprisoned? What is it that God desires us to do?
Sometimes I get so caught thinking that he desires that I read the Bible more and pray more. And personal devotion to God is important. But Micah says, "This is what the Lord requires of you, that you do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God."
But I don't want to get so caught into issues of social justice that I forget the importance of being part of a local congregation--that is important, right? In Acts, the believers were together, breaking bread, praying, preaching, teaching, and it was during their time together that the Holy Spirit would move among them and use them to do mighty things, such as heal the sick, cast out demons in the name of Jesus.
Why isn't the Holy Spirit using the church today to do these things? I don't hear too many reports of people giving sight to the blind in the name of Jesus. But I still believe that God is using his church here in San Diego. Just because we don't see physical miracles taking place doesn't mean the Holy Spirit is not working through us at Southeast, right?
How is God working through us? What is God doing in my life? On Palm Sunday, I told Pastor Steve I wanted to see, know, follow Jesus, and he said that God hears my prayer and will continue to reveal where Jesus is at work in my life. Where is he at work in my life? In my writing? In music? Creative expression? In youth group? In all these things? Does he want me to hold them, bring them all together somehow?
And what about the suffering of the world? Today I was in a conversation with some people at lunch, and I told this girl who was overwhelmed by the world's problems that we should be faithful in our local churches. Is this right? If churches were faithful to God's commands--from "Love one another" to "Love your enemies" to "Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders, making the most out of every opportunity" to "Go and make disciples of all nations, teaching them the things I have commanded you and baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit"--would that help the world? Can we say that many of the world's calamaties were started by good intentioned people, Christians even, who tried to do things on their own, who tried to save the world--but didn't use wisdom or understanding, and weren't faithful in their local churches? I don't have any examples of this, I've just heard people talk about it. Or maybe many of the world's problems were caused by people who used Christianity for selfish gain.
But maybe obeying God's commands is the best thing we Christians can do in both helping the world and serving Christ. And has not God already been at work saving, rescuing, redeeming, restoring (each of these words mean slightly different things to me) the world through Jesus? "God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." It's not our job to save the world, but to participate in God's work, in God's kingdom, trusting that he will redeem the world through us.
And sometimes I wonder, is it God's purpose to redeem the world? Or just save us from our sins? In Acts, I don't hear the disciples talking about restoring creation or ending wars, but that people repent and receive the forgiveness of sins in Christ Jesus, who was crucified and raised to life. But then I think about the Easter sermon, and how Jesus was raised to life in his body, and he said "Peace." And this resurrection, this peace, is a fullness--not just a cleansing of our souls from sins, although forgiveness of sins is redemption, but bringing about the fullness of restoration to all parts of our lives.
And I remember what Paul says in Romans 8: "The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." So the creation is waiting to be set free from decay, from death--the curse of sin, which has been removed, perhaps in the forgiveness of sins?--and brought into the freedom of the children of God. What is that freedom? Later, Paul says that we "groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies." So our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies, sounds a lot like Jesus' resurrected body. Perhaps that is our goal, to be like Christ--not just in character, but in our bodies, to be resurrected just as he was. And I assume that all creation will one day be resurrected. "I saw a new heavens and a new earth."
This sounds so good, almost too good to be true, and it is this story that inspires me to keep believing. But sometimes I wonder if I really believe in Jesus. Or if I just practice Christianity, believe in Jesus, because these are rules I was told to follow. Still, Kierkegaard said that Christ doesn't want believers; he wants followers. Perhaps I can follow Jesus even when I don't quite believe in him yet, or fully, and in following him, I develop faith.
I think that if you want to know what someone believes, look at how they live. What do they do? What do they say? How do they treat others? So maybe I do believe in Jesus if I follow his commands, even if I doubt.
I also think that our lifestyle influences our beliefs. I used to think that our beliefs influence our lifestyle, our actions, our words, and to some extent maybe they do--or at least, maybe they cause us to stop and think about what we're doing. But I think generally we live a certain way and then try to justify it by adjusting our beliefs, our worldview.
For instance, if someone practices Christianity but wasn't raised to go to church, or have had bad experiences in churches, they try to justify an individualistic faith, one that doesn't require them to share life with other believers/followers. Or if someone goes to a church that prohibits musical instruments in worship to God, that person will view the Bible through those lens, and thus develop a belief and interpretation of the Bible that prohibits the use of instruments.
But then, let's say, they start going to a church that uses instruments. If they trust that this new church is just as valid in the body of Christ as their first church, they will look at the Bible differently, and then change their beliefs concerning the use of musical instruments.
So is God more concerned about how we live rather than what we believe? Yet, two people may do the very same thing but believe differently. And I believe this does make a difference in the long run. If I read the Bible because I think God will be angry at me if I don't, then eventually I'll wear out, or at least I'll have a strange view of God. And this will probably affect my relationships with others, too. Maybe I'll be judgmental towards those who don't wake up early to read their Bible, and I'll consider them less of a Christian than myself--an attitude I do not think Jesus would like. But someone else could read the Bible because they want to hear from God, or because they consider it a discipline they need, like eating. So they will continually be hungry. I give these examples to say that perhaps it does matter what we believe, because eventually our beliefs will translate into actions.
So I guess belief and practice go together. They influence each other. So this post, maybe, is worthwhile, because it's important to discover what we believe, what we don't believe, and what questions we ask.
Should it be our goal, as Christians, to relieve the suffering (death, genocide, disease, loneliness, violence) of the world? Or should our primary goal be obedience to Christ?
Doesn't Christ tell us to love one another, to take care of the stranger, visit the sick and imprisoned? What is it that God desires us to do?
Sometimes I get so caught thinking that he desires that I read the Bible more and pray more. And personal devotion to God is important. But Micah says, "This is what the Lord requires of you, that you do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God."
But I don't want to get so caught into issues of social justice that I forget the importance of being part of a local congregation--that is important, right? In Acts, the believers were together, breaking bread, praying, preaching, teaching, and it was during their time together that the Holy Spirit would move among them and use them to do mighty things, such as heal the sick, cast out demons in the name of Jesus.
Why isn't the Holy Spirit using the church today to do these things? I don't hear too many reports of people giving sight to the blind in the name of Jesus. But I still believe that God is using his church here in San Diego. Just because we don't see physical miracles taking place doesn't mean the Holy Spirit is not working through us at Southeast, right?
How is God working through us? What is God doing in my life? On Palm Sunday, I told Pastor Steve I wanted to see, know, follow Jesus, and he said that God hears my prayer and will continue to reveal where Jesus is at work in my life. Where is he at work in my life? In my writing? In music? Creative expression? In youth group? In all these things? Does he want me to hold them, bring them all together somehow?
And what about the suffering of the world? Today I was in a conversation with some people at lunch, and I told this girl who was overwhelmed by the world's problems that we should be faithful in our local churches. Is this right? If churches were faithful to God's commands--from "Love one another" to "Love your enemies" to "Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders, making the most out of every opportunity" to "Go and make disciples of all nations, teaching them the things I have commanded you and baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit"--would that help the world? Can we say that many of the world's calamaties were started by good intentioned people, Christians even, who tried to do things on their own, who tried to save the world--but didn't use wisdom or understanding, and weren't faithful in their local churches? I don't have any examples of this, I've just heard people talk about it. Or maybe many of the world's problems were caused by people who used Christianity for selfish gain.
But maybe obeying God's commands is the best thing we Christians can do in both helping the world and serving Christ. And has not God already been at work saving, rescuing, redeeming, restoring (each of these words mean slightly different things to me) the world through Jesus? "God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." It's not our job to save the world, but to participate in God's work, in God's kingdom, trusting that he will redeem the world through us.
And sometimes I wonder, is it God's purpose to redeem the world? Or just save us from our sins? In Acts, I don't hear the disciples talking about restoring creation or ending wars, but that people repent and receive the forgiveness of sins in Christ Jesus, who was crucified and raised to life. But then I think about the Easter sermon, and how Jesus was raised to life in his body, and he said "Peace." And this resurrection, this peace, is a fullness--not just a cleansing of our souls from sins, although forgiveness of sins is redemption, but bringing about the fullness of restoration to all parts of our lives.
And I remember what Paul says in Romans 8: "The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God." So the creation is waiting to be set free from decay, from death--the curse of sin, which has been removed, perhaps in the forgiveness of sins?--and brought into the freedom of the children of God. What is that freedom? Later, Paul says that we "groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies." So our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies, sounds a lot like Jesus' resurrected body. Perhaps that is our goal, to be like Christ--not just in character, but in our bodies, to be resurrected just as he was. And I assume that all creation will one day be resurrected. "I saw a new heavens and a new earth."
This sounds so good, almost too good to be true, and it is this story that inspires me to keep believing. But sometimes I wonder if I really believe in Jesus. Or if I just practice Christianity, believe in Jesus, because these are rules I was told to follow. Still, Kierkegaard said that Christ doesn't want believers; he wants followers. Perhaps I can follow Jesus even when I don't quite believe in him yet, or fully, and in following him, I develop faith.
I think that if you want to know what someone believes, look at how they live. What do they do? What do they say? How do they treat others? So maybe I do believe in Jesus if I follow his commands, even if I doubt.
I also think that our lifestyle influences our beliefs. I used to think that our beliefs influence our lifestyle, our actions, our words, and to some extent maybe they do--or at least, maybe they cause us to stop and think about what we're doing. But I think generally we live a certain way and then try to justify it by adjusting our beliefs, our worldview.
For instance, if someone practices Christianity but wasn't raised to go to church, or have had bad experiences in churches, they try to justify an individualistic faith, one that doesn't require them to share life with other believers/followers. Or if someone goes to a church that prohibits musical instruments in worship to God, that person will view the Bible through those lens, and thus develop a belief and interpretation of the Bible that prohibits the use of instruments.
But then, let's say, they start going to a church that uses instruments. If they trust that this new church is just as valid in the body of Christ as their first church, they will look at the Bible differently, and then change their beliefs concerning the use of musical instruments.
So is God more concerned about how we live rather than what we believe? Yet, two people may do the very same thing but believe differently. And I believe this does make a difference in the long run. If I read the Bible because I think God will be angry at me if I don't, then eventually I'll wear out, or at least I'll have a strange view of God. And this will probably affect my relationships with others, too. Maybe I'll be judgmental towards those who don't wake up early to read their Bible, and I'll consider them less of a Christian than myself--an attitude I do not think Jesus would like. But someone else could read the Bible because they want to hear from God, or because they consider it a discipline they need, like eating. So they will continually be hungry. I give these examples to say that perhaps it does matter what we believe, because eventually our beliefs will translate into actions.
So I guess belief and practice go together. They influence each other. So this post, maybe, is worthwhile, because it's important to discover what we believe, what we don't believe, and what questions we ask.
13.4.09
A Whisper and a Kiss
A whisper was enough to bring your mind
back from the deep. And when you woke, I think
you wondered when or where you were. The shine
on steel from lights above the kitchen sink
and running water greeted your descent,
the supper ready. You saw the dimming light
outside, that extinguished sky that winter lent.
You went to bed again; I said, "Good night."
The moon this morning may have kissed my face,
for I awoke before the twilight spilled
to look for Jesus in this throbbing place.
I might have felt his feet. Was it his will
to wake us with a whisper and a kiss?
Lord, give me nothing else but this.
back from the deep. And when you woke, I think
you wondered when or where you were. The shine
on steel from lights above the kitchen sink
and running water greeted your descent,
the supper ready. You saw the dimming light
outside, that extinguished sky that winter lent.
You went to bed again; I said, "Good night."
The moon this morning may have kissed my face,
for I awoke before the twilight spilled
to look for Jesus in this throbbing place.
I might have felt his feet. Was it his will
to wake us with a whisper and a kiss?
Lord, give me nothing else but this.
20.3.09
Christian Hospitality
When my mother went down it was a stiff arm from hades
Life surprises and tears you like the southerly
She always welcomed the spring always welcomed the stranger
I don't see too many around like this
Oh no, thats what I'm looking for, yeah, what we're looking for
- from Midnight Oil's "In the Valley"
I thought of these lines tonight when my friend Dylan, who always does this on these kinds of days, texted me the words "Its spring tomorrow!" And I thought of the lyrics earlier today, when I listened to theologian Amy Oden lecture about welcoming the stranger.
"Is Christianity a welcoming faith?" she asked. "Who are our strangers? Is God a welcoming God?"
Yes, she said, God is a welcoming God, and it is because God has welcomed us into his life, into his family, that we Christians welcome others. The early Christians based their hospitality on the passage in Matthew 25 where Jesus says, "I was a stranger, and you welcomed me." The Christians welcomed the stranger because in the stranger, they found Jesus.
I've found myself welcoming different strangers these days. Today in Children's Literature we discussed our most recent book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I began reading the book about a month ago and have enjoyed it, looking forward to each time I would read it. But also each time, I would hesitate, sometimes for seconds, sometimes for minutes.
Growing up, I didn't hear supportive things about Harry Potter from loved ones, websites, and talk show hosts. Harry Potter was a threat to our faith because it dealt with magic and casting spells, which "God detests," I think someone said. (There are passages in the Bible that show God's disapproval of those actions.)
Today, Oden encouraged us to think of "new ideas as strangers, as guests--not necessarily to [let them] take up residence, but to invite them in for a conversation," and then to make a decision about them. Now that I've read Harry Potter, I see that while there are some questionable and objectionable elements, I also find good themes in the captivating story.
I wonder if it is possible to welcome Harry Potter like welcoming the stranger, the guest; just as we do not adopt every custom and belief from a guest, we should not necessarily model our lives on the students at Hogwarts. But we also should not shut our ears from their stories. We welcome them, we listen, the same way I think we should listen to people in conversation, even if they are not our brothers and sisters in the faith and even if they speak things we consider untruthful or contrary to our way of life. Would Jesus listen to the stranger, to J.K. Rowling? And could God speak to us through the stranger, even Rowling?
Oden also said that sometimes it's easier to love strangers who are very different from us--Muslims, for instance--than it is to love strangers who are close to us, such as members of our own family.
VIP Gospel Choir was asked to sing at Loma United's SOS event tonight. I went, and found myself in a situation similar to reading Harry Potter. There were things about the worship, the prayer, and the preaching that I welcomed and even agreed with, there were many things that I questioned, and there were some things that I inwardly shook my head at. Although the folks at SOS are my family in Christ, whereas Rowling (to my knowledge) is not, I found it more difficult to stay at the event than to complete Harry Potter.
Is that what it means to welcome the stranger? Is that in part what it means to love one another, to hear each other out, to dialogue and reason with each other--especially when we do not agree? What are the boundaries? Is there a time when we should walk away because the conversation is harming our faith? Would it have been better for my faith had I not stayed at SOS the entire night? Is it different for each person, like how some Christians in Corinth had a clean conscience when eating food offered to idols, and some Christians did not? Should some Christians enjoy the freedom they have to read Harry Potter, while other Christians abstain because reading the book will be a sin to them?
One of the speakers at SOS tonight argued against a certain theology. I think some of his passion came out of being hurt by others saying his own theology was wrong. I think it's important for Christians on both sides of this theological border (maybe it should be a gate, instead) to begin welcoming each other, talking to and listening to each other, reasoning with each other over the Scriptures, as Paul so often does in his epistles. I think in this case, welcoming each other begins the process of reconciling with each other. And we do this because we are ambassadors of reconciliation, participating in God's work of reconciling all things to himself through Jesus--including members of Christ's own body.
And here's a poem I wrote last year about waiting for spring.
"The Eve of Spring"
On the eve of Spring the forest quakes.
From heights the yellow flower buds are dropped,
the final rain before the world awakes.
The brow of winter now already breaks;
the song of baby birds cannot be stopped
on the eve of Spring. The forest quakes
like the sound the empty chapel makes
when the lofty lights have been shut off,
their final reign before the world awakes;
in Spring the light, warm and right, will rake
the nightly gathering of shadows caught
on the eve of Spring. The forest quakes
in hope that life has everything it takes
to make it to the promised dawn. If not,
the final reign before the world awakes
would drown us all into the deepest lake.
But hope knows that which fear cannot.
On the eve of Spring the forest quakes,
the final rain before the world awakes.
Life surprises and tears you like the southerly
She always welcomed the spring always welcomed the stranger
I don't see too many around like this
Oh no, thats what I'm looking for, yeah, what we're looking for
- from Midnight Oil's "In the Valley"
I thought of these lines tonight when my friend Dylan, who always does this on these kinds of days, texted me the words "Its spring tomorrow!" And I thought of the lyrics earlier today, when I listened to theologian Amy Oden lecture about welcoming the stranger.
"Is Christianity a welcoming faith?" she asked. "Who are our strangers? Is God a welcoming God?"
Yes, she said, God is a welcoming God, and it is because God has welcomed us into his life, into his family, that we Christians welcome others. The early Christians based their hospitality on the passage in Matthew 25 where Jesus says, "I was a stranger, and you welcomed me." The Christians welcomed the stranger because in the stranger, they found Jesus.
I've found myself welcoming different strangers these days. Today in Children's Literature we discussed our most recent book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I began reading the book about a month ago and have enjoyed it, looking forward to each time I would read it. But also each time, I would hesitate, sometimes for seconds, sometimes for minutes.
Growing up, I didn't hear supportive things about Harry Potter from loved ones, websites, and talk show hosts. Harry Potter was a threat to our faith because it dealt with magic and casting spells, which "God detests," I think someone said. (There are passages in the Bible that show God's disapproval of those actions.)
Today, Oden encouraged us to think of "new ideas as strangers, as guests--not necessarily to [let them] take up residence, but to invite them in for a conversation," and then to make a decision about them. Now that I've read Harry Potter, I see that while there are some questionable and objectionable elements, I also find good themes in the captivating story.
I wonder if it is possible to welcome Harry Potter like welcoming the stranger, the guest; just as we do not adopt every custom and belief from a guest, we should not necessarily model our lives on the students at Hogwarts. But we also should not shut our ears from their stories. We welcome them, we listen, the same way I think we should listen to people in conversation, even if they are not our brothers and sisters in the faith and even if they speak things we consider untruthful or contrary to our way of life. Would Jesus listen to the stranger, to J.K. Rowling? And could God speak to us through the stranger, even Rowling?
Oden also said that sometimes it's easier to love strangers who are very different from us--Muslims, for instance--than it is to love strangers who are close to us, such as members of our own family.
VIP Gospel Choir was asked to sing at Loma United's SOS event tonight. I went, and found myself in a situation similar to reading Harry Potter. There were things about the worship, the prayer, and the preaching that I welcomed and even agreed with, there were many things that I questioned, and there were some things that I inwardly shook my head at. Although the folks at SOS are my family in Christ, whereas Rowling (to my knowledge) is not, I found it more difficult to stay at the event than to complete Harry Potter.
Is that what it means to welcome the stranger? Is that in part what it means to love one another, to hear each other out, to dialogue and reason with each other--especially when we do not agree? What are the boundaries? Is there a time when we should walk away because the conversation is harming our faith? Would it have been better for my faith had I not stayed at SOS the entire night? Is it different for each person, like how some Christians in Corinth had a clean conscience when eating food offered to idols, and some Christians did not? Should some Christians enjoy the freedom they have to read Harry Potter, while other Christians abstain because reading the book will be a sin to them?
One of the speakers at SOS tonight argued against a certain theology. I think some of his passion came out of being hurt by others saying his own theology was wrong. I think it's important for Christians on both sides of this theological border (maybe it should be a gate, instead) to begin welcoming each other, talking to and listening to each other, reasoning with each other over the Scriptures, as Paul so often does in his epistles. I think in this case, welcoming each other begins the process of reconciling with each other. And we do this because we are ambassadors of reconciliation, participating in God's work of reconciling all things to himself through Jesus--including members of Christ's own body.
And here's a poem I wrote last year about waiting for spring.
"The Eve of Spring"
On the eve of Spring the forest quakes.
From heights the yellow flower buds are dropped,
the final rain before the world awakes.
The brow of winter now already breaks;
the song of baby birds cannot be stopped
on the eve of Spring. The forest quakes
like the sound the empty chapel makes
when the lofty lights have been shut off,
their final reign before the world awakes;
in Spring the light, warm and right, will rake
the nightly gathering of shadows caught
on the eve of Spring. The forest quakes
in hope that life has everything it takes
to make it to the promised dawn. If not,
the final reign before the world awakes
would drown us all into the deepest lake.
But hope knows that which fear cannot.
On the eve of Spring the forest quakes,
the final rain before the world awakes.
4.3.09
A bird like that
When a bird like that chirps,
the chirp rumbles through cracks in the wind
and bounces off tree trunks in a sphere,
in a world, a good world pressing in
and a bird like that keeps chirping
with other birds like that.
And after it sings, it swoops
down and upon another branch
and chirps and chirps again.
the chirp rumbles through cracks in the wind
and bounces off tree trunks in a sphere,
in a world, a good world pressing in
and a bird like that keeps chirping
with other birds like that.
And after it sings, it swoops
down and upon another branch
and chirps and chirps again.
15.2.09
When the world was made
Whenever I have time before I sleep, I try to read a book by Madeleine L'engle. Right now I'm on A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Throughout the story, L'engle describes the stars, galaxies, universe as singers of an ancient harmony.
"The great unicorn flung himself into the wind and they were soaring among the stars, part of the dance, part of the harmony. As each flaming sun turned on its axis, a singing came from the friction in the way a finger moved around the rim of a crystal goblet will make a singing, and the song varies in pitch and tone from glass to glass. "But this song was exquisite as no song from crystal or wood or brass can be. The blending of melody and harmony was so perfect that it almost made Charles Wallace relax his hold on the unicorn's mane."This morning, I was thinking about that, and I wondered, How can the spheres make music if there is no matter in space--if space is a vacuum? I remembered my 7th grade science teacher telling the class that "Star Wars" had it wrong in all the space scenes where X-wings fire lasers at tie fighters and you can hear the blasts. "In space, there's no sound," Mrs. Q said, "because in space, there's no matter." Sound can travel only through matter. Remembering that, I was afraid L'engle might be wrong. But then I thought about light, and how it "exhibits properties of both waves and particles (photons)" (wikipedia). If light consists, in part, of particles, then that means it is part matter, which means maybe sound can and does travel through space--through light. Hours later, my roommate Jonathan and I drove up to the Caf. As the sunlight warmed one side of my face, I wondered if maybe L'engle was right, and if the sun was singing a song even now. What if there's music all around us, and we just don't quite hear it yet? What if composing or listening to music is not creating new music as much as discovering, uncovering the music that already plays and fills the universe the way light fills the universe? Last night, on our way to church, Jeff told me about the star Betelgeuce (from the constellation Orion) and how it could explode at any moment. Or maybe it has already exploded, but the light of the explosion hasn't arrived yet. He said if the light were to arrive, we would be able to see the explosion even during the day, and it would light up the night. I wonder if an explosion would make music too, or would a star's death be the tragic end of a singer? Will God resurrect stars like he will fallen earth? One of my favorite songs we sing in Point Loma Singers is "The Lord is the Everlasting God," based on Isaiah 40.
"Lift up your eyes and see Who created these? God, who brings out the host and numbers them calling them all by name. Have you not heard? Have you not seen?"It's amazing to think that God has named each star. I wonder what his names for them are. And God knows us by name, too. I'm still wondering what that means. Something I've been learning (I hope) is that it's good to wonder about God. That it's good not to comprehend him. It's arrogant to think I can. I've tried to define him, to speak for him to myself, to wrap my mind around him, and in the process, I've tricked myself into thinking I know him the way I might know HTML. But God is not a code. God is a creator, a giver of life, a redeemer. Even these definitions, these words are probably sterile. Dr. Nelson once spoke in department chapel from the parable of the prodigal son. "Maybe the point," he said, "is not to try to find God as much as to be found by God." Maybe we shouldn't try to name God as much as let God name us; although we know God through Jesus, maybe it is also important to be known more fully by God. There's a song by Switchfoot called "The Economy of Mercy." The ending of the song alludes to the end of the Book of Job, when God finally answers Job's questions with a question: "Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?" Here's the end of the song:
"Where was I when the world was made? / Where was I when the world was made? / I'm lost without You here / Yes, I'm lost without You near me / I'm lost without You here / You knew my name when the world was made."
10.2.09
Breakfast
This pear
came from some tree
all the way down in Chile.
Some boat came all the way up
to bring it to me.
Thank you for the pear,
thank you for the tree,
thank you for the boat from Chile,
and thank you, most importantly,
for me.
came from some tree
all the way down in Chile.
Some boat came all the way up
to bring it to me.
Thank you for the pear,
thank you for the tree,
thank you for the boat from Chile,
and thank you, most importantly,
for me.
The Wind Bends
The wind bends doors, and peels back the sea;
The wind bends shadow branches into other trees;
The wind bends day into the arctic night;
But as far as I've seen, it doesn't bend light.
The wind bends shadow branches into other trees;
The wind bends day into the arctic night;
But as far as I've seen, it doesn't bend light.
23.1.09
I Saw the Trees
by Alex Limage and Josh Seligman
I saw the trees and thought of you
I watched the sunlight stumble through
Casting light upon the ground
I saw the footprints of this town
Reminding me I'm not alone,
the imprints of another soul I've never known,
I've never known.
A dream is hard to leave behind
But I cannot make up my mind
'Cause hope is always holding on
I never thought I'd sing these songs
But now I sing them all the time,
the harmonies of a song I've always known,
I've always known
Reminding me I'm not alone
The imprints of another soul I've never known,
I've never known.
And now I sing them all the time
The harmony of a song I've always known,
I've always known.
Our time is coming to an end
And my regrets I will suspend
Behind the trees the sun will bend
I watch my shadows reach behind
to hold the hands I never thought I'd ever hold,
I'd ever hold.
I saw the trees and thought of you.
I saw the trees and thought of you
I watched the sunlight stumble through
Casting light upon the ground
I saw the footprints of this town
Reminding me I'm not alone,
the imprints of another soul I've never known,
I've never known.
A dream is hard to leave behind
But I cannot make up my mind
'Cause hope is always holding on
I never thought I'd sing these songs
But now I sing them all the time,
the harmonies of a song I've always known,
I've always known
Reminding me I'm not alone
The imprints of another soul I've never known,
I've never known.
And now I sing them all the time
The harmony of a song I've always known,
I've always known.
Our time is coming to an end
And my regrets I will suspend
Behind the trees the sun will bend
I watch my shadows reach behind
to hold the hands I never thought I'd ever hold,
I'd ever hold.
I saw the trees and thought of you.
17.1.09
The law and prospering
Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
- Psalm 1:1-3
But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it--he will be blessed in what he does.
- James 1:25
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
- Psalm 1:1-3
But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it--he will be blessed in what he does.
- James 1:25
9.1.09
Gifts
Last night, I went to the Redemption House by the church to hang out with friends. We watched TV, played Bingo, and chilled. While chilling, Kelsey asked me if I made anything for my mom this Christmas. I told her that I gave my mom a good book, but I regretted not giving my mom something homemade. Kelsey said that even then, the book was a good gift because it was meaningful to my mom.
Lately I've been thinking about gifts. What am I doing with the gifts I have been given?
For eight weeks this past summer, ten students and I lived in City Heights, a community in San Diego, where we took three classes, interned at various organizations, and lived together. There are many stories I could tell about Urban Term, but lately what has been on my mind has been our final day.
On that day, the eleven of us, with Dr. Modesto, went to the house of Dr. Gates, or Jamie. We ate snacks and watched "Babette's Feast," a movie in which a guest prepares a feast for her hosts, who are members of a rigid religious sect. At first, the hosts are cautious; they do not commonly drink or eat the fine wine and rich meats and desserts they see before them. But at the end of the evening, they realize that they have been blessed by Babette's feast.
After the movie, Jamie led us in a discussion wrapping up Urban Term. He told us that the Urban Term faculty didn't want us to be heroes, saving the world. He also warned us of becoming "limousine liberals," or people who speak against the ills of a consumerist society, for instance, while driving away in fancy cars and not truly caring for the environment or other people.
During Urban Term, none of us drove limousines. Some students had cars, and most of us rode bikes and buses around the city. But I could understand, at least a little, about trying to be a hero. Upon entering Urban Term, I had the mindset that we--that I--would bring hope and light into the neighborhood. Urban Term, though, was not only about giving, but receiving. We were, after all, guests.
One Thursday, someone knocked on our door. It was B.D., a tattoo artist. Earlier, one of our fellow students had met him on the bus, and this day, he asked Alex and me if we were interested in getting tattooes. We said no, but I think B.D. wanted more than customers. He wanted information.
"We're college students," I said, "and we're taking summer school classes. Part of what we're doing is learning a history of San Diego. A few weeks ago, we went to Sea World, and then to Chicano Park, and compared the two places."
"You went to Chicano Park? And what did you see in those murals?"
"The murals depicted. . . a story. One of the murals told a creation story, and--"
"The murals don't depict a story," he interrupted, "but a struggle."
B.D. taught me that this city had a story--many stories--going back to before it was a part of the United States. B.D. explained how many of the people on this block have lived here for generations, and if we want to learn a history of San Diego, we should talk to them. Offering to teach us, he invited us to his house.
I learned then that we were guests among guests in City Heights, in San Diego. It makes me wonder, maybe we are all guests. God created the world, and he is the host, inviting us to take care of the garden. What are we doing with the garden? How are we receiving it?
How are we receiving other gifts God gives us?
I was lent a gift from two other neighbors, Tom and Larry. It was Maddie W's birthday, and I volunteered to bake her a surprise cake. So, I went to the corner market and bought cake mix. On my way home, I bumped into Tom and Larry, who were painting over a garbage can that had been tagged. They offered me some gloves and a brush.
"I wish I could, but I can't," I said. "Today is one of my fellow students' birthdays, and I'm baking them a cake."
"What kind of cake?"
I showed Tom the red cardboard box.
"Do you have a cylinder pan?" Tom asked.
"No. What's that?"
Apparently one needs a cylinder pan for baking angel food cake.
Tom drove me to his house and let me borrow their pan. I verbally thanked Tom, and silently thanked God for this unexpected gift. Eventually the cake was baked, and Al decorated it with whip cream and strawberries while Angela pretended we were late to dinner because of traffic. I had not felt so accomplished and satisfied in a long time. I was able to give because someone else had given to me. I returned the pan to Tom a couple days later.
We always had enough during Urban Term. We were given $8 per person per day, and for a couple weeks the budget was reduced to $3. At first, I thought it would be difficult to survive on these rations, but even $3 a day was an abundance. Sharing money saves money, and it also makes for creative, fresh meals.
That's not to say we were never hungry. One evening, Al and I opened the fridge to look for some food and all we could find was a bag of rotten baby carrots, a half jug of milk, salsa, and the plastic casing of a chocolate mousse cake, without the cake.
Still, people shared food with us. One day, Roy, who works at Mid-City Church of the Nazarene, where our classes were held, gave us plastic bags full of food. Several times a week, the church gives food at no charge to anyone who comes by, and that day, the church had leftovers.
As I hooked the plastic bags full of yogurt, pre-made sandwiches, and bananas on my bike handles, I asked Roy, "Is there anyone in the neighborhood we could give this to?" I felt that surely, others needed it more than we.
Roy seemed slightly offended. "No, we don't give food out door to door. And this food is for you guys." I then recognized the need to receive every gift with thanksgiving. It was rude of me not to receive the food because Roy wanted to bless us with it.
How am I receiving the gifts I am given?
Like Babette's hosts, we have been blessed by God with many gifts, including the opportunity to attend a university. "One of the ways we can keep from having a limousine liberal attitude," Jamie said on that final day of Urban Term, "is by realizing that all these good things we have are gifts from God."
After our discussion, we were given handmade chalices, books, and small journals. We also took Communion together, followed by a meal.
Living in community those eight weeks was not always easy. But it was good. It was a gift. All good things come from God, and I am blessed with many good things: health, family, friends, abilities, grace, forgiveness, hope. And none of these are possible without the ultimate gift--Jesus--whom God gave to the world because God loved the world. God still loves the world, and he offers his Son and the gifts that come from his Son to all of us. "To all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." May I receive God's gifts in a manner that pleases him.
Lately I've been thinking about gifts. What am I doing with the gifts I have been given?
For eight weeks this past summer, ten students and I lived in City Heights, a community in San Diego, where we took three classes, interned at various organizations, and lived together. There are many stories I could tell about Urban Term, but lately what has been on my mind has been our final day.
On that day, the eleven of us, with Dr. Modesto, went to the house of Dr. Gates, or Jamie. We ate snacks and watched "Babette's Feast," a movie in which a guest prepares a feast for her hosts, who are members of a rigid religious sect. At first, the hosts are cautious; they do not commonly drink or eat the fine wine and rich meats and desserts they see before them. But at the end of the evening, they realize that they have been blessed by Babette's feast.
After the movie, Jamie led us in a discussion wrapping up Urban Term. He told us that the Urban Term faculty didn't want us to be heroes, saving the world. He also warned us of becoming "limousine liberals," or people who speak against the ills of a consumerist society, for instance, while driving away in fancy cars and not truly caring for the environment or other people.
During Urban Term, none of us drove limousines. Some students had cars, and most of us rode bikes and buses around the city. But I could understand, at least a little, about trying to be a hero. Upon entering Urban Term, I had the mindset that we--that I--would bring hope and light into the neighborhood. Urban Term, though, was not only about giving, but receiving. We were, after all, guests.
One Thursday, someone knocked on our door. It was B.D., a tattoo artist. Earlier, one of our fellow students had met him on the bus, and this day, he asked Alex and me if we were interested in getting tattooes. We said no, but I think B.D. wanted more than customers. He wanted information.
"We're college students," I said, "and we're taking summer school classes. Part of what we're doing is learning a history of San Diego. A few weeks ago, we went to Sea World, and then to Chicano Park, and compared the two places."
"You went to Chicano Park? And what did you see in those murals?"
"The murals depicted. . . a story. One of the murals told a creation story, and--"
"The murals don't depict a story," he interrupted, "but a struggle."
B.D. taught me that this city had a story--many stories--going back to before it was a part of the United States. B.D. explained how many of the people on this block have lived here for generations, and if we want to learn a history of San Diego, we should talk to them. Offering to teach us, he invited us to his house.
I learned then that we were guests among guests in City Heights, in San Diego. It makes me wonder, maybe we are all guests. God created the world, and he is the host, inviting us to take care of the garden. What are we doing with the garden? How are we receiving it?
How are we receiving other gifts God gives us?
I was lent a gift from two other neighbors, Tom and Larry. It was Maddie W's birthday, and I volunteered to bake her a surprise cake. So, I went to the corner market and bought cake mix. On my way home, I bumped into Tom and Larry, who were painting over a garbage can that had been tagged. They offered me some gloves and a brush.
"I wish I could, but I can't," I said. "Today is one of my fellow students' birthdays, and I'm baking them a cake."
"What kind of cake?"
I showed Tom the red cardboard box.
"Do you have a cylinder pan?" Tom asked.
"No. What's that?"
Apparently one needs a cylinder pan for baking angel food cake.
Tom drove me to his house and let me borrow their pan. I verbally thanked Tom, and silently thanked God for this unexpected gift. Eventually the cake was baked, and Al decorated it with whip cream and strawberries while Angela pretended we were late to dinner because of traffic. I had not felt so accomplished and satisfied in a long time. I was able to give because someone else had given to me. I returned the pan to Tom a couple days later.
We always had enough during Urban Term. We were given $8 per person per day, and for a couple weeks the budget was reduced to $3. At first, I thought it would be difficult to survive on these rations, but even $3 a day was an abundance. Sharing money saves money, and it also makes for creative, fresh meals.
That's not to say we were never hungry. One evening, Al and I opened the fridge to look for some food and all we could find was a bag of rotten baby carrots, a half jug of milk, salsa, and the plastic casing of a chocolate mousse cake, without the cake.
Still, people shared food with us. One day, Roy, who works at Mid-City Church of the Nazarene, where our classes were held, gave us plastic bags full of food. Several times a week, the church gives food at no charge to anyone who comes by, and that day, the church had leftovers.
As I hooked the plastic bags full of yogurt, pre-made sandwiches, and bananas on my bike handles, I asked Roy, "Is there anyone in the neighborhood we could give this to?" I felt that surely, others needed it more than we.
Roy seemed slightly offended. "No, we don't give food out door to door. And this food is for you guys." I then recognized the need to receive every gift with thanksgiving. It was rude of me not to receive the food because Roy wanted to bless us with it.
How am I receiving the gifts I am given?
Like Babette's hosts, we have been blessed by God with many gifts, including the opportunity to attend a university. "One of the ways we can keep from having a limousine liberal attitude," Jamie said on that final day of Urban Term, "is by realizing that all these good things we have are gifts from God."
After our discussion, we were given handmade chalices, books, and small journals. We also took Communion together, followed by a meal.
Living in community those eight weeks was not always easy. But it was good. It was a gift. All good things come from God, and I am blessed with many good things: health, family, friends, abilities, grace, forgiveness, hope. And none of these are possible without the ultimate gift--Jesus--whom God gave to the world because God loved the world. God still loves the world, and he offers his Son and the gifts that come from his Son to all of us. "To all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God." May I receive God's gifts in a manner that pleases him.
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