CONTEMPLATIVE SEEING

After bidding farewell to our guests, I knew my introverted wife needed space and time to decompress and recharge by being alone. Solitude and silence are her go-to spiritual disciplines. Thus, I needed to figure out how to rest and decompress in ways that would serve me, not expecting my wife’s involvement. I slept and exercised while maintaining my due diligence in a recently started spiritual direction course.

As part of my rest, I stumbled onto Netflix’s American Primeval limited series. I was promptly glued to it. The series is a gritty and brutal fictional depiction of the American West set in Utah during the 19th-century expansion era, sprinkled with some historical facts. Among other things, it highlights the multidimensional and complex conflicts between the Mormon religion, Native American peoples, the expanding and stretched-thin US government, and other pioneers and settlers, both opportunistic and desperate.

One of the unmistakable themes was the clash of how different peoples viewed and interpreted God. Both the Mormons and the Native American Indians fought, killed, and protected based on their views of God. (I’m trying not to spoil here.) It is not enough to say that the conflicts were about the Clash of Civilizations, more specifically, it was the poignant clash of peoples’ understanding of their Gods in their respective religions. Not being in their shoes in their times, I find myself appalled by their genuineness of blinded and misdirected unconsciousness. I agree with Richard Rohr, “The religious version of egocentricity is wanting to be right and in control.” While healthy and mature aspects of religions provide helpful and needy guidance to God, misguided religious fervor has harmed beyond doubt throughout history and with no shortage of current examples.

To put it differently, it came down to how they saw God which dictated their life’s responses and decisions. I am in the middle of the first module, Contemplative Prayer: A Way of Seeing. Cultivating how we see what we see, separating real from illusions, is at the heart of contemplative spirituality. Also, contemplative seeing is always immersed in grace and unconditional love, never under accusations, guilt, and shame. In this way, contemplative seeing is imitating and learning to see how Jesus sees, always with grace and compassion.

As part of my learning this week, I spent time meditating imaginatively on the passage of how Jesus called the first disciples at the Sea of Galilee. As I immersed myself in the account and was “seeing” imaginatively, I realized that seeing imaginatively sometimes aids “real” seeing, peeling off illusions. Below is my summary account of what I experienced.

I was looking at the vast sand under my feet (I imagined feeling it too) and out the sea where the horizon blends the sky and the sea into one, watching the gentle and lazy waves (this time) hitting the shore, observing the disciples interacting with Jesus. I watched the interaction in awe as “Something” gripped them as if they were under some sort of spell, left everything, and began to follow Jesus.

The next thing I see is Jesus walking towards me. The first thing I see is Jesus’ eyes. His soul-piercing and grace-filled eyes had already locked on mine as if he had been seeing me my whole life. My heart promptly melts, again as this is not the first time. He tells me, “Thank you for following me, son.” Speechless, my heart melts again because I had not expected to hear that from Jesus.

It is worth highlighting that when we see others, the first thing we see is the others’ eyes. I see the eyes looking back at me. My seeing and the other person’s seeing can be two different subjective experiences. I am subject to what I see based on how I see.

When I was guided to the section, imagining what Jesus would tell me and what I would tell Jesus, I was not prepared to hear Jesus thank me for following him. I am not 100% sure whether that was my wish driving my imagination, but I am sitting with what I thought I heard.

I did leave almost everything. Due to the firestorms in Southern California during the past week, I was forced to think of what I had left behind that I would need to claim (if given a chance). I could not think of anything. Before moving to Asia, we cleared most of our stuff (except for books and some random clothes and shoes). The most expensive item I own is my laptop, which is over 4 years old. This certainly does not justify Jesus’ words to me. But it is a reminder of our journey so far.

As I anticipate returning to the US for a few months, it will highlight our liminal status—home but not home. It will be a reminder to continue to fix my eyes on Jesus’ love-filled eyes, beckoning me to come home repeatedly.

OPPOSING REALITIES

Einstein, at the end of his life, supposedly had questioned, “Is the universe friendly?” While I do not fully grasp the context and ramification of what he meant by the question, a parallel question enters my mind, “Is God loving?” Both my calculating and contemplative mind concur (which never happens) that the answer is a true yes. Looking back, my life experiences tell me the answer to be a resounding yes. The key lies in looking back. However, it is also worth noting that sometimes while I was going through life’s most difficult and formidable experiences, I had a hard time thinking God is loving.

This past week has been hard and challenging as I hear and watch the reports of firestorms, which some firefighters likened to giant blowtorches fueled by hurricane force winds, raging and engulfing various sections of Southern California. What are no less than epic scenes from apocalyptic movies became real to the point where it is hard to separate the real from the surreal. It hit home when I saw and read that our house in Pasadena was near the Eaton Fire Zone. The firestorm spread less than a mile from our house, flanking the two nearby major streets east and west of our home. All our children had to evacuate with their three dogs and fled as far south as San Diego. Between my wife and I along with our children, we know at least a dozen families whose houses burnt down to the ground. I cannot and will never fathom what the loss is like.

While local, regional, and national authorities should have answers sooner rather than later, at the existential level, I, for one along with many, do not have answers. Nobody should have any answers to questions, “Is the universe friendly?” and “Is God loving?” At least not now. . .  Instead, we are supposed to live the questions. And live a life based on what is given and opened for us, not in a fatalistic way but with a trusting heart. Hasty and heady answers will only damage and worsen what is already diabolical. Having answers and being (and living) answers are two very different things. As we cannot handle the answers, I sense the invitation is to be brutally honest and wrestle with God. God expects and invites us not to shy away from asking life’s most tough questions.

On a more personal note, the fact that I am absent in my physical body from our children tears me apart. It is not merely whether our house is safe or not. It is about not being part of the process or the journey our children are currently facing. On the one hand, they are all mature adults, and they have the life tools to navigate this challenge well, even of this magnitude. Yet amid all the questions they are raising, burdens they are bearing, sorrow and compassion they are holding, and even the mundane things like cleaning up, helping others, and trying to put life pieces together, I am not there to process with them on the ground in real-time.

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In the middle of the disaster back home, my wife and I hosted 7 people from Korea, including 3 pre-teenagers during the past week. We physically hosted half of them in our house, but I served as the main host and guide. This was my reality here in KL. Though I was torn with my attention and heart divided by the dreadful event back in Pasadena, I also knew I needed to remain faithful to people who came because of my invitation.

As I was preparing to host, my mind was squarely focused on the children. I asked other children in KL in addition to doing my research how to entertain them. I was ready. Or so I thought. I quickly realized on day two that I needed to scrap what I had planned and improvise on the go. Unlike the adults we hosted before, the children are brutally honest about what they like and do not. As hospitality is about giving freedom to our guests (pre-teenagers) and it is not about me being in control, I shifted quickly. I had to. What they wanted were what I would consider as more ordinary and plain, as in going to our apartment pool, eating simple local foods, and going to their favorite Japanese shop of goodies. I thought of taking them to a water park, jungle ropes course, etc. You get the picture.

I realized afresh that hospitality is never about pleasing the host (in this case, it was me) but about giving them freedom to be and to do. For this to happen, I had to let go of my expectations and control. Letting go of expectations and control is always a good thing as was this time.

Last night as we were wrapping up our time, I asked a question to the children, “How was your time? How would you summarize your time in Malaysia?” Their answers almost floored me. The first one who is a boy and the youngest responded as cool as a cucumber, without mixing any emotions, “It was special.” The other child said, “It was a time of blessing” without making eye contact which I understand as it is more about being Asian. The last one said, “It was healing.” I did not know they knew what healing meant. I suppose the important thing is that whatever she meant, healing happened. They followed by filling out some details, again as a matter of fact-ly speaking. I received them as being genuine. On their way to the airport, I gave them big hugs and said, “Thank you for coming.” As they were leaving, I whispered to myself, “Thank you for teaching me and reminding me about what hospitality is.”

This week, I fumbled and struggled to hold both very contrasting realities together. This was not the first time where I had to juggle and struggle through stark opposing realities, and I know it will not be the last time.

THE GROWING EDGE

Times are bleak, turbulent, and filled with incredulous self-interest and twisted cruelties—like “Are you kidding me?” force me to let out a deep sigh of disbelief. We live in the dark times. I have loved Parker J. Palmer’s seasoned and insightful writing over the years, and I follow him on social media. He recently shared a quote from Howard Thurman below. It rang something deep in me. Most of all, Thurman’s prophetic and poetic words, which really are the same, gave me faith and hope against the current harsh and bleak conditions, especially regarding my motherland, Korea. By definition, faith and hope require patience and waiting amid uncertainties and unknowns.

All around us worlds are dying and new worlds are being born; all around us life is dying and life is being born. The fruit ripens on the tree, the roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth against a time when there shall be new lives, fresh blossoms, green fruit. Such is the growing edge! It is the extra breath from the exhausted lung, the one more thing to try when all else has failed, the upward reach of life when weariness closes in upon all endeavor. This is the basis of hope in moments of despair, the incentive to carry on when times are out of joint and men have lost their reason, the source of confidence when worlds crash and dreams whiten into ash. The birth of a child — life’s most dramatic answer to death — this is the growing edge incarnate. Look well to the growing edge!

According to Palmer and Thurman, “the roots are silently at work in the darkness of the earth” and there is “the growing edge” unseen and unnoticed. Life is brewing and growing in the dark, resulting in new lives, fresh blossoms, and green fruit. Born in Florida in 1899, Howard Thurman, a black man, knows bleakness and darkness. He was an author, theologian, philosopher, mystic, and civil rights leader. When Thurman spoke of “the growing edge,” his words carried more punch and weight due to the unique dark times of his era. Thurman has spoken these words not out of a vacuum or fantasized ideal, but out of his own life’s poignant experiences. The waves of the growing edge continue to hit the shore of dark humanity, refusing to succumb to the darkness, and infusing with unquenchable life and light.

If Richard Rohr and other mystics are right, then the dark periods are all great teachers precisely because we are not in control. Thus, the darkness forces us to relinquish our control and let God be God, and put our active faith in God. The birth of Christ and His perpetual coming has come to us as “life’s most dramatic answer to death” which is the ultimate darkness. The incarnation of Christ is the ultimate growing edge. And the perpetuity of Christ’s incarnation continues to flood us as light in darkness.

I have witnessed the growing edge come to life and infuse life all around, over and over again. Thus, it is not hard to look to the growing edge! And I am.

GRACE

“Son, you have no idea how good this decision is.”
Almost exactly six years ago on the first of January,
I heard a faint grace-filled voice inside me, enveloping me
when walking my daughter’s huskie, Luna
to let go,
to descend,
to step into the unknown. 

Grace descended as I decided to descend.
My calculating mind does not understand grace
but the submissive soul just needs to stand under grace,
with my head tilted, eyes looking up and my hands stretched wide,
the grace the tangible and the powerful
forged a new way of living and being in the world.

I have learned that I must live my life,
not my ego’s projection,
not what others expect of me,
certainly not what the systems of power tell me.

I have learned that descension and even darkness can be gifts, too
gift of discernment,
gift of dependency,
and the gift of grace,
experiencing God as the ultimate lifter and salvation.

I have learned to be in wonder and astonishment,
the wonder of how everything is connected,
the wonder of how nature simply is,
the wonder of my true desires,
and of course, the wonder of God, the Grace Giver.

This poem needs little explanation as I try to summarize the last six years’ journey. My life's most important “decision” came with the call to descend. It was not a call to an invitation to step up. The paradoxical “falling upward” phrase Richard Rohr coined rings true after six years of looking at my rear-view mirror. I am not even sure whether I would distinguish words like desolation from consolation and vice versa. Desolation can usher in consolation. Consolation can also quickly be submerged under desolation.

Perhaps the invitation is to welcome them all as guests with great gifts. Because consolation is the grace of immediacy. And desolation is consolation in disguise of grace to come. No matter what, grace is the constant.

SECOND SIGHT

Sometimes, you need the ocean light,
and colors you’ve never seen before
painted through an evening sky.

Sometimes you need your God
to be a simple invitation
not a telling word of wisdom.

Sometimes you need only the first shyness
that comes from being shown things
far beyond your understanding,

so that you can fly and become free
by being still and by being still here.

And then there are times you want to be
brought to ground by touch
and touch alone.

To know those arms around you
and to make your home in the world
just by being wanted.

To see eyes looking back at you,
as eyes should see you at last,

seeing you, as you always wanted to be seen,
seeing you, as you yourself
had always wanted to see the world.

David Whyte

Seeing is the most primal, powerful way of being human. It is not only seeing but also being seen. The reciprocity and the mutuality of exchange are what makes humans human. The pristine, the purest seeing is invariably without words, by being still and at still. It is the surest way of making our home in this world. Freedom arrives by being still and by being still here and now. The inner freedom to be activates the exterior freedom to protect and fight for who I am meant to be. Also, I mull over the line—home is where I am being wanted. By being at home in this world, we pre-experience what it means to be at Home.

The most basic spirituality is about seeing and being seen. When we finally “see” God, we realize God has been seeing us the whole time, with one kind of seeing, love. How often did Jesus “see” before miracles and healings took place? Once healed, those saw Jesus differently, finally. This mutual seeing unfurls the very vision of union with God as God envisioned it. This way, seeing always precedes union. And it deepens and widens more generous seeing of all kinds. We see others and otherness as our heart dictates, varying from unconditional love to self-loathing hatred. In the recent political events in Korea, I confess that it was not the most kind of seeing toward the regime. Even amid turmoil within and without, God’s way of seeing is constant miraculously, and woos us back to God’s warm embrace.

As Whyte eludes, I have been wondering if blue sky, a mere blade of grass, an old Cypress tree, and irises also see me when I see, notice them with wonder. Would they say, “Ah finally, you see us. Now we see you?” For one, they know how to be still and silent for which I remain grateful.  All in all, I am okay with that remaining a mystery.

Seeing is always a subjective experience. We see what we see, not what others see. Spirituality as seeing means it is a subjective and sometimes a mystical experience. At the heart of mysticism is experiential knowing. Some say that religion is a belief in someone else’s experiences. It is not to disregard someone else’s experiences as others’ experiences validate mine and vice versa, creating a layer of serviceable “universal” knowing. However, it is worth noting that we often move from personal experiential knowing to universal, rarely the other way around. 

In the state of union with God, I will see everything through God’s way of seeing, through my eyes which is to say God’s seeing and my seeing are the same. That vision is too elusive and mysterious for me to understand but worth holding on to.

ARTIST AT LIVING

It is neither a genius nor
the unparalleled passion of Vincent van Gogh that
inspire me.

It is a troubled van Gogh,
fascinated by and drawn to a metamorphosis of things,
perhaps including himself,
while offering no judgment to distinct larva and chrysalis forms,
perhaps including himself.

Van Gogh’s troubles and his lonely metamorphosis,
as incomplete and fragile as it might have been,
where the incomplete is the perfect,
where the fragility is the strength,
inspire the divine vision of the human journey in me.

Not too long ago, I learned of van Gogh’s interest in butterflies, particularly the process of metamorphosis. Fascination may be a better word.

After taking an online poetry class this past June, I became restless, wanting to continue to feed a newfound desire. My wife, with her foresight and timely encouragement, gently suggested organizing a group for mutual encouragement and continued writing of poetry. I asked all my Asian classmates (four plus one) if they wanted to continue meeting over Zoom monthly. They all responded enthusiastically, and we have been meeting monthly, with each of us taking turns facilitating. With everyone being trained in spiritual direction (except for me), the group knows how to hold sacred and safe space for emerging poets in all of us. We would all write, each taking turns to read aloud to the group, and then everyone companions the reader. As we can peek into each other’s tender souls through poetry, our usage of companioning words is minimal but creates reverberation in our souls long afterward.

In one of the recent poetry Zooms, we were presented with van Gogh’s Grass and Butterflies painting. As soon as I saw the painting, something stirred in me though I did not know why. Weeks later, I revisited the painting and reflected using a combination of visio divina and imaginative “reading” of van Gogh and wrote the poem above.

As an imperfect and tormented soul, van Gogh’s contribution to the world would not be through a missionary call to the lowly miners. It would not even be a religion where he initially found meaning. Even in his art path, he would not follow the footsteps of the popular and accepted Impressionism. Instead, I would like to believe that what saved van Gogh was his attention to details, the divine details. Whether it was sunflowers, butterflies, irises, fields, cypress trees, portraits, sky, etc all came alive because of van Gogh’s prowess in paying attention to details. In the details of the most ordinariness, he came face to face with the divine, just perhaps. I imagine Van Gogh’s “invitation” would not be to admire and like his works, instead, he would be acutely exhorting us to slow down, look, and linger with details in life. And to “paint” it with our own style and life . . . D. T. Suzuki’s words ring true, “I am an artist at living – my work of art is my life.”

EYES

In just a few wordless seconds, decades flashed by
like a sweeping drama of
other-worldly beauty and glory,
too wonderful to be true.

They were the same eyes when they
first opened their curious eyes on the earth.
They are the same eyes I will never
forget into eternity.

They were the same eyes of God, the God who greeted me
with a faint smile and soul-piercing and melting light
They are the same eyes of God,
of love, mercy, and forgiveness.

My eyes and my soul feasted on the
divine touchdown of our hearts,
enlarging my feeble tent with a grander hope and vision.
To know that I can finally see and be seen.

About a month after our adult children, a son-in-law, and a daughter-in-law visited us in Malaysia, I sat at a café in Gapyeong, Korea reflecting on the holy family ritual. It remains a mystery what triggered me to revisit the “Ritual of Leaving.” (I highlighted this sacred ritual in the Oct. 15 entry.) Once I did, I could not get out of it, until I found words, as inadequate and incomplete as they are, to capture what I felt and sensed. I relived the heaven-sent memory, and my eyes promptly were welled up with tears, but unable to course down my cheeks. My eyes were looking at the farthest mountain outside the window but nothing registered. I was seeing but not seeing. Instead, I had seen something else. In that almost trance-like experience, the above poem flowed out of me, inspiring a vision of what “seeing” can be.

An influential German Catholic theologian, philosopher, and mystic of the Middle Ages, Meister Eckhart, famously said, “The eye with which I see God is the same with which God sees me. My eye and God's eye is one eye, and one sight, and one knowledge, and one love.” All eyes are one: God’s eyes. If we do the hard work of being honest and vulnerable and let our false self retreat by simple and powerful awareness . . . What begins to glimmer and glow is the shy true self. Eyes become the souls’ window, allowing the light within to recognize the light searching from without. The divine light dance glows even brighter, having been joined by the Light Who was there all along. This was a mystery until I experienced it with my family.

I WORRIED

I worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And I gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Mary Oliver

I am a worrier too. At sixty-one, there are more things to worry about, the past, the future, not to mention the present. In particular, I am a professional in terms of projecting my worries into the future. I can’t help it but that is how I learned to navigate the unknown world in front of me. I also worry about aging moms, grown-up children, our well-being and health, and our friends.

Oliver addresses our helpless worries of nature in the first stanza. Helpless because there is very little we can do to help gravity and other forces of nature. I suppose the point is we worry even about the things we have very little control over.

The short second stanza reflects on our tendency to worry about the impact of our past. Does it matter whether we were right or wrong? How about in the areas of the need for forgiveness that are precisely beyond our control?

The next two stanzas unpack the future worrying fixations that may or may not have legitimacy and stem from family medical history. They range from Oliver’s simple but precious desire to sing to the possibility of more serious disease. Dementia would be the most terrible disease to a poet.

The word “finally” turns the entire poem. What follows is the realizations and actions in the past tense as is captured in the poem’s title, I Worried. The decisive verbs packed a punch after punch: saw, gave up, took, went out, and sang. The word “sang” is the redemptive reversal or the cancellation of her precise worry of hopeless singing. WHO CARES! Really, “I don’t care anymore” won the day followed by freedom. Oliver invites us to consider what we will act on to “reverse” our incessant worries.

I, too, want to be a “singer” of freedom—freedom from worrying about the past and especially the future. With admissible reasons to be worrisome in all societies and families, as all are fighting great battles, how about we join together in getting up, getting out, and shouting to the world that we are alive?

I imagine Oliver exclaiming among the trees, impressing the morning birds of all kinds. . . And so can you. . .

GRATITUDE

As has been the tradition in December, I would like to highlight a few poems, five poems to be exact since there are five Tuesdays. This year, I will also be sharing a few of my own, including my reflection and/or background of each poem.

If you are tracking with us physically, we will depart Korea on December 2 to the Philippines for my Opening Residency at the School of Spiritual Direction (SSD). After the residency, I was asked to preach at a church where I preached the last time I was in the country. We fly back to Malaysia only to fly to Singapore for a weekend to spend time with our friends. Starting on December 17, we will be in Malaysia. We host some people from Korea in January. Then we fly back to the US in early February until June.

My wife shared to a group of Zoom participants the other day, “We are happy because we are grateful. It is not that we are grateful because we are happy.” She was giving credit to Jim Wilder, an expert on spiritual formation and brain science, among other things. My blunt paraphrase, talking to myself, “Be grateful, dummy if you want to be happy.” The modern incessant pursuit of happiness emphasizes happiness for happiness’ sake. As such, it is easy to trace how happiness remains so elusive that it becomes an impossible and endless pursuit. When is “more” enough?

When the script is flipped and our focus is squarely on gratitude, happiness is a natural by-product with no effort necessary. When we seek and pursue gratitude at all levels, happiness comes to us as gifts. Happiness is like guests, arriving with gifts we often do not foresee and deserve. How do we cultivate the heart of gratitude? By starting from small and mundane levels of gratitude. . . Often, it is the scene or the view, from demure and hidden from our eyes to breathtaking, random, and unexpected kindness, last-ditch moments of grace, a phrase from background music, etc. How can I not be grateful for a hot bowl of Sulllungtang followed by Hotteok on a cold night? Which without failure would make me smile in happiness . . . Easily, there are thousands more examples. I am already hyping myself for forecasted snow tonight in gratefulness. . .

The preeminence of the pre-requisite of slowing down, even stopping, and paying attention is what is a necessary groundwork for cultivating gratitude. In other words, it is almost impossible to arrive at small and potentially unseen and unrecognizable moments of gratitude unless we slow down, at the very least. No wonder, this remains elusive for modern humanity whose success depends on a fast-paced life for more and more.

Then there are life-altering gratitude events being dropped on our laps. With uncalloused muscles of our heart ready to flex its muscles toward gratitude, we can effortlessly enter the grand gratitude gate. A few of those big gratitude gates we have entered this year are highlighted. How can we not be grateful for Malaysia, our more than capable home base this year, for people, its multicultural cuisine (me more than my wife), ease of travel, safety, low cost of living, guests who visited us, and most importantly, the community of friends? How can we not be grateful for new connections, friends, and the community we are now part of? How dare we forget and not be grateful toward God who prepared our way and tirelessly led us forward? How dare I forget and not be grateful for myriads of tender seeings, hearings, and touches of reality as reality enfolded, toward wonder, warmth, and mystery? How it is easy for me to be grateful for our adult children and spouses who carved out time to visit us and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Looking back, I realize there is yet one more requirement: the practice of letting go and living without entitlements. Holding on or demanding respect due to my title, experiences, or pedigree would be a death knell for I operate with the mindset that I must be thanked or honored. Gratitude would be hard-pressed or disingenuous. Entitlements function like a formidable inner fortress that needs to be demolished for gratitude to enter fully and freely. For a small example here in Korea, I find it freeing not to have a ubiquitous business card with my name on it. Whenever I meet new people, they hand me their business cards only to be reciprocated with nothing from my end. (It is not that they come across as entitled but only to highlight that the existing modus operandi is based on titles and degrees.) I crack my sheepish smile and apologize every time. Frankly, I would not know what to put on my card even if I had one. I suppose I am revolting in my small way to tell the world to get to know me beyond the card, take time, let us share our lives, and learn to feast.

In this season of harvest celebrations all over the world before the winter comes, feasting on happiness and laughter of joy can arrive once we do our part of slowing down and letting go to open the door to gratitude. Gratitude is like an unending supply of kindling that would maintain the fire to keep us warm in the “winter” of our lives.

AN ACORN AND YEAST

I participated in a group spiritual guidance session a week ago where I presented my reflection. We employed imaginative reading of Scripture, and I identified with one imagined character in the story. I saw myself as a gentile sitting in the back row of a synagogue as this story unfolded. The familiar story came alive, and days later, I found myself still lingering on the passage. I knew I had to write it out. Thanks for reading, as always.

Luke 13:10-21, The Message

He was teaching in one of the meeting places on the Sabbath. There was a woman present, so twisted and bent over with arthritis that she couldn’t even look up. She had been afflicted with this for eighteen years. When Jesus saw her, he called her over. “Woman, you’re free!” He laid hands on her and suddenly she was standing straight and tall, giving glory to God.

The meeting-place president, furious because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, said to the congregation, “Six days have been defined as work days. Come on one of the six if you want to be healed, but not on the seventh, the Sabbath.”

But Jesus shot back, “You frauds! Each Sabbath every one of you regularly unties your cow or donkey from its stall, leads it out for water, and thinks nothing of it. So why isn’t it all right for me to untie this daughter of Abraham and lead her from the stall where Satan has had her tied these eighteen years?”

When he put it that way, his critics were left looking quite silly and red-faced. The congregation was delighted and cheered him on.

Then he said, “How can I picture God’s kingdom for you? What kind of story can I use? It’s like an acorn that a man plants in his front yard. It grows into a huge oak tree with thick branches, and eagles build nests in it.”

He tried again. “How can I picture God’s kingdom? It’s like yeast that a woman works into enough dough for three loaves of bread—and waits while the dough rises. 

I sat with my mouth open and eyes widened, trying to process what had just happened. I also felt the temperature rising in the synagogue. Toward the end, my heart burned, and I strangely felt free and unburdened.

I had known the woman suffering from severe arthritis for many years, though I have not seen her in recent years. During the years I have not seen her, she grew much worse in her condition. Her face wore scars of pain, just as twisted as her body. She must have heard the rumor that Jesus, who has miraculously healed many sinners in nearby villages, would visit the synagogue today. Perhaps a good neighbor alerted her. . .

As one of the few gentiles in the congregation who used to sit in the back, I have been attracted to the Jewish way of life, their laws, wisdom, and most of all, their God. As a latecomer and uneducated, I had many questions over the years but kept quiet and continued to attend and listen. I also heard rumors about Jesus and how he baffled and infuriated some and inspired many. This Jesus, I finally got to see and hear in person today.

He was different, remarkably and stunningly, unlike any religious leader I have listened to. His voice was tender and yet thunderous, packed with compassion and power. His eyes twinkled, almost inviting the listeners to hear beyond the words. He shed light on many questions I had, my intuition leaped with joy in agreement even to an uneducated mind. With his words being simple and easy to follow, Jesus did not waste words. The parables he shared were illuminating and penetrating.

Though the woman could not look up to see Jesus, Jesus spotted her hunched over in obvious pain and suffering. Stopping his talk, Jesus called her, touched her, and said, “Woman, you are free!” What happened next, I will never forget. Within seconds, she stood up like a new woman, standing tall and straight, her face beaming with light and glory. All the while, Jesus’ words, “Woman, you’re free,” still rings in my ear.

Not surprisingly because of what I was used to hearing about the Sabbath's teachings, the synagogue's leader was flustered and raised hell indirectly with Jesus by talking to the congregation. Jesus did not wait for a second, shot back with inhuman authority cut through the trap, and rebuked with power, remarkably couched in a question. I felt the dead weight I had been carrying somewhat unsuspectingly shattered into pieces. I could not help but shout with the loudest cheer I knew. The people in the synagogue turned back to see where the loudest clap and cheer came from, only to see me. I could not care less. . .

As all the eyes turned to Jesus again, he spoke in short parables. I knew that the acorn and the yeast referred to the arthritis woman. My heart was filled with hope and the vision of the Kingdom Jesus spoke about. While walking back to my house, it dawned on me that I too could be the acorn and the yeast. My heart strangely warmed, and I vowed to follow Jesus and his teachings. The woman’s countenance beamed with light that was not hers and I realized that I also saw the light that monolithic day.

Years later, Jesus is no longer walking on this earth. Yet, his presence remains, ever pervasively. The light in me is still alive and strong. In addition, I did not have the language the day I met Jesus, but now I know that both the woman and I were set free. She was freed from the bondage of disease and Satan. I was freed from the bondage of religious indoctrination and a system that shrinks God to a manageable and predictable God. I know how to live and let others live. They say they can see the light of freedom in me.

THE CIRCLE OF GENEROSITY

Gapyeong greeted us with cool crisp air and an unmatched high blue sky, a signature Korean fall sky. Coming from Malaysia, the air was delightfully cool and dry. Driving into the familiar driveway featured rows of apple trees, ripe for harvest. My wife exclaimed, who is a second-to-none lover of apples, “Wow, look at those apples!” While the sound of frogs is no longer present since the rice fields are bare after harvest, the undeniable smell of cows nearby occasionally confuses the crisp air. I did not mind the smell since for one, it reminded me of my childhood in Anseong, and second, even with the whimsical smell of cows, my lungs appreciated me for the cleaner air.

On our way to Sinhari1955 café nearby, we heard the murmur coming from a warehouse storage by the apple orchard which sits adjacent to our place. Driven by curiosity, I decided to step in and learned right away that they were in the middle of harvesting apples and boxing them for sale. Since I did not want the people inside to wonder who the stranger was, I quickly babbled, “Are these the apples you just harvested from the trees?” (My wife reminds me from time to time how big my presence is. I suppose I wanted to downplay my presence but what came out of me was a dud question.) As if to ignore my dumb question, they replied with a proud yes. I followed, “Can I buy a box?” trying to salvage a forgettable situation. In doing so, my mouth beat my thought process. I could not have known how the apple would taste. However, after they offered me and my company generous slices of apple, my mouth approved, and I was sold. I ended up buying a big box, more than what we can consume in the next month. The owner, like a good hospitable country folk, threw in a few more best-looking apples in the box. I have learned that they have been growing apples for the last forty years in the same field. I was told that they are not pretty to look at with not enough bright red colors to attract would-be buyers, but their taste brings back the same customers year after year. We had a visitor the other day and after I told him how tasty the apples were, he quickly secured four big boxes, giving us one box even after I told him we already had one big box. My problem doubled. We will happily be serving the apples to all our friends and visitors.

As we got near the café, we struck up a conversation with the grape orchard owner after I greeted her. She, an older woman who had seen enough sunlight, insisted that we try their grape juice, with nothing else added. We politely said no, more than three times which would have been enough in the Korean context. When she asked the fourth time, I caved in and said yes. She gleefully darted into the storage, ignoring the heap of garlic heads she was peeling. The next thing I saw was all the grape juice pouches she could handle in her two small hands. The just as proud grape orchard owner boasted in her grape juice. Trying to match her exuberance, I feverishly agreed with her. The same visitor who left us with a big box of apples bought and left us with a box filled with grape pouches. Our November Gapyeong guests will also enjoy the juice along with the apples. Both the apple and grape orchard owners can boast without a hint of arrogance because they know the land and have put in hard work, not to mention their craft.

Finally, we got to the café, and the café owner we befriended back in the Spring smiled from ear to ear and showered us a big welcome like old friends. We told the older couple we were back for another month. Before we ordered any coffee, they asked us whether we wanted a napa cabbage head and a radish from their garden. This time, I did not hesitate, having learned from two previous encounters. I said, “Of course,” bordering cultural insensitivity. Happy that I said yes, they took us to their impressive vegetable plot behind the café and shed, cut the cabbage thrice as big as my bald head, and invited my wife to pluck the radish from the ground. My wife also did not hesitate, she pulled the radish and flashed one of the biggest and proudest smiles I have seen since we were with our children. They pulled several more green onions from the field. After getting to our Airbnb, It took us several trips to move everything into the house, with our hearts filled and warmed.

We came back to Gapyeong to provide hospitality and rest to our guests. From the apple orchard to grape orchard to café owners, not to mention our visitors, we are taught how to be hospitable. As we have received, our willing obligation and desire is to give to others, not out of reciprocity but out of enlarging the circle of generosity. “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity,” said Simone Weil. The folks in our neighborhood showered us with generosity by both giving us attention—seeing, noticing, and valuing us—and generous giving. Today, generosity has two names: attention and abundance.

LET IT BE

Let it be,
let me be,
let things be,
Let the creation be.

A delicate hummingbird moth intrusively
hovered in the middle of sacred conversations, saying
“Hello, look at me.” Followed by a tiny beetle softly landing on the sleeve,
“Hi, I am here as well.”

The café host gingerly and shyly walks by to hand over this morning’s dainty
light blue egg to a silky fowl, offering to eat the egg fresh. I replied trustingly, “Sure.” After poking holes on either side of the egg,
I, like a wild man, sucked and ingested a creamy would-be life-to-become,
giving me extra life.

A friendly host’s cat forces his way into the conversations, slithering his tail against our legs, again inviting us to see and be aware of his presence. Not to be outclassed,
the wind cascades down four fall foliage on the table,
matching the foursome huddle. 

Then we look far and wide to take in the great blue November sky,
scattered clouds as if someone from above painted for us to wow us and be aware.
To invite us ever tenderly
“I am here.”

I can,
finally, let everything be
because I AM WHO I AM is here,
everywhere.

The above poem is dedicated to our friends from Singapore, Linda and Malcolm, who said yes to my impromptu invitation when my wife and I were in Singapore two months ago. Malcolm, a family doctor, bore witness to a caring and loving family doctor when he was young and told himself he would one day be a family doctor to help others. He responded with a hearty yes as soon as I invited him and his wife, Linda. Shocked by her husband’s response who is normally very careful about planning, meticulously one at that, and far from being spontaneous, Linda asked her husband, “Are you sure?” multiple times to make sure. Malcolm reassured her just as many times. When tracing our conversation back to when Malcolm said yes, he does not remember why or how he had said yes.

Two months later, they showed up in Korea, eager and excited. Linda graduated from CenterQuest Asia School of Spiritual Direction in April. She is also a member of the inaugural CenterQuest Asia Poet Society. The truth is that we knew right away that we were kindred spirits when we first met in January 2023 during the Opening Residency of CQ Asia School.

The immediate context for the above poem took place as we sat at the outdoor table and shared in my fav café, Sinhari1955, near our Airbnb. The divine descended with a feathery flair of heaven, allowing the deep to meet the deep. The seductive spell of safety and freedom prodded and invited us to go deep. Bordering distracted intrusion, a rare hummingbird moth, the ever-generous and kind café host, an easygoing cat, a brave beetle, and the many-hued leaves joined the conversation seamlessly, making a gentle and unforgettable impression. Soon, we all realized that they were not distractions, but gifts. We marveled at the gifts, happily followed along the gift trails with our conversations, and effortlessly looped back to our intimate sharing.

Then, I excused myself from the conversation for about 12 minutes. I felt I needed or had to capture what I was processing into a raw poem. In just a couple of days, they will fly back to Singapore. Some repeated keywords they have captured in their hearts are hope, healing, possibilities, and consciousness. Aided by great food, spectacular nature and its colors that change by the hour, and interspersed silence in walks and car rides, we crossed the frontier threshold of our interiority and blurred the lines between what is me and others and otherness.

SUJI ENNEAGRAM

The fabled Jirisan (or Jiri Mountain) felt warm and mysterious. I have driven past Jirisan multiple times, but this was my first time being enveloped in the amiable embrace of Jirisan. After bidding farewell to Michael and Gloria, we were promptly on our way to Jirisan, south of the peninsula. After having planned our participation in Suji Enneagram instructors’ training months ago, we had to switch our mental gears quickly to adjust to what was ahead of us for the next three full days. Suji Enneagram adheres to the same Enneagram tradition globally but the founder, Suji, developed a new way, a Korean adaptation, to approach Enneagram after studying for years. She was desperate to help sexually trafficked teenage girls discover their God-given identities amid indescribable wounds, pain, and suffering. The world stamped and discarded them as if they were not part of the same dignified human family. A sadder part of the story was that they did not fight back.

Suji believed that Enneagram would ultimately reset and restore the girls’ God-given identities. Her intuition was right. Decades later, some of the girls rose from the ashes and now are part of the solution to the same persistent problem in Korean society. Suji Enneagram is unique in that the “education” is highly interactive and believes in a self-discovery mode of learning (for they had to because of involving teenagers) whereas many Enneagram outfits mainly are content to download information. Furthermore, Suji Enneagram focuses on discovery and subsequent transformation based on how God has shaped us from the beginning as opposed to merely passing out information. The message of “calling from Heaven” is repeated to discover and live from the calling from above as well as to let go of false images or ego-saving ways of functioning in the world.

The venue was magical, two simple buildings standing on the ridge of Jiri Mountain, overlooking the magnificent contours of the valley. Though fall foliage has not kicked in due to unseasonably warm weather right through our visit, my eyes feasted watching the valley changing from day to day in fog, rain, and clear-crisp sun-lit days. The food was locally grown and harvested, thus wholesome and healthy. After two weeks of food extravagance with my children, my stomach thanked me for plain simple meals, not to mention the uber-clean air we breathed.

Predictably, we went from 8 am till 10 pm every day, packed with all the participants going deeper into the discovery of how God made us. Since we were all essentially working through our charts to listen to who we were, I felt the time blew by. We were trained to “read” others’ “charts” based on what they observed in themselves. I was amazed at how the trainers were able to read charts of the participants while providing deft insight and turning them into an unshakable calling from “Heaven.” More than anything, I appreciated their profound respect and dignity of all humanity, and how they approached the training showed their commitment to honor. Suji and the leaders were not into building their own “kingdom,” but they held their mission with humility and conviction.

Our original plan was to hike small portions of the Jirisan Dulle-Gil (an extensive peripheral trail, close to 300 km, that hugs around the entire Jirisan ranges). The entire trail is divided into 22 courses, with each course lasting for one half-day tracking. We were only looking to do 3 or so courses but after looking at the rainy forecast, we decided to call it off. Plus, as we were not as prepared, even if we had done the hiking, it would have been challenging with no equipment, proper shoes, and even backpacks. Instead, we asked for one extra night’s stay at the Suji Enneagram facility. The founder graciously offered us a small but comfy room, overlooking the picturesque valley.

The next day, Suji invited us for a simple breakfast. The conversations flowed (flew might be a better description) and we clicked as both of us are ENTP in MBTI. She invited me to help with English enneagram education being done in other parts of Asia, the Americas, etc. In fact, when she handed me the certificate the night before, she charged me to take Suji Enneagram all over the world, specifically mentioning Latin America and Africa. The comment did not go unnoticed. During breakfast, I asked whether she was aware of what she was saying. She said she did, but it was not something she was prepared to say. She added by saying that the USA and Asia were already part of my vision fold, and she wanted to encourage me to “take on the world.” We heartily laughed about the exchange, but it remained with me.

While enjoying breakfast Suji had prepared, I added that the origin story of how Suji Enneagram was birthed sounded like the “Gospel” and how Jesus would have approached the girls. I told her the birth story gives me trust, confidence, and necessary empowerment. Suji is barely five feet, wiry, and speaks the Gyeong Sang Province dialect that is known for its punchiness and brevity. Even though she talks a hundred miles an hour, every word she uses is intentional and packed with meaning and hope. Her aura is unmistakably imposing but she is wise and humble enough to use her influence and authority to continue to drive Suji Enneagram even in her 70s. She did say she saw herself retiring in two years. In the end, she knows herself well. She knows that God has given her the power to protect and provide safety for the underprivileged, the rejected, and the discarded. Meeting Suji inspired me and seared my heart with hope for Korea and the world.

TWO WORLDS AS ONE

After a dizzying and incredibly enriching time with our adult children in Malaysia, we flew to Korea with our son and his wife. We knew we would be terribly depressed after such a sweet time. Being with Michael and Gloria helped ease our emotional touchdown to reality and physical landing in Korea. After knowing that we would only have less than three full days together, we hyped ourselves that we would hit the ground running.

Looking back, one of the greatest gifts was the opportunity for our children and their spouses to witness our life in action both in Malaysia and Korea—why we had to move to Asia. Rather than being a concocted imagination, even if the best ones at that, they bore witness to our home away from home, our surroundings, our mundane life, and more importantly, the communities, both proximate and virtual, we belong to. They met our Malaysia “team”/community for a durian party. As this is the tail end of the season, they served expensive Musang King durians, one of the best kinds. Regrettably, none of our children took a fancy to the durians. Some valiantly tried a few more bites but their faces told different stories, making the durian lovers laugh out loud.

Back to Korea. Since we had shared much about Yangpyeong with our children over the years, the four of us made a point to spend a day in Yangpyeong. We took them around to see our “old” neighborhood, and walked the same path along the river and ripening rice fields which my wife and I walked countless times. With an unseasonably warm breeze on our faces, we were quickly surrounded by tall and slim fluorescent Cosmos flowers, bowing rice stock on one side, and lazy and full river on the other side. Our conversations flowed like the river, slow, intentional, and warm, embracing a reminiscence of the past and a musing into the future. 

A day earlier, I contacted Chef Lee to see whether we could see her. Sure enough, she was excited to see us and our son and daughter-in-law. She had also called Master Baker Kwak and alerted him that we were at the bakery. Master Baker Kwak zipped over as soon as he got the call. I did not know that he would be in town. Later, I found out that he just spent three months visiting bakeries all over Spain and Portugal, exchanging artisanal bread making. As he showed up flexing his impressive calf and bicep muscles, my son’s eyes widened to see a man who was 10 years older than his dad, looking like a full back. One of his next goals in life is to participate in a senior body-building competition next year, I was told. If he was not already by this point, he surely became one of my inspirations at that time. Conversations were delightfully mundane, real, and filled with zest and hope for life. Chef Lee invited us to a potluck party on October 31 with her friends and artists.

Afterward, Michael and Gloria understood why we called Yangpyeong our home away from home. What existed as two different and separate worlds of our lives collided and meshed in harmony and glory into one. THIS, to me, was the best gift for my wife and I, of our children visiting both in Malaysia and Korea.

In addition, they realized that nature, friends, simplicity of life with all the modern amenities, great food, etc all played their role in grounding us. We can see better and hear better. Our lungs, hearts, and minds thank us. Our soul is at rest and ready to engage the world. I was elated that Michael and Gloria got a peek at our souls.

JOY ECSTASY

October 13, 2024

Just barely two hours ago, three of our children, including our son-in-law, left for the US. Hours later, my wife and I will travel to Korea with our son and our daughter-in-law to spend the next few days. They will eventually fly back to the US, and we will remain in Korea until early December.

Before our redeye flight tonight, I am carving out time now to process the last nine glorious days and write something meaningful and coherent, mainly for my keepsake. I have been sitting at a café, unable to find and stitch words to summarize my experience of our family time together. I realize that I am still walking on clouds and have not touched the ground of reality.

After sitting idle for long minutes, the word gift comes to me. It was the gift of time (Chronos, Kairos, and synchronous all roll into one), God’s provision, one another/family, and most of all, the gift of joy and ecstasy, the purest kind. We knew aligning our calendar and committing to making our family time happen would not be a small feat. Normally, it would be parents visiting their children who have flown the coop for work, school, or whatever. Our case was the reverse. Our children came to see us. And they came willingly and excitedly.

Since there were eight nights together and since we missed many of this year’s birthday celebrations as one complete unit, we decided to celebrate one birthday each night. Predictably, I ate more sweets in the last week than all year combined. Additionally, we celebrated Christmas in October and exchanged Secret Santa and white elephant gifts. The daily highlight was our night capping family activity: offering words of life and encouragement to the birthday person and “God-hunt” exercise. We showered each person with words of life and encouragement using words, phrases, and images of the Christ we see in him/her. It was the time of Christ in each of us encountering Christ in each other. On a major side note, I was overwhelmed with God’s grace and redemption. “What have I done to deserve such sweetness, joy, and love!” coursed through my being multiple times, thanking God a thousand times.

Unashamedly, we are a family of foodies. We ate from morning till night. Entrusting Mark Wiens, we drove up to Penang only to eat our way through the two days we were there. Being goofy, giddy, silly, and childlike was expected, and playing children’s and lateral thinking puzzle games while traveling in the van. Back in KL, as one team, we played Pico Park 2 on Nintendo Switch (even my wife joined for one level), bowled, and lifted weights. While playing in the pool, we made up impromptu variations of Marco Polo games, oblivious to the watchful eyes around us. For three hours, we sang our hearts out and danced the night away as if we owned the night in a karaoke room. The boys swung baseball bats after watching the Dodgers clinch the series over the Padres. The girls made hand-knotted bracelets and received the full oil massage, beaming afterward. We watched the sunset, walked in the rain, mall-hopped, and walked through the natural butterfly habitat (in Penang), and were promptly wowed, cementing the butterfly as our family’s emblem. Butterfly translates into God’s protection, provision, and faithfulness over our family.

My wife facilitated group silence, and a “God-hunt” exercise each night, focusing on different topics including joy, freedom, nature, most alive, etc moments to trace our day to discover how God has been present with us as individuals and in our family. We nodded, smiled, and laughed out loud in agreement, allowing all to relive and savor God’s footprints of the day. During our last night together, as my wife opened the sharing time, I was urged to do the Ritual of Leaving exercise. (If you want to learn more about the ritual, read my earlier post on April 23 of this year). I told my family I had an idea of what to do as our last family ritual. Without me spelling out, my wife already knew what I had in mind. Having bolstered by synchronicity, I led the exercise of looking into each person’s eyes and bowing in silence with our arms across our hearts. In my short introduction to the exercise, I told my family we are doing this as fellow human beings, not as parents and children, but essentially as fellow pilgrims. Tears flowed and the sniffling soon became louder as a sacred hush enveloped us and heaven’s joy filled our room. My wish and prayers have been answered!

Japan and Korea, here we come in the spring of 2026!

THEY ARE FINALLY HERE!

THE SOUL OF NATURE

Nature, in wild and pastoral, exudes radiance and vitality,
In life and death, and death and life,
forever and over and over again speaks to anyone who would listen
and pay attention,
to learn and imitate the divine within.

A heaven’s mid-August sound and light show ensues in the land of Malaysia,
all of a sudden, I am the smallest kid in the entire world,
looking up and wide in utter awe and wonder
lightening, a showier spouse of shy thunder, showcasing its unmatched brilliance,
painting the vast sky as if the sky is the size of a small boy’s notebook,
thunder growls boisterously as if the sky is a tiny recording room,
showering the offspring of rain, one direction, from heaven to earth,
an adamant reminder of where we come from.

Great heron defies and defines elegance beyond words,
to grace the earth so effortlessly and perched on top of the trees to look far and wide,
that grace is generosity
hummingbirds’ ultra busyness while being angel light,
proving busyness is not the problem but heaviness and seriousness are,
butterfly embodies transformation and transcendence,
that beauty is formed in darkness and solitude,
stream sings of its eternal quality of spring while demonstrating humility,
that eternity and humility are inseparable,
trees as majestic and mystical mass stand grounded and rooted for many ages,
      teaching sustenance of majesty comes from being grounded and rooted and connected

My soul yearns for connection and searches for courage, simply to be.
What is more real? What I think of myself? Or what others think of me? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. Perhaps “think” is the wrong word.
How does God communicate what is real me?

The soul of nature reflects its beauty and wildness, undistorted and unfiltered,
declaring to anyone who would listen and pay attention
that we too are to reflect the divine within back to the Divine and to the world.

CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER

Anticipation is killing me, not literally but figuratively tenderly. This is the most anticipated event of the year. Our adult children and their spouses (all six of them) will be raining down in Kuala Lumpur in less than four days. I will be pinching myself the whole time leading up to the very moment of seeing their actual faces with my eyes. My memory takes me back to when Hannah served in Indonesia for a season and Michael taught English in Korea after college. We decided to converge and spend time in Thailand for a few days after having flown in from three different countries. I vividly remember when Elizabeth and Hannah (my two princesses) met for the first time in months in the arrival terminal at the airport in Bangkok. They spotted each other from afar, ran towards each other while screaming and jumping up and down with no care of the world around them, and finally embraced each other. The sheer ecstasy of the shared joy was forever seared in my heart. One more thing: Hannah was in Japan with YWAM for months after high school. I had a ministry trip planned in Korea, so I decided to swing by to see Hannah. After having spent a glorious couple of days with Hannah in Tokyo, I remember the hard and tearful goodbye.

When you love, you learn to wait. Waiting is not a duty, but a hope-filled tangible expression of love. The ability to wait arises from deep longing which shares the same deep and ancient well of love. Loving is longing even when someone(s) is right in front of you. Love believes and hopes to create more longing for intimacy. Love holds the generous space for becoming, both for the loving and the loved.

I have been studying, “taking notes,” and imagining what to do and where to take our family. All of my culinary excursions are about to culminate when all eight of us roam the streets of KL, from the hole-in-the-wall to Michelin-star restaurants. We will explore the world cuisine represented in KL from the Malay, Indian Muslim, Hindu, Japanese, Chinese (various regions), Korean, Syrian, etc. We have rented an Airbnb, which is big enough for privacy and group play. I hope they get to experience a few of my favorites, to witness a lightning and thunder show with an awe-inducing downpour spectacle. I hope they get to see the charm of the city and the kindness of diverse peoples in this land. I hope they get to see firsthand how Mom and Dad are doing, still discerning and traveling on the pilgrim journey with all the joys and challenges.

We are planning to drive up to Penang Island, another foodie heaven with its regional touch and flare, not to mention the UNESCO heritage section of the city center in George Town and the National Park beaches swarming with turtles and monkeys. Not terribly excited to see the monkeys but turtles, yes. This will be the first time where all eight of us will be in the same car, traveling together. The three-to-four-hour drive will bond us even further, I am sure. It was here in Penang last year where I had five intermittent dishes (I’ve done some intermittent fasting and I have also done many intermittent feasting), all starting after 3 pm! My wife was in shock and disbelief at the time and still is. I have proof, a picture of my wife watching me devour one after another while crossing her arms, expressionless.

Since we won’t be home in the US for Christmas, we decided to celebrate Christmas in October. We have drawn Secret Santa gift exchange names. Since we will be spending eight nights, we decided to celebrate each of our birthdays every day or night. Every day, there will be a celebration for each person and the family together. Joy is a heavenly gift emotion when someone is simply happy to be with you. I earnestly pray that we will experience heaven’s gift of joy. And because joy is a shared emotion, joy further believes, hopes, and ushers in strength, creating an ever-expanding ripple of joy to others. Joy builds strength and interior muscles to believe and hope for more, touching others around us. I yearn for that to be more of a reality. Joy is not meant to be a crumb or an afterthought. Joy is felt and shared when we realize God is happy to be with us.

QUANTUM MECHANICS & INTERCONNECTEDNESS

This week, I would like to share another section of my upcoming paper. I hope you can get the gist of what I am trying to communicate. If you are interested in reading the whole thing, let me know.

In this section, I will attempt, with the risk of sounding amateurish, to ambitiously synthesize Carlo Rovelli’s phenomenal little book, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics into the preceding idea of incarnation and of being interconnected. Some portions of the book read more like poetry than a science book. First, I see God as the author and perfecter of unitive consciousness, the foundation of all connectedness. Secondly, Rovelli claims, “The very foundation of science is to keep the door open to doubt.” This statement gives me confidence and respect.

Quantum mechanics and experiments with particles have taught us that the world is a continuous, restless swarming of things, a continuous coming to light and disappearance of ephemeral entities. A set of vibrations, as in the switched-on hippie world of the 1960s. A world of happenings, not of things. [1]

A tree is not a thing, as is a rock, it is a happening. From a close to 14 billion years perspective, nothing can be seen as a thing, but a happening.

We are made up of the same atoms and the same light signals as are exchanged between pine trees in the mountains and stars in the galaxies.[2]

We are made of the same stardust of which all things are made, and when we are immersed in suffering or when we are experiencing intense joy we are being nothing other than what we can’t help but be: a part of our world.[3]

I find the above claim simply breathtaking and mind-numbing. Incarnation relates to quantum mechanics theory as all things are connected. How they are connected and how they interact remains a profound mystery. As humble subjects, we recognize God as the origin and designer of all incarnations. Listen to Rovelli below.

I believe that this example demonstrates how great science and great poetry are both visionary, and may even arrive at the same intuitions. Our culture is foolish to keep science and poetry separated: they are two tools to open our eyes to the complexity and beauty of the world.[4]

I was not prepared to read the above statements. What it reminded me of was a section I read recently from Mary Oliver’s[5] Upstream.

I would say that there exist a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves—we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other’s destiny.[6]

Rovelli and Oliver, as scientists and poets, have attempted to describe reality utilizing their trained intuitive lens and finite human language. Additionally, they know not to or dare to “close the list.” Beware of ourselves or anyone else for that matter in being the authority of choosing the list. From my personal, subjective, and experiential lens[7], my intuition concurs with that of Oliver’s and Rovelli’s and my soul knows the vision of a “sustainable world together” to be true. Before leaving this section, I must include Rovelli’s “conclusion” in his book, “It is part of our nature to love and to be honest.”[8]

It is worth bringing Ilia Delio, who has been mentioned earlier, as a Franciscan sister, theologian, and scientist (and an expert on Pierre Teilhard de Chardin), to validate the above assertion.

Christ invests himself organically within all creation, immersing himself in things, in the heart of matter, and thus unifying the world. The universe is physically impregnated to the very core of its matter by the influence of his superhuman nature. Everything is physically “christified,” gathered up by the incarnate Word as nourishment that assimilates, transforms, and divinizes.[9]

Richard Rohr was the first one who enlightened me with the differentiated concepts of pantheism and panentheism. Pantheism is defined as “God is everything.” Panentheism says, “God is in everything.” God is the least common denominator in the entire universe. Suddenly God being at the center, there is mysterious “Christified” order within disorder, unknown (and perhaps unknowable) certainty within uncertainty. I would like to close this paper with the idea of “unifying the world.”

[1] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 32-33.
[2] Ibid, 64.
[3] Ibid, 77-78.
[4] Carlo Rovelli, Reality Is Not What It Seems: The Journey to Quantum Gravity, New York: Penguin Press, 2014, 88.
[5] Oliver, lover of nature, was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
[6] Mary Oliver, Upstream: Select Essays, New York: Penguin Press, 2016, 154
[7] This phrase is based on my 2023 ASFM paper titled Human and Spiritual Journey as Subjective, Personal, and Experiential.
[8] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 78.
[9] Ilia Delio, The Unbearable Wholeness of Being: God, Evolution, and the Power of Love, Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books: 2013, 79.

FEAR OF THE LORD

As I am working on my paper for the upcoming Asia Society for Frontier Mission’s annual gathering in Bali (which I won’t be able to attend in person), I have decided to highlight a section of my paper. This year’s theme centers around the concept of imago dei, mutuality, the dignity of humanity, etc as they relate to the frontiers in mission. This year’s gathering is a continuation of last year’s focus.

Here, I would like to weave the well-known verse, “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” How to live well or wisely with others has been a timeless biblical tradition and focus. Fear of God does not equate with the well-accepted but short-sighted notion that we will somehow get punished if we fail to do good. Thus, the narrative of we’d better “fear” God and its consequences of what God will do to punish us out of God’s perfect justice. The five “wisdom” literature in the Scripture, in my opinion, points to the notion that wisdom is knowledge deepened or seasoned in love. Wisdom has nothing to do with how modern people would equate to intellectual knowledge. Rather it is how to live well with others by orienting our hearts in fear of the Lord. Thus, wisdom can be summarized as how to love God, myself, and others well.

Rolheiser’s words are worth pondering with our missiological lens especially as we consider the topics of “imago dei,” “mutuality,” or just being human beings as fellow poiema (God’s magnificent poetry in motion). I quote him heavily below as they are packed with highly relevant insight into today’s world. And I will try to deduce my reflecting summary.

G. K. Chesterton once suggested that “the greatest of all illusions is the illusion of familiarity.” Familiarity is also the death of respect, wonder, and awe. When our minds, hearts, and imaginations are no longer poised for surprise and astonishment, then we no longer have a healthy fear of God or indeed of each other, which means living in such a way that nothing becomes too familiar to us.

By extension, to live in fear of God means that we live before God and the rest of reality in such a way that there is never contempt within us. We take nothing for granted, everything as a gift. We have respect. We are always poised for surprise before the mystery of God, others, and ourselves.

To fear God is also, as Michael Buckley puts it, to let God “contradict the programs and expectations of human beings in order to fulfill human desires and human freedom at a much deeper level than subjectivity would have measured out in its projections.” To fear God means to set aside our own expectations, needs, and imaginings and let God set the agenda and define the limits. 

A healthy fear of God brings with it a sense that must flow over into our actions, that our freedom is not unconditional but conscienced. When we fear God, we fear misusing our freedom, not because we fear God’s punishment if we do wrong, but because we fear hurting others, being idolatrous, or feeling self-righteous.

To live in holy fear of God means bringing one’s freedom under the Lordship of God. One lives in holy fear of God when one is aware that freedom is a gift given us for love and that, outside its continual genuflection before a God beyond itself, freedom very quickly becomes a god unto itself and leaves in its wake a trail of violation, idolatry, and self-inflation.

Lastly, a healthy fear of God means living in genuine humility.

The humblest person you know is not the person who lives a timid life but the person who lives a life that constantly acknowledges its interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character.

(All italicized are mine.)

I wish I could unpack all of my reflections based on Rolheiser’s reflection. A few things to highlight are as follows.

Fear of God requires a two-pronged posture: letting God be God and deep concern for others. And that there is no separation between the two. The first has to do with our penchant for control and certainty, undesirous of surprises and mystery. Upon further and honest reflection, we know having a sense of control and certainty is an illusion because reality is full of surprises and mystery. In this vein, it is worth examining whether the current missions effort has been operating out of the fear of God, allowing ample room for surprises and mystery and being honest with our control and certainty.

The second concerns our sinful human ability and capacity to compare and judge. Fear of God forces us to show respect and believe in all humanity's dignity. How do we live and behave in such a way that there is never contempt toward others but respect, awe, and “everything (and everyone) as a gift?” Many human atrocities throughout history have to do with how people loved themselves so wrongly (and twistedly) to the point they had to either get rid of others or subject others under them. This disease is exactly the opposite of Jesus’ teaching of “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Fear of God in essence relates to our use of freedom. Our freedom has its designed limit and boundary: “Freedom is a gift given us for love.” Apostle Paul’s warning and teaching to use our freedom to serve others is consistent with the idea that freedom’s goal is to love. In short, we are to use our freedom to love others well which is congruous to the Great Commandment of loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Lastly, the idea of “interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character” has deep and far-reaching implications in this year’s ASFM and beyond. Which leads me to the next section. . .

DANANG SUNRISE

In early August, my wife and I spent several days in Danang, Vietnam, a quick getaway for a required visa run. All my life, I was associated with the west or “left” coast. Even in Korea, having been born and grown up in Seoul, we were much closer to the West Sea than the East Sea. As the East Coast remained elusive, witnessing sunrise has been a rare occurrence.

I did not write this poem during the dawn of the day, but days later. As the sunrise scene got seared in my mind, I stayed with it and let it percolate. Then one morning in Kuala Lumpur, I had the urge to capture what I was processing. As often is the case, I do not know how the poem will end until I get there. This was no exception.

Having grown up near the west coast, the Pacific Ocean,
I have taken sunsets for granted for I have witnessed many
with my growing photo library to prove my point
Disproportionately, dawn is another matter, elusive at that,
location and weather and assiduity are required.
When in Danang, Vietnam recently on a visa run,
I quickly learned that we were facing the east ocean.
From the comfort of our hotel room, I could observe the sunrise,
too early for my liking at 5 in the morning

Not knowing what came over me, I set my alarm to witness the dawn one morning at 4:50
the daily spectacle and silent wonder over the vast horizon, as if to say
silence and wonder are perfect partners
it is the nature’s best performance of the day, the ribbon-cutting ceremony,
the sun glows faint light grey and yellow on the horizon,
changing its crimson hue in the mid-course to light-infused orange to wow us all,
to make us wordless in awe, even the busiest mouth,
to teach our chatty minds to relax, to linger
then the final bright and overbearing red glow that announces to the world,
I am here, ready to start the day, and so can you.

The non-discriminating light blankets everything in sight,
providing warmth, dry, and nourishment in non-judgmental kindness,
the rest of nature simply bows, obeys, and takes its cues from the rising sun,
the tall manmade buildings, as impressive as they are, face the ocean as if to
worship the rising sun
are simply no match in elegance and majesty.
Dawn is a miracle, not a chance,
reminding the world that we each are a miracle too.
And that there is the miracle Giver.