TAIZÉ | PART 1

For the next four weeks, I will be reflecting on my visit to Taizé in 2016. Even five years later, my heart remains warm and tender, and I still treasure the lessons learned from Taizé. I decided to capture it in writing. Below is part 1 of 4.

The Bells of Taizé

One of my spiritual disciplines is walking. I walk to listen. I listen to music, podcasts, poems, Scriptures, birds, myself, God, etc. I walk to see. I see what I can see with my bare eyes, and I see what I cannot see with my bare eyes. While walking, I realize it is hard to lift my eyes up to see the sky, which serves as an appropriate reminder to “lift up” my eyes to see beyond what is right in front of me.

Occasionally as I listen to music on my Spotify, a Taizé song or two would pop up, as I have a large selection of Taizé worship songs. Recently, I noticed that my heart was being more tenderly drawn to Taizé music, thus prompting me to reflect on the time my wife and I visited the Taizé community in France. I have verbally shared my experience in Taizé with multiple audiences in the past, but I realize that I have not written about it. I now take the opportunity in my blog to reminisce and reflect.

It was in the fall of 2016, right around the election that made Trump the US president. I was given a precious one month-long sabbatical right in the middle of my leadership responsibilities. The board of the organization I was serving graciously dug into their own pockets to essentially cover all our sabbatical expenses. By then, I was running on fumes and knew that I was burned out. However, I had fooled myself by telling myself and others that I was "close to being burned out." In most cases, I can surmise near-burn out almost always signals full-blown burnout. I was no exception. 

I knew how I wanted to spend my sabbatical: visit the Taizé community in Burgundy province, France. I had heard and read about Taizé and wanted to experience the community firsthand. We also were introduced to a bed and breakfast in Brittany, France, run by a Methodist missionary couple. The couple converted a 450-year-old farmhouse to a beautiful bed and breakfast. I had also long wished to explore and soak in the museums in Paris with my bride, not to mention all the croissants, baguettes, pain aux raisins escargot, Éclairs, etc. that I could eat to my heart’s content! So we had a plan.

The Taizé community was founded by Brother Roger, a reformed Protestant minister in Switzerland, who asked God to send him to the neediest place right in the middle of World War II. Brother Roger yearned to see a different expression of the Christian tradition and wanted to do something about it. Having discerned that a podunk village called Taizé was the place, as Taizé had become a place of haven for refugees fleeing the war, Brother Roger settled down. By 1949, along with a few who came with Brother Roger, the Taizé community comprised of 7 brothers from both Protestant and Catholic traditions. By the 1960s, young people (mainly from Europe), hearing about the community, began flocking to the small provincial town. It did not take long for Brother Roger to demolish the four walls of the sanctuary to accommodate the young people that were growing in number. 

At present, they have about 100 brothers representing some 30 countries. Today, the Taizé community has become one of the major Christian pilgrimage sites in the world, drawing more than 100,000 each year, the vast majority of them being young people in their late teens and 20s. During the summer months, there is a fresh batch of pilgrims of 7,000 each week (from Sunday to Sunday) who camp outdoors. Unless you stay for an additional week of silence retreat or you serve as a volunteer, no one can stay beyond one week. Additionally, I knew from history that there were many Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and self-proclaimed atheists who spent time in Taizé. Archbishop Desmond Tutu was a friend of Taizé. One random piece of trivia would be that I was told that Taizé has the 2nd largest kitchen facility in France, next to a French army base. 

We arrived in the middle of November for a 3 nights and 4 days stay after circling around for seemingly a million roundabouts from Paris in a manual shift mini-Citroën SUV. Although I was grumbling through almost every single roundabout, by the time we arrived in Taizé, I had become somewhat of an expert. (Later, back in US, I grumbled about why US does not have roundabouts. I suppose France converted me.) Roundabouts are all about what Koreans refer to as “nunchi" (literally translated as eye power but essentially an embodied skill set of relating to others and navigating life in high context cultures.) I thought to myself, being a Korean has practical benefits of driving in France! Stopping by the picturesque Abbey of Fontenay, a monastery founded by Saint Bernard of Clairvaux in 1118, perhaps prepared our hearts for what was to come in Taizé. Young people flocked to join the reform-minded Cistercian Order founded by Saint Bernard in the Middle Ages. (The French-born Thomas Merton, who had become a mentor of mine in writing, was also a Cistercian monk.) Now we were about to witness why young people were flocking to Taizé centuries later. I could not ignore the parallels. . . 

My faithful mini-Citroën and the Abbey of Fontenay

“BEING AT HOME, BECOME LIKE, AND REMAIN AS” | PART 2

The second step is to become like. This step has so much to unpack. My wife, who is a spiritual director, embodies this extremely well in my humble opinion. She has written a short piece of what her spiritual direction is like in an online publication. She has titled it a “A Sacred Space of Love.” I would like to share It below.

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Although the ministry of spiritual direction is gaining recognition and acceptance, it is a mode of spiritual help and guidance that is not yet broadly embraced or sought out, especially among Protestants. Spiritual directors are guides or companions more than directors. As such, spiritual direction can be viewed as a misnomer, which may lead to the misunderstanding of this ministry. Spiritual direction is distinct from other modes of helping ministries, such as counseling or coaching, although there are areas of overlap.

One important distinctive of spiritual direction is that it is evocative or non-directive. Spiritual direction is first and foremost a ministry of presence and deep and holy listening. It is not goal oriented. The director provides the hospitality that is a safe space for the directee’s soul to show up in all of her glory. E. E. Cummings said, “We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals that deep inside us something is valuable, worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch.” A spiritual director is that someone who listens deeply, so the directee can experience the sacredness of her being and her story. I am often reminded of Henri Nouwen’s definition of hospitality as I practice spiritual direction. “Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend . . . Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place.” This is a beautiful description of the art of spiritual direction.

Another important facet of spiritual direction is that it is content to move slowly. The cycle of spiritual direction sessions is usually monthly. It is not aimed at bringing quick solutions. Rather, the director and directee together listen to the Spirit to discern God’s presence and activity in the directee’s life. God’s movement is always a movement of love. As such, this work cannot be rushed. In his book, The Three Mile an Hour God, Kosuke Koyama says, “Love has its speed.  It is a different kind of speed from the technological speed to which we are accustomed. It goes on in the depth of life at three miles per hour.  It is the speed we walk and therefore the speed the love of God walks.” Spiritual direction, therefore, is a slow and patient art and discipline.

This slow and sacred space of spiritual direction allows the directee to listen deeply to her own soul and hear the invitation of God toward love. Transformation takes place within this sacred space of love.

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Her last sentence of how transformation takes place within this sacred space of love is what we have experienced repeatedly in our group spiritual direction sessions. Though overly simplistic, the very act of becoming like is essentially the enacted dedication to creating the sacred space of love and hospitality. The dissemination of knowledge-driven spirituality, where correction and overcorrection are often practiced, has been overvalued and overrated for too long. Knowledge does not change people. Information does not change people. Transformation happens when people develop the ability to listen to their own souls (where God speaks) and discover their own answers to their own questions. It is a profound solitary and interior work of discovery in the context of loving communal space. 

The etymological Latin root for educate is educere, which is to “draw out”—alluding to the process of drawing from within. Here is one more fine quote from Herbert Alphonso in his book, Discovering Your Personal Vocation.

“In the field of formation or education or pedagogy, it is axiomatic today to affirm that what radically forms or educates a person is not “input” from the outside, but the releasing or liberating or drawing out of the rich inner resources that reside within that person.”

Correspondingly, Chris Lowney, in his readable book, Heroic Leadership, describes how “the early Jesuits invented an array of tools and practices to mold self-aware recruits.” This practice of self-awareness is a necessary precursor to the process of drawing from within. In describing the founder, Ignatius of Loyola, and why young people were drawn to him, Lowney writes, “the self-awareness he [Loyola] had won was ultimately what drew others, even Europe’s finest, to him.” Lowney continues, “Loyola’s core appeal was not his own leadership traits—it was his ability to identify and unlock others’ latent leadership potential.” Lowney also describes how Ignatius learned that “the switches were inside” of every young recruit. He could not and would not have taught people to run their lives simply with his input. Ignatius functioned more as a facilitator and an “alongsider” than an expert teacher. 

Lastly, there is the stage of “remain as.” One might say this is the fortunate reversal of the infamous last verse of the Book of Judges, “everyone does what is right in their own eyes,” not as a detached, unaware, and sinful state of being but as an integrated and wholesome state. Not only does an individual have permission to be oneself (and thus does what is right in one’s eyes as a natural outflow), but it is a celebration of God’s incarnational love in action displayed through each being. When everyone is able to remain as oneself, we are closer to witnessing the full array of God’s intended magnificent creation. 

Then the movement—from being at home, to become like, to remain as—continues. As we learn to remain as and “be at home,” we are invited to become like others around us. We must live as who we are; at the same time, we also must die in order to become like and love others. Could this be what inherently and ultimately meaningful incarnational life looks like?

“BEING AT HOME, BECOME LIKE, AND REMAIN AS” | PART 1

My wife and I continue to marvel how our yearlong sabbatical, which started in December of 2019, coincided with the pandemic, now into the 3rd year. We marvel because while we had originally planned to be active and traveling, we continue to gain so much by being forced to be grounded to slow down and listen, listen to God and to ourselves and to the world. It is a lesson of gaining by losing. 

One practice we began to experiment about 6 months into our sabbatical was the formation and facilitation of several group spiritual directions. We started these online groups in some ways for selfish reasons. We discerned that we needed people to walk together with us in our life’s journey. These groups continue to meet virtually and continue to feed us and enliven us to discern and to follow God’s leading into our life’s next chapters. 

Allow me to pause on the above topic and bring in another thread. About a month ago, I presented a paper to Korean missions leaders about my concise (very short) assessment of the American Church followed by my encouragement/exhortation to the Korean Church and its missional engagements. I want to share my first paragraph of my encouragement and exhortation to the Korean leaders. I would like to tie how my paper is related to the group spiritual direction my wife and I have been facilitating. 

We “become like” (1 Corinthians 9:19-23) so others can “remain as” (1 Corinthians 7:20) is the pinnacle of Pauline missiology. Embedded in Paul’s message is also the foundational belief of “being at home” with ourselves. Listen to Paul, “Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches” (1 Corinthians 7:17, ESV). We are called to live the life God has assigned and called us to live, not someone’s else. In other words, we cannot become like others unless we know who we are, created by the very image of the triune God. When we know who we are and can stand on the truth, then we can do the incarnational work of becoming like. Furthermore, as we authentically live our life, we “give permission” and model for others to live their lives as authentically as possible—so they can remain as they are. This is possible because as we take ourselves seriously, we take others seriously as they are. The call to “love our neighbors as ourselves” is precisely the invitation here.

The word “rule” as in “my rule in all the churches” is a strong word in Greek, often translated as command, ordain, or to appoint. The Corinthian Church and beyond would have sensed the heightened urgency of Paul’s exhortation. The Message version of 1 Cor. 7:17 is more forceful in plain language. “And don’t be wishing you were someplace else or with someone else. Where you are right now is God’s place for you. Live and obey and love and believe right there.” (It is interesting that the pronoun, you, in the original Greek means “every” or “each,” not plural you.) The synergistic progression of being at home which grants us the permission to become like so that other can remain as they are is more than a good missiological principle for us. Not only does this capture the heart of Paul’s missiology, but it also summarizes Paul’s spirituality and how to live this life. Furthermore, this is Christ’s incarnation at work, having embraced Himself as fully divine and fully human, coming to dwell among us, and inviting us to live our fullest lives. As we follow Christ, we do not become less of ourselves but the best version of ourselves. 

Back to group spiritual direction. We desperately want to model this incarnational way of living and being on this earth. The groups that my wife and I facilitate are modeled after our understanding of Christ’s incarnation and Paul’s interpretive understanding of Christ’s incarnation. We first must be committed to the process of discovering ourselves and being at home, comfortable and even celebrating being in our own “skins” and not wishing we were someone else and so forth. The idea of not wishing we were someone else is not an easy internal work. Our false self is always measuring, comparing, and contrasting to position us in a better light because if we are honest, we would wish to be someone else. We are afraid of being in our own skin and how shallow and empty we are and can be. Our defense mechanism kicks in to save us, albeit fleetingly.

“FISHERS” OF MEN

My wife was sharing with me what she was learning from the 9-month long Ignatian Spiritual Exercises the other day. Every day she is spending 45 minutes to an hour meditating different portions of Scripture based on certain designated themes. Below is one of the gems she shared with me, sprinkled with a bit of my own musing and embellishment. It is one of those realization of how come I never thought of it this way before. Or I can blame it on someone else by saying how come nobody told me about this before. J Maybe you already heard or thought of this before . . . 

The context is Jesus’ calling His first disciples. Both Matthew and Mark’s gospels focus on Simon and Andrew who were fishermen, and Jesus called them to follow Him. “Follow me, and I will make you become fishers of men.” (Mark 1:17, ESV) Subsequently, Jesus called James and John, who were also fishermen, the sons of Zebedee, to follow Him. One can assume that Jesus’ call to make them become fishers of men (all men and women in Greek) would have applied to James and John as well. Luke’s version is consistent even though the wording is slightly different as Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” (Luke 5:2, ESV) 

Notice that Jesus’ call to the disciples to become fishers of men only applied to those who were fishermen. Jesus does not repeat the same call to others who were not fishermen. Matthew, who is a tax-collector, for example, is not given the “same” calling to become a fisher of men. We do not know for certain what other disciples’ vocations were. Thomas and Nathaniel (Bartholomew) may have also worked as fishermen before they followed Jesus, for they were all together and fishing when Jesus appeared to them in John 21:2-8. But even then, we do not know for sure. They might have gone fishing simply because they grew up near the sea and everyone knew how to fish. 

When I first became a believer, I was told that I was to become a fisher of men. I was to win lost souls for Jesus, to become an evangelist. It did not matter whether evangelism was my gift. That was what the disciples were called to do. I was no exception. During my college years, a group of zealous students used to go to college campuses to engage in cold turkey evangelism. We were “armed” with airtight Scripture verses to convince people to give their lives to Jesus, so we can fulfill our calling as fishers of men.

We do not know how Jesus called those disciples whose vocation was not fishing. I do not suppose Jesus needed to tell other disciples who were not fishermen to become fishers of men. Instead, I imagine that Jesus would have called them to retain and use their earthly vocations to further God’s Kingdom.

When Jesus called the disciples, it was in the everyday mundane context of life and work. Jesus does not come to us when we think we are ready to receive Him. He comes when we are least suspecting. This is both encouraging and frightening at the same time. Sacred meets mundane in the most profound way. As a result, mundane becomes a channel for sacred, effectively blurring the lines between sacred and mundane. 

I imagine Jesus calling me to become a voice of freedom for many. I imagine Jesus calling others to become teachers, business owners, artists, writers, engineers, health care professionals, etc. for humanity. I imagine Jesus calling mothers, fathers, grandparents, uncles, aunts, sons, daughters, etc. for the overall good of humanity. I imagine Jesus calling all to become good neighbors for all humanity. 

All of us have multiple identities. I am a father, husband, missionary, writer, speaker, etc. Undoubtedly, Jesus is calling me to become a better father, a better husband, and so forth and so on—in all my multiple earthly identities. Jesus’ calling is not a one-time event but a perpetual invitation throughout our entire life to retain and use all our earthly identities to be drenched and redeemed in Kingdom identities as Jesus’ followers. 

Additionally, I do believe there is a God-given existential core to who we each are. This core is what makes us us and why we exist and live. In Herbert Alphonso’s book, Discovering Your Personal Vocation, he coins this God-given existential core as “existential ethic.” In describing “existential ethic,” he writes, “in every option with which I am faced, there is a call to unique me.” (Italicized are his) We discover (or have the holy responsibility to discover if I may put it that way) over time what our unique contributions are to the world. 

The discovery and “employment” of our unique, unrepeatable, and existential gift to humanity is the life Jesus is inviting us to live out. Alphonso concludes his short book with this sentence, “The personal vocation is precisely a person’s unrepeatably unique way of opening out onto community—opening out onto social reality, social responsibilities, social commitment.” Then he writes that he closes all his teachings on personal vocation with T.S. Eliot’s charming poem, The Naming of Cats. Here it is below.

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
     It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
     Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo, or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
     All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
     Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
     But all of them sensible everyday names,
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
     A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
     Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
     Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—
     Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
     And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
     But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
     The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
     Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
          His ineffable effable
          Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular name.

NEW YEAR REFLECTION

1 John 4:7-8, ESV

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

Wherever God is, there is love. Wherever love is, there is God. Whoever knows love knows God. Whoever knows God knows love. 

What then is love? Love is, first of all, seeing the beloved of God in others and otherness. This belovedness can also be described as the glory or the original goodness in all things. Thomas Merton captured it this way, “It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven.” Richard Rohr calls this “immortal diamond.” The pure and immortal diamond in us is seeing the pure and immortal diamond in others. It is Christ in us seeing the Christ in others. 

Then, as we are seeing, we are drawn to be united. Seeing leads to seeking union. This desire to be united is innate and instinctive for we are from God. As the goal of our earthly life is to be united with God who created us in His image and likeness, we are to experience union with God as we experience union with others. Jesus’ prayer at Gethsemane highlights beautifully what is a main thrust of the entire Book of John, pursuing union with God.

It is precisely this pursuit of union with others that requires persistent and sacrificial work of compassionate service, dying to false self, listening, learning, unlearning, and relearning. The “work” here is not merely work for work's sake, but the work or the effort that is really God’s grace at work to pursue union with others which somehow culminates into union with God. I use the word somehow because I don’t understand how it happens but it happens. 

My pursuit of being in union with my wife is the richest example I can think of. The Bible is replete with this earthly union because it comes closest to what humans can experience and project those experiences to being in union with God. Through multiple broken trusts, both small and big, and normal life’s challenges and problems, we have come to recognize cumulatively that we have grown in union with each other. We have come to know how one thinks, why one thinks the way I or she does, and finish each other’s heart renderings and thought processes. We have also come to know each other’s emotions, perhaps even before we know what is going on in us and proceed to utter clearly. Though clearly different and distinctive human beings, we experientially know what it means to be in union more now than when we first got married more than 30 years ago. 

So then my working definition of love can be summed as both the intent and will to see the Christ in others and to do the hard work of pursuing union. 

John of the Cross said that “love produces likeness.” As people embrace and practice love, love grows and multiplies like wildfire, consuming everything in its path and generating God DNA all over the world. This would be nothing short of a fulfillment of a vision Jesus laid out in John 13:34-35, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

LOVE AFTER LOVE

As we bid farewell to another tumultuous year of pandemic, or for that matter any other “normal” year, this is an apt poem to mull over life. Or more precisely my life. . . Life that can only be lived and experienced by me. . . Again I offer to you with no comments of mine.

What words or phrases are highlighted for you today? Ask yourself why. And listen for God’s invitation and discern your response back to God. Thanks for reflecting along with me.

A big thank you also for reading and interacting with my blog during this year. A good number of you emailed, commented, texted, and shared with me in person what resonated with you. Your kind words have been deeply encouraging and affirming. I’ve decided to write for another year (my 3rd) as I realize that it is a good discipline and outlet for me.

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

PRAYING

This week’s poem is titled Praying by Mary Oliver. This short poem is a gem that has illuminated my prayer life uncomplicated and some ways more effortless and deeper. What does this poem illuminate in you?

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Mary Oliver, Thirst

THE GREAT AFFAIR

To read is to interpret. We read as we are based on our unique experiences of life. In this vein, reading is sacred for we discipline ourselves to bring ourselves fully.

To read is also to imagine. When reading, nobody thinks two-dimensionally. We all bring our imagination: images, colors, background music, scenes, smell, etc.

We interpret and imagine in order to make connections in our own lives and to give meaning. it is an exercise of self-love, I would observe.

I invite you to read the poem below as we will this week and the next two. No need to doubt whether you are “interpreting” correctly. As BTS sings “Permission to Dance,” may I grant you permission to interpret and imagine?

The great affair, the love affair with life,
is to live as variously as possible,
to groom one's curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred,
climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day.

Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding,
and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours,
life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length.

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery,
but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

Diane Ackerman

THE VISITOR

This week, I would like to share with you a Korean poem. A special treat for Korean speaking readers. Don’t’ worry if you don’t read Korean. I attempt to provide you with my own translation into English. I know it is extremely tricky to translate a poem from another language. Consider this more of a paraphrase than an actual translation. Hopefully I have not butchered the poet’s original meaning. 

방문객

정현종

사람이 온다는 건
실은 어마어마한 일이다.
그는
그의 과거와
현재와
그리고
그의 미래와 함께 오기 때문이다.
한 사람의 일생이 오기 때문이다.
부서지기 쉬운
그래서 부서지기도 했을
마음이 오는 것이다---그 갈피를
아마 바람은 더듬어볼 수 있을
마음.
내 마음이 그런 바람을 흉내낸다면
필경 환대가 될 것이다.

The Visitor by Hyun Jong Jung

The event of another human being coming to visit me 
is quite an astonishing endeavor.
It is precisely because the person arrives with all of
one’s past
present
and future.
Because the person arrives with one’s entire life.
The person arrives with the fragility of one’s heart
and thus, could have been heartbroken.  The lostness of one’s soul
can perhaps be caressed by wind.
If I who welcome can imitate the gentle caress of the wind, 
it will undoubtedly be hospitality.

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I love the gentle and almost coy tone of this poem. Yet it is bold and transparent at the same time. The topic of being visited by visitors is something we all can relate to as human beings, sometimes welcomingly and sometimes grudgingly, and sometimes numbingly. 

The visitor is who one is because of one’s past, present, and future that will be carved out. This entire person with one’s whole package of life is sacred and weighty (literally means glory in the Old Testament language). This poem beckons honor and generosity, granting the healthy benefit of the doubt to those who visit us. 

There is brokenness and thus tenderness in all of us. Some don’t want to admit there is brokenness in their life for multiple reasons. I would press the point that the sooner we accept our brokenness, the sooner we will experience grace. “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in,” sings Leonard Cohen in Anthem. And sooner we embrace our own brokenness, the better we are able to embrace others’ brokenness. No solidarity is as strong and powerful as the bond of accepted brokenness as human beings, it seems. 

Our life is sacred and weighty because we are broken. Our brokenness is a highway in discovering the very sacredness of our life. 

Wind can be many things. The unpredictable and free nature of wind is what makes wind wind. It can also be soothing. I can vividly remember sitting outside on our back deck during a sabbatical in the mornings, while the sun was warm, sometimes I could feel the gentle cool breeze rising from the ground and I would quietly whisper “Aaahhhh.” Coupled with Thomas Merton’s journal in one hand and warm coffee in the other hand, when the cool breeze visited me at the time of my heart’s consent with Merton’s words, I had likened it to be the intimate visitation from the Lord that morning. 

How does one imitate wind? Today, I imagine wind as dancing. A kind of dancing that is non-intrusive but cuddly, embracing, and befriending. . . Ultimately inviting others to join in the dance. . . 

Hospitality is brokenness befriending brokenness in a non-judgmental and safe space where reciprocal healing and restoration of our soul take place. And we will all be appropriately warmed or cooled by the wind of hospitality. 

AFTER THE GOOSE THAT ROSE LIKE THE GOD OF GEESE

This week’s poem is titled, After the Goose That Rose Like the God of Geese, by Martin Espada. Strange title indeed, but this poem remained with me for days after first reading it. As you will see, it also has to do with bread, continuing the theme from last week. Again, I invite you to ponder along with me. Here it is below.

Everything that lives is Holy.      

—William Blake

After the phone call about my father far away,
after the next-day flight canceled by the blizzard,
after the last words left unsaid between us,
after the harvest of the organs at the morgue,
after the mortuary and cremation of the body,
after the box of ashes shipped to my door by mail,
after the memorial service for him in Brooklyn,

I said: I want to feed the birds, I want to feed bread
to the birds. I want to feed bread to the birds at the park.

After the walk around the pond and the war memorial,
after the signs at every step that read: Do Not Feed The Geese,
after the goose that rose from the water like the god of geese,
after the goose that shrieked like a demon from the hell of geese,
after the goose that scattered the creatures smaller than geese,
after the hard beak, the wild mouth taking bread from my hand,

 there was quiet in my head, no cacophony of the dead
lost in the catacombs, no mosquito hum of condolences,
only the next offering of bread raised up in my open hand,
the bread warm on the table of my truce with the world.

---

This poem starts out with an epigraph from William Blake. This sentence alone is worth a page or two to unpack which I will not do here, but it sets the context for Espada’s poem. One thing we are invited to consider is why Espada included this epigraph in his poem.

This poem is divided into 4 stanzas: 1st and 3rd stanzas are couched under “afters” which is a collection of reminiscent memories of what happened in two events; 2nd short stanza is the connection that explains how he got from his 1st stanza to the 3rd stanza. The final stanza reads almost like a quiet but resolute awakening of sorts.

The first stanza of “after” is filled with grief, a mishap, a hint of regret, and a series of actions that were needed to bring some semblance of closure to his father’s passing. I sense almost numbing words being spoken without emotional awareness or connections.

Then the italicized stanza by the author of “I want to-s.” The “I want to-s” grow in impulsive crescendo, moving from vaguer “I want to” to more specific “I want to.” (I wonder if the author thought, “what the heck?” and was tempted to ignore the seed of the original impulse.) What was initially spoken is random impulsion that the author not only thought about but said to himself. We all think about all kinds of stuff all day long. I certainly do. But to declare to oneself requires certain conviction and inner resoluteness. And the most impressive thing about this is that the author takes it seriously enough to build specificity and to do something about what the author said to himself. One invitation here for me to consider is: What do I want to do? Are there some specificities to what I want to do? Not to over-spiritualize things here but I see a correlation with one of Jesus’ questions: What do you want me to do for you? I would observe that as I pursue Christ in me and me in Christ, these two questions become one. And there is no separation between what I want to do and what I would ask Jesus to do for me.

The 3rd stanza is an action taken after the “I want to.” One line that caught my eye this time is “after the signs at every step that read: Do Not Feed The Geese.” There are bureaucratic systems and structures in place that discourage and attempt to put a stop to what we want to do. Sometimes, we must break rules to pursue after what we want to do or to say it slightly differently, what God has called us to do. The author ignores the signs at every step to continue feeding the birds.

---

My incomplete and ongoing version goes something like this. . .

After I had grown weary and worn out by leadership burdens and responsibilities,

After my long-awaited yearlong sabbatical began,

After Kobe and my father died within a span of month,

After the pandemic emerged as a once-in-a-lifetime global pandemic,

After discovering a heaven-sent rhythm of rest and renewal,

After experiencing death, deconstruction, and a newfound desire,

I said: I want to communicate. I want to communicate by writing. I want to write a blog. I want to write a book for God-seeking Korean-speaking people.

“My 3rd stanza” is currently unfolding but the “Do Not Feed The Geese” signs are visible everywhere I turn. There are more than enough signs that tell me what I should or should not say or write. Most of these signs are stemming from the traditional evangelicalism box both in theology as well as in missiological practices. I am learning how to break rules properly and address issues that are foundational and existential in nature based on my life’s journey.

---

Then the 4th stanza of unexpected realization set in, “quiet in my head.” All noises, both external and internal, dissipated. What was left with the “after-s” “was only the next offering of bread.” It is as if the world stopped, and the author finally was able to “see” what was plainly in front of him. What started out with grief followed by random impulse and subsequent action ended with the realization of the now. Everything melted away, and the author embraced what was the author’s truce with the world.

ALL BREAD

I shared last week in one of the prompts and practices encouraging you to read poetry. Speaking of which, in the next few weeks, I would like to share a few poems that I have reflected on this year, including a brief reflective commentary. As I have done, I would like to invite you to do the same. Nobody reads and interprets the same poem with undifferentiated musings and feelings. Who you are and where you are in life dictates myriads of interpretations. In a way, how you read poems reveals more of who and where you are in life’s journey. As such, I bare what I am processing in the context of my life and reality in these posts. 

The first poem I would like to share is a poem by Margaret Atwood titled All Bread. Here it is below. 

All Bread by Margaret Atwood

All bread is made of wood,
cow dung, packed brown moss,
the bodies of dead animals, the teeth
and backbones, what is left
after the ravens. This dirt
flows through the stems into the grain,
into the arm, nine strokes
of the axe, skin from a tree,
good water which is the first
gift, four hours.

Live burial under a moist cloth,
a silver dish, the row
of white famine bellies
swollen and taut in the oven,
lungfuls of warm breath stopped
in the heat from an old sun.

Good bread has the salt taste
of your hands after nine
strokes of the axe, the salt
taste of your mouth, it smells
of its own small death, of the deaths
before and after.

Lift these ashes
into your mouth, your blood;
to know what you devour
is to consecrate it,
almost. All bread must be broken
so it can be shared. Together
we eat this earth.

---

I find this poem profoundly spiritual; it captures the unending cycle of life and death (death and life, if you like) which is nature at work, which we are part of. . . Simple staple of food like bread (or rice or corn) arrives at our mouths as a culmination from many deaths. Many had to die in order to nourish us and give us life. There is such beauty of irony and the pinnacle of contradiction (this may be the grandest contradictions of all) here. 

I like the notion of “four hours.” Bread making is slow, even if it is produced in mass. I remember a French chef telling me that in America, consumerism drives bread making. In France, bread making is part of its culture. Even as I write this, I am reminded of bringing a warm freshly baked baguette from a local bakery to where we were staying in Paris, years ago. I likened the notion of “four hours” to be a subtle invitation to meditate on how bread comes to us, with deaths and the “first gift,” good water. It is also an invitation to not fast track or speed up the natural process of bread making or if you like, life making. We are who we are because of many deaths before us. We live because “others” died. There simply is no other way, it seems.

There is poignant reminder of “the row of white famine bellies swollen” as we see the bread rising in the oven. As we fill our bellies, we are reminded to those of famine bellies. It is a stark reminder of those who are experiencing dire poverty and under-privileged. Later, the author talks about “All bread must be broken so it can be shared.” 

Eating bread is almost an act of holy consecration as we are reminded of many deaths before and after. The last few lines of Mayr Oliver’s poem, Fall Song, echoes the same spiritual truth, “everything lives, shifting from one bright vision to another, forever in these momentary pastures.”

“Together, we eat this earth” is a call toward solidarity for all humanity, as well as an invitation to take what is given daily to us with great reverence and humility. Holiness can be accessed and experienced in mundane contexts in everyday life.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | EMBRACE NON-DUALISTIC THINKING AND APPROACH TO LIFE

This week’s post will be the last of the prompts & practices series. Thanks for reading and reflecting with me on these.

This non-dualistic way of life is probably the most challenging way of life for modern people as we need to unlearn what we have been taught to believe. This “both-and” approach to life requires holding both good and bad, sacred and profane, and life and death.

Practically speaking, learn to hold both positive and negative emotions together without judgment or comments. Learn also to give compassion and the benefit of the doubt to others as both you and others may be right. Learn to find God, yourself, and others amid contradictions, tensions, and uncertainties.

Practices

• Read poetry. While words are inherently dualistic, poetry has the capacity to hold contradictions together without judgment. Invite yourself as the poet (I), the one the poet is addressing (you), or just an observer. Allow yourself to interpret the poetry with your subjective lens.

• Go to an art museum. Find a painting (or sculpture) or two that resonate with your soul at the time. Ask yourself why you may be drawn to the painting.

• When you listen to your friend’s story next time or witness an event that catches your eye, try not to rush into judgment. Receive them as they are without needing to correct, confront, or advise.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | MAKE YOUR SPIRITUAL LIFE NATURAL AND NATURAL LIFE SPIRITUAL

“’Everything that lives is Holy.” William Blake

Integrating your spiritual life with your natural life and vice versa is critical grounding work of establishing communion with God, yourself, and with otherness. Communion means wholeness. A process of sanctification involves a movement from disjointed and compartmentalized selves to whole self. Learning and growing to piece together, relate, and integrate our “separate” life into one whole life is at stake here. No other challenge is bigger than integrating our spiritual and natural life together.

Church sanctuary is not the only place that is holy. The reverence you bring into the church sanctuary, live it out everywhere you go and whoever you interact with, including nature around you.

Practices

• Steward your body well by walking 30 minutes a day. Brisk walking is encouraged.

• Discern spiritual voices through the five senses. Pay attention to what you see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. In that, listen to the still small voices that come to you. These voices may be so faint that you may not recognize them initially. If you are not sure, test the voices and follow through. By testing, we grow in discernment.

• Discern spiritual voices through everyday life. Pay attention to surprises, interruptions, and mundane activities. What may be random to you may contain some spiritual discoveries. At the end of the day, see if you can recall any spiritual discoveries during the day.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | GO OUT IN NATURE

Frequently, place yourself in nature away from man-made structures and the environment to soak and overwhelm your senses in nature. Speaking of ocular sense, Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.” Learn to hear the sound of the wind. Learn to smell nature that is familiar as well as unfamiliar to you.

There is an inherent existential union with nature, as humans and creation share the Creator and the Nurturer. If we slow down enough and throw ourselves to nature in regular intentionality, we will begin to discover union and enjoy communion with nature, which in turn will deepen our communion with God.

What nature gifts us with is the abundance of sacred symbols and images that are constantly changing. The symbols and images speak intelligibly to our soul, while logical and rational reasons tend to dry out our soul. As co-creations of God, we discover in nature deep relatability and parallels in which our soul finds haven, often inexplicably. The fact that it cannot be explained does not mean it is not true or real. Awe, wonder, befuddlement, and wildness are all the languages of nature which profoundly touch something deep and cause resonance in our soul.

Practices

• Discover a hiking trail or two that are usually not crowded or a walking path around your neighborhood that is surrounded by nature

• Pick a sitting spot where you get to watch changes in nature both large and small over time

• Gaze into the sky and feed your eyes multiple times throughout the day

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | BE A SAFE SPACE

We experience transformation in a safe space. We are transformed by God who is ultimately safe and loving. The best gift we can provide to others is to create, defend, and protect safe space. There is no official or formal environment necessary for this to happen. We can become safe people whenever and wherever we are.

Hostility is the name of the game because we perceive that we are in constant competition with others. It is an endless game of feeding our ego and displacing our soul to far corners. No wonder our soul becomes protective and untrusting.

Building a safe space takes time and even requires multiple failures. Lessons learned from failures become valuable stepping stones in building safe spaces and restoring broken trusts.

Practices

• Listen. Listen not only to the words but to the emotions behind the words, to facial expressions, body postures, and/or energy levels. Do not offer solutions, advice, or corrections. Don’t think about what to say when listening. Learn to simply say, “thank you for sharing” or “bless you.” If and/or when praying, do not offer solutions or give advice through prayer.

• Keep confidentiality. Assume confidentiality. Keeping your mouths closed builds trust and safety over time.

• It is worth repeating this practice: Ask open questions lovingly. You can assume that he or she will discover his or her own answers over time. Thus, when asking, you are giving them space and permission to discover their own answers. Answers they discover will be more valuable and transforming than the answers they would have received from elsewhere.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | LEARN TO BE HOSPITABLE

Imagine a scenario where you are invited into a place or “space” someone created for you. In one such setting, there is an unostentatious and even humble ambiance with a modest and thoughtful serving of food, and you find yourself being at home with a relaxed and comfortable heart. In another setting, there is extravagance and plentiful provision, but your heart is not at rest. The difference is not whether one is modest and the other extravagant. The difference lies with the heart of the host. Of course, you can find a setting where there is extravagance and warmth, and openness of the host. The opposite is also true in that there is modesty but closedness and detachment from the host.

Hospitality is foremost the way of the heart. How we are and how we prepare ourselves to be open, inviting, and giver of freedom to others is everything. After that comes the actual offering of hospitality, which requires work of service and dedication. The truth of the matter is that we can be hospitable wherever we are. It becomes a way of life-based on our magnanimous hearts. Our “home” then is our heart. Our heart home becomes the real “home” out of which we provide hospitality to whoever we come in contact with.

Practices

• Invite someone(s) to your home. The Golden Rule of Jesus says that “so whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them” (Matthew 7:12). Apply this rule practically when providing hospitality. How would you like to be treated and served when you are a guest? Hospitality becomes an art of giving freedom and space for others to discover who they are.

• Receive gifts and service from others with a grateful heart. While it is true that we are more blessed when giving than receiving, appropriate receiving restores dignity upon the one who is doing the act of giving. When receiving, we are humbly placing ourselves under the one who is giving.

• Grow your magnanimous heart by giving “difficult” people around you the benefit of the doubt. Say a quick prayer of blessing over them when tempted toward judgement.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | KNOW AND OWN YOUR SET OF GLASSES

As cultural and subjective beings, we operate life with our own unique filtering system that turns reality into a reality. No one sees reality as the reality. We all have our own grid for interpretation of life and make decisions based on the interpretations. Jesus does not sugar coat this tendency and gives some stern warnings in Matthew 7:1-12. In His typical exaggerated fashion, Jesus talks of “the speck” of our neighbor’s eye and “the log” in our eye.

Then there is the strange insertion of Jesus, seemingly completely unrelated, “Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you.” (Matthew 7:6) What is at stake here is not how unworthy dogs and pigs are, but that of helpfulness. Even our best intentions of giving dogs what we consider to be holy and throwing our precious helps (jewels) before pigs are ways of judging what we think others may need from us.

Instead, we are told to “ask, seek, and knock” in the following verses (7-11). Instead of judging and making our own conclusion of things, simply ask, seek, and knock. The act of asking, seeking, and knocking is an act of non-judgement. We are opening ourselves up to listen and listen deeply.

Practices

• Pray daily the breath prayer, “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

• Be aware of your blind spots, assumptions, prejudices, and preferences, particularly how they tend to take charge of your everyday life and decisions.

• Think twice before you say what you want to say and consider whether you have thought about how your words may impact others. “Do or say unto others what you would have them do or say to you” is what is at stake here. Once words come out of our mouth, it is already spilt milk.

• Learn to ask open questions. Be genuine when asking and listen lovingly and deeply.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | PURSUE WHAT MAKES YOU FULLY ALIVE

The pronoun, you, is key here. It is about you coming fully alive, not someone else. Thus, you would need to be brutally honest with yourself. Also, you cannot allow the voices of what others may think of you to cloud over your pursuit of what makes you fully alive. You do not need permission from others to pursue your dream.

Pursuing your passion is not without risks. There are risks of arriving at dead ends, experiencing little or no financial compensation, facing the possibility of being underappreciated or misunderstood, and facing doubts. The process of taking risks is worth the journey, for the journey teaches something sacred and human about you. I encourage you by echoing the Bible’s most repeated command, “Do not be afraid,” and send you on your way.

You must trust the process enough that pursuing fully aliveness will eventually benefit others and ultimately God. This means the pursuit is not inherently self-centered and narcissistic but over time the fruit of your pursuit becomes a gift to humanity.

Practices

• Pay attention to what makes your heart full and alive especially in unguarded moments and unexpected places, make note of it, and see if there is an emerging pattern to what makes your heart beat faster and most alive.

• Similarly, ask yourself: What am I passionate about? Make a list and see if there is a discernible pattern. Talk to a close friend who can give you feedback. Also notice when you are most energetic when engaging with your friend.

• Ask yourself: What moves me to shed tears of beauty? Tears of beauty include such things as being in amazing natural wonders, witnessing kindness and sacrificial valor of humanity at work, rapturous music or sports performance, observing a piece of art, etc. Then ask yourself: Why was I moved to tears? Frederick Buechner’s wise counsel is appropriate.

  “Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention.

  They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go to next.”

• Ask yourself: What brings me sparks of joy? Sparks of joy are an experience of elation, satisfaction, and “being at home.” Joy is an emotion when you know someone is simply glad to be with you. Joy is experienced when deep soul level connection happens with God, others, yourself, as well as nature.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | GROOMING CURIOSITY

“Groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred.” Diane Ackerman

Curiosity is like unopened seeds of our soul that have yet to see the daylight. Being human means acknowledging this vast potential and service. Curiosities have led to historic original breakthroughs in science, technology, arts, sports, etc. Curiosities also opened doors for many to pursue one’s originality. Initially, discovering our originality through curiosity is often accidental, providential, and is a product of afterthought. Paying attention to what-ifs and heart tugs is crucial in taking the first steps toward unlocking our path toward originality. Granted, not all curiosities lead to something productive or helpful. It is ok. At least now we know. It is also paying attention to our heart when pursuing our curiosities. How is our heart responding, resonating, and experiencing in pursuing curiosities?

I would say one requirement of discerning whether to pursue a certain curiosity is to ask oneself whether this is self-serving to a point that it would harm others. If it is at least neutral, then I would give it a green light. You groom it like a high-spirited thoroughbred, ready to break out into the racetrack, to the wide-open fields, and to the world. Take your curiosities seriously enough to at least pursue them. Do not try to rationalize your curiosities. Grooming means investing intentional time and effort.

Once a seed of curiosity turns into a budding flower of passion that beckons your further attention and your name, then you must pursue the passion.

Practices

• List a few potential curiosities you want to pursue in the next several months. Pursue them thoroughly and watch how your heart responds.

• Do something you have not done before. Go somewhere you have not gone before. Strike random casual conversations with friendly strangers. Meet people from other cultures. Discerning your curiosities can be risky and vulnerable, but the process is worth the risk.

• Discovering your curiosities is like a treasure hunt. Usually, the movement goes from general to more specific areas of curiosities. Do not be afraid to chase “a few rabbits” along the way. As is the case, it can also be accidental. Learn to listen to your inner intuitions.

PROMPTS & PRACTICES | EXERCISE SELF-COMPASSION

Practicing self-compassion translates into rejecting self-condemnation. It is an exercise of faith of receiving God’s unending mercy in our life. If we reject this truth and do not embrace this, then what we are in fact saying is that we are too good to accept our failures and brokenness when God says exactly the opposite. When we admit both our failures and accept God’s mercy, we can then extend grace and compassion toward ourselves. If we are honest, we are often the biggest critic of ourselves. We can be extremely harsh and even violent to ourselves. The practice of self-compassion keeps us healthy and whole, not because we don’t fail, but precisely because of it. Shame and guilt don’t weigh us down to the point of destruction and death.

Parker Palmer says it well. “Wholeness is the goal, but wholeness does not mean perfection. It means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life.” Being human and being perfect do not go together, at least in this life. We are called to be whole through multiple doors of brokenness. The practice of self-compassion is then saying a big yes to God’s unending mercy over and over again. When God says, “I love you,” we say, “thank you. I love you too.” Furthermore, as we practice self-compassion, we then create capacity to extend generous compassion toward others. We become conduits of compassion and active assets of God’s grace at work.

Practices

• Embrace God’s tender loving care by writing a letter to yourself with acceptance and compassion amid guilt and shame. It doesn’t have to be long. Write another letter to yourself as if God is writing you a letter of forgiveness and love.

• In specific moments of needing self-compassion, ask yourself, “What do I need to hear right now to express kindness to myself?” After discerning what you need to hear from yourself, say it out loud to yourself.

• We all have good friends. Think of a scenario where your good friend has come to you, broken and needing sympathy and compassion. Ask yourself: How would I treat my good friend? Learn to treat yourself like you would a good friend and notice any changes.