YANGPYEONG JOURNAL

Today is our first full day at Yangpyeong. I decided to keep a journal during our one month stay here. I will select a few entries to share . . . Thanks for reading.

We are finally here. Last year, before we left Korea, we arrived at a small dream of living and running a “healing stay” outside of Seoul for people to come and visit us, for people to discover their true self. As we were not ready to drop everything back in the US to pursue the dream, we decided that we would take a small step of embracing a one-month experiment. We planned what we could by taking reflective and methodical steps to finally arrive at an Airbnb in Yangpyeong, less than an hour drive (without traffic) from Seoul but feels like a world apart from the hustle and bustle of the frantic city. This is coming from someone (yours truly) that thinks that he would gladly live in the heart of frantic and energetic (I almost said, energized) Manhattan, NY while my wife would shrivel up and die out of sheer exhaustion.

Yesterday was a very fine day to arrive, full of generosity and provision, not to mention the unusually warm spring weather. A well-respected global missions leader, who retired at the ripe age of 65, kindly and generously drove us from the heart of Seoul to Yangpyeong. Though I thought this was an extravagant gift, I welcomed it since I always enjoy my time with him. The fact that he retired at the ripe age was considered by many as an almost scandalous and befuddling act. It is one distinct reason why I respect him. After lunch and coffee at a fine bakery (Haus Bakery, in case you want to know) where people drive out from Seoul and elsewhere just to enjoy the coffee and the pastries while taking oodles of Instagram-worthy pictures of themselves and the cafe, he let us shop at Hanaro Mart for essential groceries, as we will not have a car for a few days. Speaking of a car, one mission organization graciously offered their car for us to use for the entire duration of our healing stay. The wife of the leader who drove us to Yangpyeong gave us homemade Gimjang Kimchi which is traditionally made once a year in the late fall, enough to last the whole month of our stay. I grew up in a home where we made Gimjang Kimchi religiously. I remember the salted and the washed napa cabbages as high as my young boy’s length. So, I know the effort since I have seen the fanatic effort that is required to produce enough kimchi to last the winter and beyond for a large extended family. My first meal was instant noodles with this awesome Kimchi while my wife made herself a healthy salad. How is it that Korean cucumbers, tomatoes, and carrots are so sweet? How is that Korean ramen bought in Korea tastes better than the ones in the US? I do not know.

Our Airbnb is quaint and full of retro touches and accessories, the kind of familiar retro I grew up with. After meeting the host, it made sense, as she introduced herself as a busy body and a potter. As if to prove her passion for pottery, our Airbnb is filled with attractive handmade potteries in all shapes and sizes. While smiling, she complained that there is too much work to be done for a country house, as she lives right next door. A retired transplant from Seoul, she was decked out in a straw hat, work clothes, and a towel around her neck, ready for some laborious yard work. While not loosening her smile, she told us that her husband refuses to come to Yangpyeong, because he did not want to labor in the dirt and the never-ending work. I uttered to her that I would be willing to help from time to time but regretted saying that almost right away as I sensed the busy body aura from her. But it was too late. . .

The house also features a huge yard with a vegetable garden that is fitted for springtime gardening, a fire pit, a picnic table, and a grill. Firepit invariably will call my name and our guests since one cannot easily find a firepit among city life. When asked where I could get some firewood, the owner casually pointed to the steep hillside right behind our house and told me that I could gather as many dead branches as I want. Upon scanning the month-long and beyond supply of firewood, I muttered inside, “good deal.”

 Already, my favorite place is the roofed porch which is a thoughtful and inviting extension of the house, overlooking the yard, firepit, and garden. But the better view is the valley and mountain slope of the Yangpyeong countryside spread out before me. The mountain is budding with spring green leaves that is bright yellowish-green, a color that is foreign in Southern California, occasionally dotted with bursting snow white cherry blossoms and bright fuchsia azaleas. When asked, I was told that the color starts out bright almost fluorescent green to darker green as summer approaches. The only view I would delete if I could are the power lines, ruining the pristine view of nature. But I realize without power, I cannot enjoy the modern amenities. Realizing I can’t have both, I also know this covered porch is where I will read, write, meditate, eat, and mingle with people.

Today is our first full day. I started out the morning by sitting outside on the porch and practicing 20-minutes of silence. When I awoke this morning, I noticed a kind of quiet that was foreign to me. Except for the birds, I could not hear anything else. The silence was filled with a full symphony of birds singing, crying for food, or simply starting the day. The sound of birds of some nearby and some faraway sounded like an orchestra with a full choir. Occasionally, “base” sounds of owls hooting and crows cawing punctuated by freestyle beatbox-like sound by some bird provided a feeling of small awe and wonder. I know I am not “supposed” to think or linger on my thoughts during silence, but on a morning like this, I could not help but to meander and eventually land on Jesus’ words of “lilies of the field and the birds of the air.”

After making myself a cup of hand-ground coffee and sitting on the porch, I cannot help but notice the calming and assuring sense that I am released to be here, at such a time as this. Not before. Not later. Released by our loving and supporting cherubim (our four adult children) as well as both my wife’s and my mom’s relatively good health in their late years. . . Not to mention our organizational/communal support including our faithful friends and supporters now for decades. . . Even to a practical release of the Korean government waving the mandatory quarantine requirement of what would have been 7-days being locked inside a tiny hotel room. . .

Along with the sense of release and the divine Kairos timing, there is a strong sense of divine pull. God’s appointed Kairos moment of “I am right where I am supposed to be” is a rare watershed occasion which I am savoring now. And I have a distinct feeling that this savoring will last for a while. We are being pulled not knowing where we are headed. It is as if we are floating down the river not knowing where the river will take us.

“SAWUBONA” | PART 2

A couple of weeks ago, my wife and I had brunch with a retired couple whom we respect deeply. The husband faithfully and fruitfully served as a head pastor of a Korean American church for decades and retired when he turned 65 almost on the clock. What is more admirable was the fact that he and his wife packed their belonging and rushed out of the country in a week and a half after retirement, not to burden his successor and the accompanying ministry. After retirement, he and his wife spent the next several years in China until they could no longer be in the country.  They ultimately settled down in Korea, on a podunk Island on the southern tip of the country. What grabbed me was the heart of their testimony, which was a humble and sublime Jesus-like “one person at a time” focus. As soon as I heard the phrase when he mentioned it as a bypassing comment, I “saw” the message as God’s invitation for me. I teared up because I knew God was speaking. It was holy ground.

Their current ministry involves spending time with bi-racial children with Korean fathers and more often than not, southeastern Asian wives. Bi-racial children in Korea are not readily “seen” and are sometimes bullied by others since Korea does not yet know how to embrace ethnic diversity well, though the scene has been changing in recent decades. To use slightly different language, the pastor couple exemplifies doing little things with great love. As I grow older (and hopefully mature older), I appreciate the lives that are inclined toward doing little things with great love and less on doing great things with little love. Of course, one can do great things with great love, which to me is an exceptional rarity. My experiences tell me that attempting and accomplishing great things are too tempting to a point that somehow great love is compromised and thus downgraded to good enough love. Great love, which is synonymous with unconditional love, requires too much sacrifice and dying before dying, it seems. And doing great things generates often predictable and unfortunate shortcuts that tend toward a compromise of love. “Little” things are the ones that are often under-appreciated, unseen, ignored as being trivial, and even bothersome. “Great” things represent bigger-than-life tasks, worthy enough to bear a slogan, and easily visible. My superficial distinctions are just that, superficial. At the same time, I cannot help but ponder the life and ministry of Jesus. Many in Jesus’ time including his disciples did not understand Jesus’ bent on doing seemingly little things with unfathomable great love. Many expected and hoped Jesus would do great things even if it required harsh “worthy” punishment and some kind of radical political reorder. I absolutely love this Jesus that refused to match their “great” expectation and hope!

Ok, that was more of a rabbit trail than I anticipated. . . The couple invited us to visit them while we are in Korea, so we are making plans to stay with them for a few days. 

While my wife’s ministry is already focused on “one person at a time,” which she knows she was born to do as in true vocation, I know I have some work to do. At the surface level, the focus on one person at a time brings me down to the earth and forces me to be real, since my natural tendency is for my head to be in the cloud somewhere, engaged in some sort of systems thinking trying to figure out solutions and ways forward. Think “great” things. . . I was often told by people to bring my 30,000 feet level thinking down to at least 10,000. Writing or blogging in this sense has been a concrete grounding discipline for me. . .

As I wrote earlier, the subject-to-subject encounter is predicated upon the “sawubona” concept, I see you, really see you. When I consider myself as a subject and see others as cow sees cars, I have denigrated others as mere objects. The subject-to-object view on relationships betrays (I know this is a strong word) God’s view on humanity. When we label others as objects, they become commodities, accessories, and/or just numbers. Worse still, we can use and abuse objects to justify, gloat, and thus bloat our meaning of existence. One of the greatest incarnational miracles and mysteries is that God treats us as subjects, not as objects. When the authors of the Bible make it sound like God views us like objects (think of Canaanites God “commanded” Israelites to wipe out from the land including all the children and the livestock)), it is human’s best and genuine interpretation of God at the time, which to me is never perfect and thus far removed from how God “sees” us. The converse is also true: we dare not see God as an object. God could even be The Object of all objects. Even then, this notion falls woefully short and scandalous of how God desires to be seen by us. God’s incarnational love for us and our love for God finally meets as subject to subject! We are seen by God and with the same eyes, we see God. The subject-to-subject encounter between God and us can mature into and blur the lines between the subjects and to use Paul’s language, we experience Christ in us and we in Christ, thus becoming one. An inevitable invitation for all is that we see others and others see us, ushering in the revolution of dignity, equality, and liberty.

“SAWUBONA” | PART 1

We proclaim to you what we ourselves have actually seen and heard so that you may have fellowship with us. 1 John 1:3 (NLT)

Humanity is bestowed with a gift of seeing, a kind of seeing that is a deeper seeing which includes perceiving, knowing, and beholding than plain seeing. Animals see and some animals can see far better than any human being. Yet, they don’t really see. It is as if cows lifting up to see cars drive by while grazing, they see but they do not see. Not being a cow, I cannot be so sure of this but presumably there is nothing going on in the space between the eyes. When I get to heaven, I can ask cows whether they saw and knew what was going on. . .

When the Bible uses the word, see, it is translated into multiple expressions beyond see such as know, perceive, discern, or behold. Knowing is far more prevalent than mere seeing. Perceiving is more than perceiving with the eyes but utilizing with some combination of the senses. Seeing is beyond actual physical seeing with our eyes. Biblical seeing is knowing, perceiving, or understanding that is often associated with a call to action. 

Not to overgeneralize, I think there are two kinds of seeing in interpersonal relationships: seeing others as objects and seeing others as subjects. (I will pick this back up in the next couple of weeks.) We have total control over and thus can make choices as to how we see others. I have read that in Zulu language, when they greet, they say, “sawubona,” which is translated as “I (or we) see you” which is followed by with a response, “yebo, sawubona,” which is translated as “I see you seeing me or Yes, I see you too.” Can you imagine saying hello by saying “sawubona” and “yebo, sawubona” while engaging eye to eye gaze? That would simply be powerful and moving. Last year in Korea, my wife and I were alone in an elevator with a ubiquitous delivery man, delivering food. Without pre-meditation on my part, I thanked him for his work and told him to be well while looking at him. Behind his mask and helmet, I could see in his eyes he was moved which in turn moved me. I “saw” him and he was touched. My wife promptly put her gentle hand on my shoulder after he got out and told me that I did good. Buoyed by my wife’s compliment, I told myself I should do that more often. . .  

I heard Stephen Colbert in a podcast describing improv comedy basically (fascinatingly, I might add) as “see and be seen, hear and be heard, and feel and be felt.” He said what drove him to do what he does and does well is the foundational desire that he didn’t want to be alone. An absolute foundational human desire and experience starts with the fact that I and others simply exist. By deep seeing, we “see” each other and know and validate that we all exist, paving the way for communities to be formed. Since no person is an island, we all exhibit innate desperation and longing, moving from being to belonging. “Seeing” and being seen facilitate the unbreakable connection between being and belonging. No one would belong to a community or a group where no one sees the other. 

In multiple communities of friendship and relationship I belong to, I am seen and see others. Often after a meaningful conversation, what remains with me over time is the eyes and the vibe more than words. Not to discount the words, it is the soft, warm, encouraging, and comforting gaze that my soul likes to remember. No wonder Jesus’ invitation for us is plainly to “come and see.” 

SEAS OF CONTENTMENT AND DISCONTENTMENT

I am a torn soul. I desire to be more content, content with who I am and what I have and do, be free from the bondage of the sea of the world’s greatest capitalistic society which I swim in. It is one thing for my mind to tell me I have enough. It is another thing to live out contentment characterized by inner liberty. Struggling to pursue and maintain greater simplicity and inner liberty has been a constant process. It is the elusive posture of accepting and being content with what is. 

My unique challenge to being content stems from my idealized future fixations. If I am not mindful, I can live happily in the future, not fully engaging the present, what is right in front of me. For example, my future fun and vacation experiences have to outdo—have more fun and subscribe more meaning—than my previous experiences. I discovered this when my wife and I were vacationing in San Diego, a location we have been to many times. One of the main attractions for us as a family is the gastronomic delights of what we consider to be the best fish/seafood tacos. Los Angeles is not bad, but perhaps because of San Diego’s proximity to Mexico, San Diego’s fish tacos seem unbeatable. At one point, I discovered that I was competing with my own previous experiences that somehow, I had to make the current trip better than the previous ones. What this did was rob me of enjoying the present realities that feature a completely different set of circumstances from the previous trips. I was not content with what was, the reality that was right in front of me. 

I also have this great and deep urge to change, dismantle what I consider to be unfair, parochial, unjust, inhumane, and even outright evil. Of course, what I consider is what I consider. What I consider may not be right and even noble. Thus, the invitation is to commit and do my due diligence to discern if it is truly beyond my pet peeve-ness and is part and parcel of the worthy perennial tradition of what is noble and honorable. While contentment is about accepting what is, this state of discontentment is about rejecting what is. It can also be the vision and hope for what should be according to the Bible’s trajectory of God’s Kingdom on this earth as it is in heaven. I am discontent with what is, the reality that needs to be dismantled or corrected. 

God knows that I have been brewing multiple discontentment cups for quite some time now. I am in the process of investigating and discerning whether any of my discontentment holds and whether I should hold them at all. What is mine to bear will most likely not be everything I am currently mulling about and feeling angry at. 

I swim in the two seas of contentment and discontentment. For years, I was not sure whether these two bodies of water ever intersect, being jerked back and forth and almost losing my sanity for many years navigating between the two seas. I know now that this great tension (not a matter of balance) is to be lived, not analyzed. Apostle Paul’s well-documented secret to contentment in Philippians 4:11-12 foundationally speaks to his inner liberty not to be tossed around by the turbulent sea of external circumstances. Paul’s inner disposition remains firm and grounded regardless of the circumstances he may be under. Paul’s inner liberty not only freed himself but behaved almost like a good infectious virus (sorry for this language given what we have been under for more than 2 years) that spread to others around him. 

Paul also was greatly disturbed with what was and thus leaned on to his apostolic edge and prophetic nudge in bringing godly disruptions and changes to the early church. He does not pull his punches and zealously states his case for change on multiple occasions. In his first epistle, the letter to the Galatians (chapter 2), he publicly rebukes Peter and calls Peter hypocritical. Paul demanded change, which subsequently led to the watershed Jerusalem Council’s (Acts 15) decision to swing the doors wide open for the Gentiles to come to Christ without circumcision and keeping the law of Moses. They “reached the decision that we (Jewish Christians) should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God” (v. 19, NRSV). 

I am finding that the motivation for both contentment and discontentment is and should be love. Love anchors and drives both states of contentment and discontentment. In the context of contentment, love protects us from greed, selfishness, and blind pursuit of comfort at all costs. Love orients and positions our interiority to be content with what is. In the context of discontentment, love fights for the greater good, solidarity, inclusivity, and equality. Same love demands change where change is necessary. While Paul may be a great example, I see Jesus as the ultimate example, embodying both contentment and discontentment. Jesus taught us to be content with who we are, what we do, and what we have no matter what our cultural and social contexts may be. Jesus also taught us to be change agents, dismantling dominant narratives of power and control and creating alternative paths of life in the Kingdom. Contentment serves to create greater interior liberty while discontentment propels to change exterior issues that are not in compliance with the values of the Kingdom. I now see it is not two separate seas of contentment and discontentment but one sea of love I swim in. 

FIRST STEPS | PART 2

Back to visio divina. Van Gogh’s painting The First Steps uncovered and affirmed several trajectories of our life that were already in motion. The painting gave us language, or rather the lasting ingrained imagery, to hang our current life’s trajectory. I would like to highlight a few of our ongoing aspirations. 

First, it is Springtime. The overall backdrop of pastel green with a dab of orange-colored flowers in the middle of the painting and white blossoming flowers on the tree all signify it is springtime. It is also warm enough to hang white laundry as if to highlight that the long harsh winter is gone. Rainer Maria Rilke pens, “It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”

The centerpiece of the painting is the family—the little girl who is about to take her “first step,” mom gently holding and directing her daughter into the father’s open and ready arms, and then the father who, having dropped his shovel and work, is kneeling to match the girl’s eye level, waiting for his daughter to come to him, with arms wide open. God the Father is more interested in welcoming us to come to Him than the work. For God, receiving God’s children is the work. It is not difficult to imagine that they probably all are smiling and blossoming like springtime and thrilled since this is a “first step” for everyone. Our bumbling comings to God never get old for God and God treats it as a “first step” every single time. 

I see myself in the girl’s ready posture, ready to take steps, guided by the gentle mother-like Holy Spirit, taking steps to the heavenly Father who is always calling my name. I see myself as a “mother” who wants to emulate the gentle guiding and helping people to go to the Father without guilt and shame and to receive God’s unconditional love and grace. I also see myself as a “father” who is eager to provide hospitable and courageous space for people to come to and experience the Father’s unpossessive love. 

The fenced-in space affirms our desire to provide safe and hospitable space for people, especially younger people who have become weary and tired from external life-sucking requirements and expectations. We envision the space to be a space where we can doubt, question, get angry at the world, and even get angry at God. God can handle all that and more. We envision the space to dream to be fully human, discover our true authentic selves, and desire God’s goodness to be experienced by all. God is generous, loving, and full of grace, all the time, nothing more or less. If God is all that, why do human structures and systems, especially religious systems, make coming to God conditional or employ quid pro quo principles? Worse still, why do we make this world to be such inhospitable space to kill and destroy and lie?

The house in the background is humble, quaint, and blends seamlessly with nature. When we pulverize the nature around us when nature has so much to teach us, we rob ourselves of one of the greatest teachers of life. Nature obeys God in ways we will never understand but if we observe long enough, we can perhaps learn. God as Love grants existential meaning to all creation and in return, nature loves back by obeying. I want to be invited into the house and witness the family in action, simply living life, no-frills, in nature.

Grace and I are planning to be in Korea this “spring” from the beginning of April until early June. The centerpiece of our time in Korea is to run and host a kind of “healing stay” like a retreat house, essentially emulating what we see in this painting. We are opening our place for weary souls to find rest and their God-given purpose. We are renting a single-story countryside house, one hour outside of Seoul (in Yang Pyeong if you want to know), where the stream flows in front, with the backdrop of the pastel green everywhere dotted with brightly bursting spring flowers. This was the vision God has given us last year and we are taking a first step of faith in action. 

FIRST STEPS | PART 1

My wife and I have facilitated multiple group spiritual direction sessions centering around the exercise called visio divina. As lectio divina is “divine or sacred reading” based on various Scripture texts or other sacred writings, visio divina is about “divine or sacred seeing” utilizing pictures, paintings, and/or images. A couple of advantages of visio divina are to helpfully suppress our rational and logical thinking mind and to engage our right hemisphere of the brain as well as our subjective-personal-experiential life lens when interacting with the image. You feel what you feel. You see what you see. No two people see the same painting or image and have the same impact. We interpret and give meaning based on how and where we are in life. There are no right objective answers. You are rightfully entitled to see what you see and feel.

One painting we have done visio divina on multiple occasions is Van Gogh’s First Steps, after Millet (1890). As Van Gogh greatly admired Jean-Francois Millet, Van Gogh painted his “translated” interpretation of Millet’s original work using his imaginative infusion of colors. I first saw this painting at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in the summer of 2016. It grabbed me enough to take a picture, not knowing why I was drawn to it at the time. 

Artists often function as prophets of our day, seeing the reality, critiquing, creating an alternative lens to see, and wooing and inviting us to embrace the alternative reality. The general public often has been latecomers to these both subtle and vivid invitations of the artists of the past. It seems that we are always in a catch-up mode, seeing things more clearly only retrospectively. We are subjected to see what we are trained or conditioned to see until things are radically disrupted. How the history of arts evolved over time and especially during significant epochs of human development reveals the development of human consciousness in broad strokes. I’ve been fascinated by the drastic departure from the late Medieval paintings depicting lucid religious themes to the early Renaissance period where they began painting landscapes, objects, and later, normal everyday people.

When I visited the Impressionists section of Paris’ Musée d'Orsay a few years back, what caught my eyes was the explanation, “The artists preferred a style of painting that captured the moment, that conveyed a personal and subjective impression of a changing world. The brushwork is rapid and visible; the framing is often off-centre; the colours are light, seeking to capture the atmospheric effects outdoors in contrast to the precise, highly polished paintings produced in the studio.” If you are a fan of Impressionism, you would appreciate the words above. “Capturing the moment” using a “personal and subjective impression” is what makes Impressionist Art a significant departure from the earlier expressions. The personal and subjective impression essentially was an act of courage to be oneself in the sea of truth as objectivity.

After reading Van Gogh’s biography and some of his letters to his younger brother Theo, I became a fan of Vincent Van Gogh. I have come to appreciate his prophetic candor and reckless pursuit of the vision of his true self, which often came with great struggle, as well as the constant critiquing of what was not yet in the world. It is interesting to me that Van Gogh after moving to Paris initially dabbled into Impressionism by mimicking what has become the normal and accepted expression of Impressionistic Art but quickly discovered that was not his path to walk. Van Gogh would not be Van Gogh if he had not pursued his own path. The brotherly love between Vincent and Theo, which spans over decades until Vincent died (and they are laid side by side in a little cemetery, north of Paris) is palpable, heartwarming, and well-documented. It speaks to the friend, brother, and community we all need when pursuing the “God-given” call in our lives.  

A PROPER GOODBYE

One of the lamentable casualties of the pandemic for me was the cancellation of weekly basketball at my home church’s gym. This was a big loss. I knew it then and it has remained a big loss. This was more than a game of basketball. This was my church, “fellowshipping” with brothers who have been playing together for close to 20 years. The weekly church happened at my previous home church’s gym on Thursday nights. As far as I was concerned, this was the best gym west of Mississippi. I loved everything about it. The smell of sweat-soaked gym and its polyurethane floor (as well as the occasional intoxicating smell of Korean food from the adjacent kitchen), the sound of my fav sneakers squeaking, skidding on the floor, the unrecognizable yapping and grunting of the players, and the best sound of them all—the ball going through the net (without touching the rim) making addictive swish sound, the sight of inviting open floor punctuated by baskets on both sides of the court and the finger-pointing for approval after making ESPN worthy highlighted plays (followed by someone sounding off the ESPN highlight jingle), the high fives and butt slapping. . . Over the years, some guys celebrated their birthdays choosing to play ball rather than blowing out the candles, bringing enough chilled Gatorade for all to enjoy.

Everything about it has called my name every single week for close to 20 years. My soul knew every Thursday I was back to being a child, ready for an all-day outing all giddy and excited. I played when I was sick and very sick (my wife could not believe I would play) and after just getting back from overseas trips. When I was sick, my made-up unfounded rationale was to sweat it all out. I don’t know where I got that but I would like to say it worked more often than not. Unless I was physically injured to a point I could not play, I was out there, religiously. One time, I broke my right middle finger which took me out for a good 3 months. It was comical to look at the injured finger all wrapped around in a thick brace, and I became self-conscious waving with my right hand to greet people, but I bemoaned the injury every single week, especially on Thursdays.

Over the years, I have identified and deposited a good number of appreciation memories in my “bank of gratitude.” One of the memories is tied to Thursday night basketball. Almost every week after ball driving home, I would let out a big sigh of relief and stress and tell myself I am alive. I can still regurgitate and relive the same feeling. 

All this came to an abrupt ending with no reunion in sight, thanks to the pandemic. It’s been well over 2 years now—until I recently received an email from the organizer of the Thursday ball. He was calling for a reunion in some random gym in Buena Park. In the email, he wrote, “I miss you guys and playing ball with you guys so much. It was bound to come to an end some day but how abruptly it came sucked and it makes me appreciate how good we had it.” I responded almost right away, telling him that I agreed with his sentiment and told him I was in. I circled the date and on the day of ball, I told my wife that I “got butterflies” like a little kid. I showed up right on time and saw a few familiar faces. On the way, my google map assistant took me on a longer route which made me let out unkind words to him. Upon arrival, we promptly uncorked our joys and pleasantries by high five handshakes followed by extended bear hugging which signified a moment of unbridled joy. We knew we missed each other by the way we said hello. Two hours blew by way too fast. 

After the ball, there was a group of guys huddling around, reminiscing the good old younger days. I said, “the saddest to me was the fact we did not have a proper goodbye” which quickly found resonance in all. Driving back home for 40 minutes, I must have grinned from ear to ear the whole time out of sheer joy and satisfaction. In the back of my mind during driving home, the notion of “proper goodbye” remained with me. 

During my college years (feels like a different life), I would randomly drive over to LAX (Los Angeles airport) to process and clear my mind. It was a weird and unexplainable impulse. I knew I somehow was attracted to watching people saying hellos and goodbyes. Perhaps I was drawn to flying toward freedom somewhere far in my subconscious mind, I do not know. My life is imbued and mashed with people I have come to say hellos and goodbyes. In a way, I am who I am because of all the people that have entered and exited my life. Of course, there are people who have entered my life and have found a room in my life, into shaping of who I am and who I am becoming. Not to get too philosophical, we all arrive in this world with a grand hello and end with bodily goodbye to this earth. The life of countless series of hellos and goodbyes is bookended by one big hello and goodbye. All the “comings and goings” in our life shape us who we are, who we are becoming, and teach us how we ought to live, precisely because I believe God is in all comings and goings. 

Back to the ball reunion. In retrospect, what I verbalized to the guys needed to be said for my sake. I celebrated and we celebrated, albeit briefly, the good times and blessings God granted us for close to 2 decades. That chapter was properly closed. There will be other opportunities for ball with the same guys or some new guys. I am now ready to say another hello. 

TAIZÉ | PART 4 + BONUS

If I sound like I am promoting the Taizé community, I am. I do not think I am either blinded by my romanticized memory of Taizé or believing naively that the community is perfect. In my estimation, they have embodied and promulgated around the world an open and hospitable space. What may have started out as a commitment to serving the poor and doing so through forging an amicable relationship between the Catholic and Protestant traditions is a living testament that we are from the same root. I like what the late Thich Nhat Hanh captured, applying to this situation, “We are all the leaves of one tree. We are all the waves of one sea.” Personally, it serves as an apt reminder for me to embrace the Catholic tradition as part of my tradition and that Christianity did not start with the Protestant Reformation. I have lived long enough to know and have learned to hold that there are incredible blessings and crippling baggages in both Protestant and Catholic traditions. On a personal note, the embrace of the contemplative or mystical Catholic tradition as part of my tradition saved me during the darkest days of my life. I liken it to be a hidden deep well (hidden from me) which I discovered restored my soul when I most needed it. 

The pursuit of discovering one’s true self is best facilitated and nurtured in a safe space where souls can be authentic and free. Taizé community has become one of those spaces where earnest seeking souls can come to. I believe we need more of those spaces everywhere including and foremostly cultivating our own souls to be safe to attract other souls. Each of us can become that safe harbor where other souls can come to dock without judgment and simple prescribed answers. Souls need expansive and hospitable space to explore and probe. No one soul is born ready to connect with God and with oneself. This space is essentially called “life” where we get to discover or uncover who we already are before God’s eyes. But it needs space, time, and process of life experiences to get there. What I have witnessed in Taizé is the radical acceptance and generous inclusivity at work starting from the brothers. It is not that I was not aware of this before Taizé but what Taizé did was to accentuate and speed up our desire to see alternative and safe communities rise up around the world, including cultivating and prepping our souls to be one such community wherever we are and wherever we go. 

The cultivated space of Taizé stands at odds with the world. The world says to go faster, produce more, gain more, and be more famous. Taizé also lives as a gentle and yet firm critique of the Church. The Church says to perform or serve better, believe more firmly (mostly concerning doctrines or belief systems at head level), and be good (meaning don’t ask questions and be morally good). Being morally good is something we all need to aspire to but understanding the motivation for morality is crucial. It seems to me that there is a significant lacuna between what the institutional churches and organizations have become and what God has already ushered in through Christ, the upside-down Kingdom. What Taizé has tried to embody is a new way of being in the world, which was ultimately what Jesus was after. 

BONUS

As I shared in the first part of this Taizé series, after our visit to Taizé, we drove to Brittany for a full week of rest and renewal. The hosts, Mike and Valerie, American missionaries working as bed and breakfast hosts, welcomed us warmly upon our arrival on a pitch-dark night. Since it was late, we were promptly directed to the entire wing of an exquisitely renovated 400-year-old manor, since we were the only guests at the time. Including a simple and yet elegant breakfast that featured at least half a dozen homemade jams and an amazing spread of assorted croissants and baguettes, we paid 30 euros per night for both of us. This was part of their gift and care for missionaries to come and simply rest and enjoy the secluded French countryside. Upon checking the website recently, I am pleasantly surprised that the rate has not changed since our visit. 

Mike and Valerie were generous hospitable hosts, and we exchanged plenty of our stories during the breakfast hours and a couple of dinner hours, in which they served us 5-course meals. The spirit of Taizé persisted and its afterglow lingered through Mike and Valerie. We told them we would come back later. I think the time is coming . . .

For more info on the bed and breakfast, here is the link. They would love to host and pamper you. And tell them Chong Kim sent you. 

http://bretagnebb.com/

Our bedroom (The Glenmor) on the 2nd floor

The Glenmor's private bathroom

The Glenmor's living room on the 1st floor

The dining room

TAIZÉ | PART 3

A pent-up conversing reached its climax during every single meal hour for us. That was when we got to sit at one of the many long farm tables and interact with people. It was the most boisterous of our times in Taizé. Sometimes you had to shout across the table and had to lean in to listen. Breakfasts were comprised of a whole but petite-sized baguette along with a small stick of butter and chocolate served with hot tea. Maybe there was a small piece of fruit. I don’t remember, because I did not know baguette with butter and chocolate could taste so delectable. After all, I suppose this was France. They know the finest of breads. At one conversation, a young girl from France told us how to distinguish good baguettes from others and essentially gave us a short seminar to what she may have thought were unfortunate Korean-Americans who did not know good bread. She said somewhat proudly that the baguettes we were handed were excellent. I had no reason not to believe her, especially after devouring my baguette every single time.

Invariably, questions came flying our way after I “interrogated” those sitting around me with my questions. They were just as curious as to why we, as old as we were, were there. They asked why we came and what we did. My “elevator” speech turned out to be that we are part of a Protestant religious order that is centered around Christ rather than institutional Christianity. I also added that we are interested in proliferating the Christ-centered way of living, globally beyond religious traditions and among young people. With a few I interacted with, I went deeper by unpacking what I meant after gauging their interests and discerning questions. I noted that most of them listened and listened keenly. 

When we first checked in, we were assigned to a small but diverse group comprising of 10 individuals, representing France, Switzerland, Germany, Russia, Poland, Japan (she was the one taking the picture), and then us. One girl from Russia plainly told us that she was an atheist. It was interesting to observe how others responded to her, essentially embracing her and showing her that she was accepted and welcomed. It simply was not a big deal. As many in Europe come from a post-Christendom context, it generally was assumed that many would be atheists (or disillusioned Christians at best), especially among young people. She obviously was a seeking atheist and did not hesitate to capture that sentiment. It dawned on me that the term atheist would be a misnomer. In some aspects of my own life, I live as a practical and schizophrenic atheist, functioning as if God does not exist and that I can coast my life along without God.

One other girl from Germany shared with us how she entered into a weeklong silence retreat last year. She struggled mightily for the first few days but toward the end of the silence, God spoke to her, “I know you and see you,” and that experience transformed her life. As she was recounting her story, I could visibly glimpse the residual impact and desire for more of God. I spent a big chunk of time with a young French carpenter named Carl (far left) from Switzerland. Such a gentle and soft-spoken soul who asked many probing questions and liked to work with his skillful hands. He also told a story of how God broke to him. While he was attending one of the daily Taizé services a couple of years earlier, he saw God appearing before him. A smiling God waved his hand and said, “hi, I am here.” What a heartwarming encounter of a gentle God with a gentle soul! God surely knows how to woo us. His grandparents who were Protestants had been praying for him for years and they were glad he was following Christ now. 

In the mornings, there were multiple bible studies and seminars offered to visitors, which we attended every morning. Climate control or “creation care” was one seminar topic. If I remember right, it was a diplomat who presented. I was duly impressed with the breadth and the depth of the content. The last slide featured this sentence I loved. “Our openness to others, each of whom is a ‘thou’ capable of knowing, loving and entering into dialogue, remains the source of our nobility as human persons.” On one of the other bible studies we attended, a young small-statured brother from Peru presented how he decided to come to Taizé. He was witty and charming and held a delightful presence about him.

The brothers in Taizé maintain their vocation through a daily schedule of work, like the visitors who are required to put in hours. Some are expert potters. When we visited, the oldest potter was in his 90s, still crafting simple and elegant potteries. I had made an appointment to speak to one of the brothers from Canada who had been there for more than 30 years. Among other things, I learned from him about Taizé’s financial policy. Later I dug this out from The Sources of Taizé. “Our vocation as community has committed us to live solely from our work, accepting neither donations nor bequests nor gifts – nothing, absolutely nothing. The boldness involved in not ensuring any capital for ourselves, without fear of possible poverty, is a source of incalculable strength.” This principle was not something I had ascribed to over our ministry years, but I saw in it tremendous value, dignity, and faith. Along this vein, they have a sizable store featuring their music, books, arts, etc. The largest selection is reserved for potteries made by the hands of the Taizé brothers, including the 90-year-old brother. We decided to purchase just a couple of pieces of pottery since our luggage space was limited. While I bought books and CDs, my wife, who had the wisdom and foresight, bought a bowl and a small plate that were deemed damaged and thus imperfect. They would have been easily tossed out or discarded in other pottery stores. My wife’s wisdom echoed with the wisdom of Taizé potters, who would feature less-than-perfect potteries. I thought later there is significant lesson and parallel to our lives. . . As we use the pieces, we are not only reminded of our time in Taizé but of ourselves as imperfect vessels used by God.

TAIZÉ | PART 2

Upon arrival, since we must have looked considerably older, they put us in a “nicer” dorm room, which made me chuckle in front of the host. There was no registration fee (I had registered online before we came) but we were given an opportunity to give a love offering. We were also told that because of our age, we did not have to perform any manual service, as the young people were required to put in about 3 hours a day of physical labor. I acted disappointed but was relieved in the inside. I thought we could spend the time walking the ground and talking with others. Since it was off peak season, there were only about 500 people. 

The Taizé community is well known for their simple and beautifully meditative melodic songs, most of them with only two stanzas. Later, I learned that their music structure, largely, is that of an ostinato (a simple melody that repeats over and over). They function more like a musical “centering prayer” which I found my soul resonating with effortlessly. They write their own music and sing in multiple languages seamlessly during their worship, which takes place three times a day. I was giddy when we were about to enter the sanctuary for the first time, since I was somewhat acquainted with the testimonies of others. Upon entering, what welcomed us could be best described as a respectful hush of silence. We were enveloped under the weight (glory) of silence like a warm weighted blanket over us. Silence was deep and stark, which made me gasp. Even as I am writing this, I remember it like it was yesterday. 

What we saw next was the absence of chairs or benches. The sanctuary was a wide-open space, demarcated by the middle section where the resident brothers sit to worship. Koreans would love the seating arrangement, since they have no issue with sitting on the floor without any furniture. I thought to myself I had become too Americanized. I struggled to be comfortable, but this too over time felt normal and right. After getting acclimated with silence and the seating arrangement, I noticed that there was no podium, with no one standing facing us presiding or leading anything. Everyone was facing the same direction, including the brothers. When it was time to sing, we could see the number flashing on a digital display on either side of the sanctuary, guiding us to the right page in the songbook. During worship, brothers would often take turns and sing using the mic lying in front of them in their own mother tongue. As they are known for their angelic voices, when I did not know what was going on at first, I would turn around to see who was singing, probably embarrassing Grace and signaling to those around me that this was my first visit to Taizé. Our gaze would naturally turn to the brothers when they read the Scriptures in the middle of the room. The centerpiece of the worship was the eight-minute-long silence right in the middle of the worship followed by liturgical prayers, including prayer for the world. 

I was initially drawn to the Taizé community for two main reasons. First, I wanted to know and experience what makes young people flock to Taizé. Second, it seemed that the brothers exhibited a higher or deeper calling than to further their own sect or denomination within Protestant or Catholic traditions. I desperately wanted to know why they decided to be part of the community and what they were drawn to. Additionally, I wanted to see firsthand how they do community as brothers foremostly and with other visitors as well. Because of the first reason shared above, I approached the young people whenever it was appropriate for me to ask and listen. My questions were simple and straight forward: What drew you here? What did you hear before you came? How has your experience been here so far? What have you learned? The opportunity to ask and listen mainly transpired during meal hours and during small group interactions as we were assigned to a small group during our stay. 

“Certain summer evenings in Taizé, under a sky heavy with stars, we can hear the young people through our open windows. We remain astonished that they are so numerous. They search, they pray. And we say to ourselves: their aspirations for peace and trust are like these stars, little lights in the night.”

Brother Roger, Letter 2005, “A future of peace”

There were three main reasons I deduced after talking to a slew of young people. The biggest attraction for the young people was silence. I was fascinated but was not surprised to hear such a response. This group of young people are the most “connected”, and thus more likely distracted, than of all previous generations. They have access to all kinds of information literally on their fingertips. I wanted to dig deeper. The second reason was the Taizé music. The third reason is twofold: they were drawn to the physical community that they perceived and experienced as safe, and they were drawn to the brothers’ way of living in community. The notion of being safe was about creating space for genuine spiritual pursuit without judgment or criticism. Even during a short stay, we were able to witness in both quiet and loud manners that Christ drowned out all doctrinal jargons and religious parochialism. One of Taizé’s lived-out, not aspirational, core values is brotherly love. Brother Roger’s dictum of “God is only love” is being lived out among the brothers.

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.

---

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.