FORMATION AND SERVICE

In thinking of the process of human development, the need for formation and service is a timeless truth. The words like renewal and expansion (the one I have often used in the past which I borrowed from Kenneth Scott Latourette), fulness and fulfillment (David Bryant’s language), or even being and doing portray how these two concepts are intricately related and thus cannot be separated. At the same time, we are human beings first which flows into human doings. As such, service and expansion need to be initially grounded in some form of significant formation or renewal. Then the relationship between formation and service becomes an upward spiral movement that feeds and bolsters deeper growth and maturity in both formation and service. 

One seminal article (actually talk) written by Henri Nouwen in Leadership Journal back in 1995 is titled, From Solitude to Community to Ministry. In it, Nouwen established how Jesus Established True Sequence for Spiritual Work.

This (Luke 6:12-19) is a beautiful story that moves from night to morning to afternoon. Jesus spent the night in solitude with God. In the morning, he gathered his apostles around him and formed community. In the afternoon, with his apostles, he went out and preached the Word and healed the sick.

Notice the order: from solitude to community to ministry. The night is for solitude; the morning for community; the afternoon for ministry.

As alluded to above, I echo Nouwen’s sequential order, moving from solitude to community to ministry. He calls solitude what I call formation. He calls ministry what I call service. Then there is the brilliant insight of community in the middle with which I resonate deeply. Community is the linkage between formation and service, and in community, more sound and profound formation happen, and more extensive and fruitful service happens. Here is Nouwen again, “It's remarkable that solitude always calls us to community. In solitude you realize you're part of a human family and that you want to lift something together.”

To jump off from last week’s blog entry, the discovery of the given self cannot be a solitary effort but can best be accessed through community and being in intimate relationships. We discover and know our best contributions and worst sins in communities which can serve as our teachers for further deepening and maturing. In community, we learn ourselves to be the greatest contradiction which can help us to exercise self-compassion which we then can extend compassion to others. This compassion in action toward others can be translated as a form of ministry, for example.

Then below is the first intro paragraph under Nouwen’s Ministry section. 

All the disciples of Jesus are called to ministry. Ministry is not, first of all, something that you do (although it calls you to do many things). Ministry is something that you have to trust. If you know you are the beloved, and if you keep forgiving those with whom you form community and celebrate their gifts, you cannot do other than minister.

If I read Nouwen right, ministry is “to trust” what we have been entrusted with, which can only be discovered in solitude and community. M. Robert Mulholland Jr. in his book, Invitation to a Journey: A Road Map for Spiritual Formation, defines spiritual formation as “a process of being formed in the image of God for the sake of others.” Mulholland succinctly captures what formation is in this brief and helpful definition: formation is being formed in the image of God. It is about reclaiming the original good news of all humanity being created in the image of God. This process is synonymous with the prayer and call to be in union with God as Jesus prayed in the garden of Gethsemane. 

As one would notice right away, “for the sake of others” is part of the spiritual formation process according to Mulholland. I do not mind service being part of formation’s definition because the concepts of being formed and serving others are clearly inseparable. Mulholland holds everything together. Thomas Merton also captured this very sentiment when he observed that silence and solitude are not only for the individual but for the sake of others through service, which is paradoxically true. Keeping in sight “for the sake of others” shields anyone from individualistic, privatized, and hermit-like pursuit of spirituality.  

Pursuing union with God if done right would naturally include both formation and service without any distinction as God as who God is and at the same time, a God who acts. To use slightly different or defining language, God is Love in God’s existential being and God is Love who acts in Love. God does who God is, Love. And God calls us to operate in the same way: become love, love God, love yourself, and love your neighbors!

The above painting by Rublev depicts the relational (read community) aspect of the Trinity which exists and serves one another in Love. (Here, I credit Richard Rohr’s The Divine Dance, which is a must-read.) Likewise, each of us is invited to the same table with the triune God in an intimate relationship through which formation and service take place.

HOW WE ARE FORMED

“My self is given to me far more than is formed by me.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

For centuries, various streams of monastic traditions have tried to answer the questions of “how are we formed?” and “how are we to serve the world?” The need and relationship between formation and service are proven timeless truths, representing two sides of the same coin in intimacy and tension. The most vibrant faith communities and structures, including monastic traditions, have been the ones that have embraced both formation and service without sacrificing one for the other. 

If our formation is more about discovering who we already are because it is given to us (and I believe it is), then how we go about educating and training needs to reflect the discovery process. In other words, it is more about unlocking what is already there—the original gift of oneself. 

Sadly, and regrettably, the vast majority of learning overlooks and often ignores the discovery process of what is already given to each of us. The discovery is not without hard and intentional work. In short, the discovery process is about self-directed learning in direct contrast to teacher-directed learning. There are several key differences between the two types of learning. I would like to share two things that stand out to me.

Teacher-directed learning assumes that the learner is dependent on the teacher in what and how the learner should be taught. The teacher is the expert, and the learner, therefore, needs to submit to the teacher’s authority and expertise. Obviously, there is some merit in this type of learning especially in areas of high skills and expertise. While accounting for merit in certain contexts, teacher-directed learning often ignores the experiences of the learners. Experiences are experiences because they are subjective in nature. Everyone’s experiences are unique, and self-discovery learning takes advantage of the experiences and capitalizes on them. To be human is to experience. And to be spiritual is to experience. What is given to us (who we are) invariably over time will flow out into one’s life experiences because our Creator grants us clues (which is our life) to unlock and discover who we are. The thing that concerns me is that under teacher-directed learning, the teacher assumes that his or her experiences are more valid and more valuable than those of the learners. 

Secondly, self-directed learning assumes that learners are highly motivated by internal incentives and drives, including curiosity, life’s real problems, etc. (i.e. painting, cooking, peace-making, fixing homes, etc) whereas teacher-directed learning assumes and leans on external rewards and punishments. It was not until too long ago that I still dreamt that I had failed a class or two at UCLA and that my diploma had been revoked. It is a nightmare that is unfounded but perhaps shows how I have been conditioned by the external rewards system. The monumental motivational differences between the two kinds of learnings make anyone’s self-discovery learning complex and treacherous to navigate, I admit. I wish I can say I successfully rejected the dominant system of teacher-directed learning. I have had to compromise and navigate the learning journey to appease the system but at the same time took greater control over time and discipline to focus on what was mine to learn. The fact that the world system still runs on the external rewards system track is a modern merit-based predicament and a trap that does not help the discovery process of who we each are. Merit-based learning seriously undermines and even betrays the dignity of discovery-based learning and furthermore, the very dignity of each human being.

Thomas Merton wrote in favor of what he called “human training” (italicized are his) for the preparation of postulants. Merton valued the necessity of “human training” and wrote, “He is going to learn to go through normal human experiences and be aware of them and of himself with a certain amount of depth. He is going to learn to be alone with himself and with his thoughts. To sit still. To work at making something.” I would observe that though Merton used a different language, he was leaning on human experiences and embracing self-directed learning. 

Looking back, one of my finest periods of learning took place during my World Christian Foundations program at William Carey International University. The word foundations suggests that the content was broad and expansive, tracing the impact of the gospel in the context of global civilizations up to the present time. The part I enjoyed the most was the research paper writing projects. Having studied engineering during my bachelor’s degree days, writing research papers was foreign to me. During each semester, I was given a wide space to write a research paper of my interest and desire. I researched, compiled, and wrote papers of my liking and interests. The papers were my response to my then BIG questions stemming from my experiential context. As such, I remember what I have learned and value the self-directed learning process.

At the same time, what Merton penned as learning to be alone with himself and to sit still would be something that I would learn much later in my ministry years. Learning to be human includes my interests and questions, but it also goes fundamentally deeper than my desires and interests. If myself is given to me, then I have to be at home with myself. The movement from one’s “having to be” at home over time to “wanting to be” at home is an ideal picture of coming home to oneself. Being at home with myself is practicing self-love, not selfish love because it is ascribing value to the Giver. My worth is a gift to be unpacked and discovered, not something I can earn or formulate.

VISIO DIVINA | WHEAT FIELD WITH CYPRESSES

Vincent Van Gogh’s Wheat Field With Cypresses, July 1889

Years ago, my wife and I visited New York to see one of our generous longtime ministry partners. A part of our habitual side attractions was the draw to the art museum scene in NYC. During our visit to The MET (The Metropolitan Museum of Art), I must have liked the painting enough to capture it in my phone. It was not until this month (July) that a fuller meaning has risen in me. Sometimes you are drawn to things you don’t initially know why or how until later; you reap the benefit from the past curious impulse, however small they may have been. Timing (and our response to timing) seems to be a big part of living and living well. 

As Van Gogh voluntarily checked into a mental asylum at Saint-Rémy, over time he was given access to go outside the asylum for short walks and/or to paint. He painted this remarkable painting in July 1889. Contradictorily, Van Gogh was more stable and steadier during his time at Saint-Rémy, which produced Van Gogh’s best creative and most authentic Van Gogh-ish works. Van Gogh was a prolific painter during his time at the asylum, producing some 150 paintings during the span of a year. Only a year later (July 1890), he would die. 

This painting was one of Van Gogh’s favorite summertime paintings, which resulted in a series. Cypress trees were one of Van Gogh’s landscape favorites with perhaps the most notable cypress in The Starry Night, which dwarfs the town right next to the tree ascending into the heavens. He wrote a letter to his brother, Theo, capturing his sentiment regarding the cypresses. 

“The cypresses are always on my mind, I would like to do something with them like the sunflower paintings, because I am surprised that they have not yet been done as I see them. They are beautiful, in lines and proportions, like Egyptian obelisks. And the green is of such a distinguished quality.”

Back to Wheat Field with Cypresses. The sky takes up more than half of the entire painting. The sky featuring cumulus clouds as its main performer is expressive, full of movements, seemingly in intimate communication with the earth below. Where my eyes go next are the towering cypresses, reaching into the sky. I imagine Van Gogh imagined the cypresses as the bridge between the heavens and the earth. The next prominent portion of the painting is the wheat field, swaying and dancing in the gentle breeze (one could almost hear the wind caressing the wheat field) and contrasting in color from the sky and the cypresses. Then I notice the demure, easily overlooked, and almost forgotten wildflowers on the bottom of the painting. Lastly, I notice what looks like a small portion of the rock in the bottom middle of the painting.

I imagine Van Gogh standing on a contiguous rock surface painting, looking up almost vertically into the mountain, the cypresses, and the sky. I imagine him standing because he was so captivated by the sight that he would not take time to sit lest he loses his perspective. Besides, he probably would have been tired of sitting down from the asylum. “Standing on a rock” triggers several biblical exhortations, one of which is the image of the rock representing Jesus. I am standing on Jesus, looking up to the world, asking what I can do to serve the world. Because Van Gogh was looking up into the astounding scenery, he was able to capture both the grandeur of the sky and the magnificence of cypresses and the dainty wildflowers without losing sight of any. I sense an invitation arising: that I look up, put myself in a humble position (identifying and in solidarity with Jesus), and see the big and expansive picture but not miss the delicate details as life happens. Look up, see the big, and notice the small. 

As with others, I would like to get to the top to see the breathtaking panoramic view when I hike the mountains. The truth is when I get to the top, the view is indeed breathtaking, but I lose sight of the dainty wildflowers because I am looking down. This imagery is how I have and still occasionally like to operate in real life, being at the top, looking down. Thus, putting myself in a position of looking up requires some intentional work.

Noticing the beauties and gifts of small things in life is not something that comes to me naturally. This is something I have been working hard at. Learning to notice small things in life and to hear small inner voices must share the same origin of an intimate and gentle Father. I have not arrived, but slowing down and pausing decisively helps, even as Van Gogh also “paused” to draw the painting, taking every little thing in as life happens. 

There is an inner prompt that urges me to invite others to see the world as Van Gogh saw it. How we see can change the world we live in. How we see must precede how we engage and how we act. If we learn to look up, our action will be to serve the world. If we tend to look down, our action will be to dominate and control the world. 

TIMELESS PARABLES OF DIVINE REVELATIONS | PART 2

I used to skip over without much thought the story of Jesus going to the desert for 40 days. I realize now that the desert is not void of life. Quite the contrary. Desert is teeming with its own unique life. I would project that Jesus took time to sit, walk, observe, and learn from nature. Based on Jesus’ teachings and parables, it is not hard to conclude that he drew lots of images and lessons from nature. I wonder if the nature of desert taught Jesus some of God’s most hidden and profound revelations. Jesus’ words of “look at the birds of the air and consider the lilies of the field” capture and evoke ancient and eternal imaginations of how to live this life. Jesus’ usage of “trees, plants, animals, mustard seed, pearl, lamb, wolves, etc.” further evoke lessons drawn from nature and what could be assessed to benefit humanity’s consciousness and maturity.

Jesus grew up in the hills of Galilee and frequented the sea of Galilee. Jesus taught often in the mountains, in the hills, or near the water. Jesus often mingled with people in the countryside. Though Jesus participated in the creation of the natural world, the cosmos, (which the author of Genesis deemed as “very good”) Jesus also models how to observe and learn from the natural world. When Apostle John captures “for God so loved the world,” the purview of God’s love includes the entirety of God’s creation, not just humanity. It does not escape me to know that Jesus did not blitz through towns and regions in the latest and the most effective form of transportation device, but mainly walked and walked everywhere. 

It is true we can walk and not pay attention or pay too much attention, because too many things are grabbing our attention, especially in cities. Soren Kierkegaard’s aforementioned small book, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air, is a gem.

 Therefore, in accordance with the instructions of the gospel, let us in earnest regard the lily and the bird as teachers. In earnest, for the gospel is not so intellectually pretentious as to be unable to make use of the lily and the bird; but neither is it so worldly that it is only capable of regarding the lily and the bird mournfully or with a smile. (15-16)

If we are humble enough, then perhaps we can regard the lily and the bird as teachers. If we also slow down enough to notice, then the lily and the bird will be our teachers. We can’t slow down unless we walk or sit and be still and be silent. Kierkegaard elaborates, “The bird keeps silent and waits; it knows, or rather it fully and firmly believes, that everything takes place at its appointed time.” (Italics are his.) He develops further, “Only by keeping silent does one encounter the moment. When one speaks, even if one says only a single word, one misses the moment. Only in silence is the moment.” (Italics are his.) 

Kierkegaard’s exhortation to “encounter the moment” in silence and waiting is one of the great lessons of the lily of the field and the bird of the air. Unfortunately, it is an exhortation that is largely forgotten or ignored by the “systems” of Christianity. We are so concerned with the future and assurances and certainties with the future that we somehow forgot to engage in what the present moment holds for us and can possibly teach us. The moment is divine because the Divine initiated and is present in it. The Divine does not normally force, pull strings, or hit us with a lightning rod, so we comprehend the moment. The Divine does it ever so gently and fleetingly if only we can walk, wait, sit, observe, and be silent.

TIMELESS PARABLES OF DIVINE REVELATIONS | PART 1

More and more, I see nature as a live theater that features potential parables of divine revelations. Here I am not positioning for a certain concern I have regarding the environment and stewarding what God has mandated us to steward. What I am positioning, however, is what nature can teach us, teach us how to live and live well. 

A connection is not lost between those who are avid walkers and nature lovers as Bruce H. Kirmmse observes in his translation of Soren Kierkegaard’s work, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air. According to Kirmmse, Soren Kierkegaard and Henry David Thoreau were both avid walkers and thus were keen observers of nature and, might I add, what nature could teach humanity of God’s revelations. We can learn how to live life and live well based on what nature teaches us. "Do I want to live this life well?" I ask myself. "Then I need to walk," I answer myself. To walk with God who is “Three Mile an Hour God” (by Kosuke Koyama), we need to walk at that same pace to commune with God as three mile an hour is the speed of life as life happens. 

A few Christmases ago, my children gave me and my wife both Apple Watches. I am somewhat proud to say that I am enslaved to it. I did not think I would wear anything around my wrist as I normally do not want to be encumbered. The watch won me over, for I allowed it to control my health and exercise habits. I like the fact that I can track my progress over time and often see myself push to break my own records. I even like the feature of earning badges as a result of a perfect exercise week, etc. I had been walking before the watch but never regularly or in a disciplined manner. The watch provided enough motivation and childlike incentives to walk and walk every day, wherever I may be. What I did not expect was the accumulating benefit of not only exercising but an awakening ability to see and observe things, particularly nature, at my walking speed. I walk when I am in Pasadena. I walked when I was in Yangpyeong and Namhae. I walk when I am in Seoul. I walk with my wife, my daughter’s husky, and occasionally with friends. 

I noticed when I was away from the city vibes, including Pasadena, say in Yangpyeong, my daily walk was more of meditation than exercise. I noticed the subtle changes as the spring rolled forward and through the various weather changes. Below is a portion of my journal entry in Yangpyeong on May 4. 

The most surprising teacher of them all here at Yangpyeong has been nature unfolding and changing before us every day. What nature simply is is a wonderful teacher, the most existential and thus the most available kind. Nature resembles and reflects God’s nature and character. It does not overpower us with its messages, but it presents a continuous changeless changing message if one can see and listen. It does not “speak” to us audibly, but it might as well, because nature’s speakers are everywhere. The very fact that nature perfectly obeys in love and does not betray the here and now, the present, has been the most powerful teacher, which I had not expected. In silence, it speaks to me to live in the here and now. 

QUEST FOR WHOLEHEARTEDNESS | PART 2

Pursuing wholeheartedness requires “radical simplification” Whyte continued, as Whyte and Thomas Huebl held a conversation as The Poet and The Mystic. As I am on a quest toward wholeheartedness, I have started taking steps toward radical simplification. This process comprises discerning and deciding what really matters and radical letting go of what does not resonate with my pursuit of wholeheartedness. To put it positively, it is allowing others to pursue their wholeheartedness that is not mine to pursue. In a sense, there is a communal element to the wholeheartedness process. I can lean on others’ pursuit of their wholeheartedness and complement what I can bring to the table out of my wholeheartedness for a better and hopeful future. 

Taking stock of what I possess and do not possess is a good start, I am telling myself. We are in the process of purchasing a home for the first time in our life. My organization is partnering with Habitat for Humanity for us to own the house we have been living in since 1998. Until now, we have been paying rent (with generous subsidy) without much complaint. When I say “we,” we include Grace, myself, Hannah, and Jeremiah (Hannah’s husband). I had told myself I would not want to own a house, as Grace and I envision a freer lifestyle and ministry not bound by locations, systems, and possessions, including a home. Thus, we told Hannah and Jeremiah that they would eventually own the home we are purchasing and that we would “rent” from them when we are in the US, utilizing it as our US base. They are enthusiastic about the arrangement and want to support us above and beyond, so we can pursue our calling. 

What follows is our finances. The concept of radical simplification in a practical way includes a significant portion of how we steward our finances in this next phase of our life. We want to live simply and generously. I have seen and tasted how freeing it is to embrace simplicity and generosity. Yes, simplicity and generosity can co-exist in the same sentence. Freedom of simplicity is too great and attractive to compromise or let go. As Hannah and Jeremiah moved in to live with us, my wife recently packed away multiple kitchen wares in two big boxes and donated them to a local thrift store to make room for Hannah and Jeremiah’s kitchen wares. This is a small tangible step of letting go and inviting freedom. My wife is much freer in letting go than I am as I mull over letting go of dishes, plates, etc that I have been accustomed to using for many years. 

Then there is the death of a dream I once had. I had somehow drilled into my mind that I as a parent had to and wanted to maintain a base where our adult children can come back. I put it on myself that I had to provide a sense of stability and security for my children. Radical simplification pokes and exposes good-intentioned but “misguided” dreams I have. My good intentions may have imprisoned my children inadvertently had I pursued the dream. I am learning to let the dream go and make space for the children to pursue their own dreams, unattached to mine. 

Ultimately, radical simplification probes deeply what really matters to me now, stemming from my God-given self. My posture is that of consenting to God what God wills in my life and making way for God to do God’s work. It is akin to Mary who said a big “yes” to God and bore God’s son in her womb, paving the way for God’s incarnation to be fully expressed. My interior work and God’s incarnational work in me converge, create, and deliver a unique and divine gift for the world. I must believe pursuing who I am helps and heals the world.

QUEST FOR WHOLEHEARTEDNESS | PART 1

“The antidote for exhaustion is not rest. It is wholeheartedness,” David Whyte, a poet, shared as he reflected on the most significant turning point in his life.

I am on a relentless quest for wholeheartedness. And I KNOW this one matters. For most of my life, I pursued visions and projects based on external realities that were not largely congruent with my interiority. I force-fitted and convinced my true God-given self that the external realities were worth pursuing and giving my all to while often ignoring internal prompts and questions related to wholeheartedness. I had thought that obedience was what mattered, and my wholeheartedness did not matter much. I had reduced my faith and work to passive and comfortable assent to programs and slogans. God’s realities filtered through the so-called biblical worldview became somehow the absolute real over who I was. What I thought or questioned did not matter much because God and God’s glory were what mattered. The nagging interior questions naturally took a backseat but thankfully have not been thrown out of the car altogether. Little did I know at the time that the so-called biblical worldview was an interpreted worldview by some tradition or culture, which was squarely lodged in the U.S. evangelical box.

The concept of “priesthood of all believers” assumes a leveling effect of all “readers” and even further “interpreters.” When we read, we interpret. No one reads the Bible without interpreting, interpreting with our cultural and experiential lens. The unique lens describes who we are in all our blessings and limitations. God seems to be ok with that and even further invites us all to use our lens. The important admission and I would add maturity, is whether we are aware of the lens we are wearing. The unawareness does far more damage than “wrong” honest interpretation. Interpretation is not the problem, as we all interpret. 

The interpretative journey of mine took a significant turn when I discovered a massive hidden (hidden from me) well of the living water of broader contemplative traditions. The contemplative traditions cut across and embrace certain ecumenical traditions as well as elements in other religious traditions. While I would not declare that the contemplative traditions are the biblical worldview, (I don’t personally believe THE biblical worldview exists. The biblical worldview is that paradoxically it embraces many different cultural and religious traditions and encourages subversive transformation from within.) the most lucid benefit has been the growing discernment journey of what is real over what is illusionary. Additionally, contemplative traditions fight for wholeheartedness from within as well as the soul’s relationship with God and the world (people and the creation). It seeks radical harmony and fights for the betterment of all. If it is not good for me, it is neither good for God nor for the world. If it is not good for God, it is neither good for me nor the world. If it is not good for the world, it is neither good for God nor for me. 

AN IMPROBABLE WELL

Over the 4th of July weekend, my wife and I drove to Sunset Triangle for coffee, which we had not done in a long time. During my leadership years between 2012 to 2018, I frequented a neighborhood called Silver Lake in Los Angeles over countless weekends. The specific area my wife and I came to often is called Sunset Triangle Plaza, which sits on Sunset Blvd on the corner of Edgecliff Drive. It is a piece of triangular land that comprises a tiny park and a larger than usual pedestrian-only street. The area also features a small outdoor farmer’s market twice a week. The farmer’s market scene is the closest thing to the traditional market scene in Korea without the soul-tugging foods. Silverlake has witnessed significant gentrification since the late 1990s and is now called “the eastside,” cognizant of the more famous “sibling” westside area that is closer to the beaches. I have not counted but would guess that Silver Lake probably possesses more vegan restaurants and cafes than most neighborhoods in LA.

One of the reasons why I was attracted to this plaza was because it was so radically different from my immediate placid neighborhood in Pasadena. I did not mind the 15-mile drive over many weekends to visit a café. The one I visited often used to be called Night and Day, which has since closed. It resembled more of a tattoo parlor than a café. Night and Day was gritty and even grungy but had decent coffee. The most attractive feature of the café for me was the outdoor seating where I got to sip my Americano or Cold Brew and just sit and engage in people-watching. I would bring my books and spend hours alternating between the worlds of my book, reflection, and what my eyes were tracing. I do not recall which was more real, my reflection or the people I got to watch. Strangely, the times I spent there were therapeutic and refreshing enough that I came back again and again. 

Sunset Triangle Plaza is a microcosm of what LA is about. One can see all kinds of people of various ethnicities, genders, and wealth. It is quite a common sight to see homeless folks sitting or lying in the park and even mingling occasionally with the young and diverse affluent folks. As my wife and I sit in the same unadorned outdoor seating after years have gone by, I see a purple taco truck (go Lakers!), a seemingly popular brand-new vegan restaurant, and an always hopping Taiwanese restaurant right next to the café. I see a guy wearing a t-shirt that says, “Save the Bees” and observe a young proud father taking a picture of his son right in front of me with his mom watching, which brings me the gift of a smile. All the while, I notice the stark contrast of the trees that are struggling to transition to fuller green from brownish green due to extreme drought this season while the sky is impeccably blue. 

I am fond of this area mainly because I did some of the most grinding soul’s work here while soaking in the real and vibrant humanity right in front of me. It was the most unlikely and improbable well for my soul’s thirst and nourishment during my dark valley days. While I wish I can say I saw each person as full and glorious God’s image-bearers, my soul was generous and expansive enough to extend tacit blessings without judgment, especially to those who seemed very different from me. I suppose as I was learning to be self-compassionate, I would like to believe that self-compassion led to compassion for others. In some ways, the last thing I wanted to do was to pick an imaginary fight with the rest of humanity. I knew my soul would suffer more and thus lose every single time. . . 

While my eyes alternated between watching the surrounding scene in front of me and reading David Whyte’s poems, my eyes locked in on the poem called The Well. (I won’t quote everything here but two portions.) The beginning stanza opens,

Be thankful now for having arrived,
for the sense of having drunk from a well,
for remembering the long drought
that preceded your arrival and the years
walking in a desert landscape of surfaces
looking for a spring hidden from you so long
that even wanting to find it now had gone
from your mind until you only remembered
the hard pilgrimage that brought you here,
the thirst that caught in your throat;
the taste of a world just-missed
and the dry throat that came from a love
you remembered but had never fully wanted
for yourself, until finally after years making
the long trek to get here it was as if your whole
achievement had become nothing but thirst itself.

The phrases “a spring hidden from you so long” and “hard pilgrimage” immediately caught my imagination. It is here at this café that I found a hidden spring for my soul. The café became a spring when I first discovered Richard Rohr’s writings. The first book I read by him was The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective. I was hooked by both Rohr’s style and content as well as the Enneagram wisdom and tradition. From Rohr, I migrated over to Merton and countless other saints and spiritual teachers, both contemporary and historical, mostly from the wider ecumenical tradition. It all started here at Sunset Triangle, the most unlikely and unassuming place for a spring well.

“If your whole achievement had become nothing but thirst itself” was difficult to accept and swallow at the time. The crown of achievement culminated in making the long trek without quitting and accepting and experiencing thirst. Desperation had become the crown of my achievement. So ironic and yet true. Now my experience of deep thirst can be shared as a thirst-quenching well without disrupting others’ own sacred journey of experiencing thirst alone. Then the last stanza. . . 

No, the miracle had already happened
when you stood up, shook off the dust
and walked along the road from the well,
out of the desert toward the mountain,
as if already home again, as if you deserved
what you loved all along, as if just
remembering the taste of that clear cool
spring could lift up your face and set you free.

I find myself walking along the road from the well out of the desert toward the mountain “as if already home again and as if you deserved what you loved all along” and “set you free.” I resonate with the poetic justice of deserving what I loved all along which to me was to be free. This is a very personal reading of these last verses, of course. I am grateful for having drunk from a well that has a clear physical attachment to it. Today, sitting and sipping cold brew, quenching my thirst, at the familiar Sunset Triangle “well” gave me an unexpected opportunity to look back on the road I traversed and to look forward to the mountain road ahead of me. 

LOVE, LOSS, GRIEF, AND HOPE

Increasingly, I see my life as a cycle of love, loss, grief, and hope. Then repeat. It is not the fatalistic “I am stuck” kind but a generous and invitational kind that allows me to expand and grow as a human being. Ultimately, growing and maturing in perfect love is what God may be after. 

Leaving a community of friends in Korea was sad and difficult this June, more than I admitted at the time. In recent years, we have rekindled love and deep life connections with them. There is mutual love and respect expressed through vulnerability, hospitality, and encouragement. It was a loss at the time which transitioned into grief. My natural tendency is not to dwell in the land of grief but to quickly trigger my mind to the next exciting and encouraging event in my life, which I did this time again. Sure enough, I had Hannah’s wedding on my mind, the first among our four adult children. Even then, I KNEW I did not grieve properly. I did not see it as a loss. I told myself that I would see them again, so I did not allow myself to fully experience loss and grief. 

A week after we came back to the US, I went to a gathering of friends. I affectionately call them “anam cara," meaning soul friend in Celtic. These are friends I have known for close to 40 years. The friendship began when we were all attending the same church college group in Los Angeles. Some married within the group (including yours truly) while some married out and grafted their spouses into the gatherings over the years. I remember back in 2001, precisely on the infamous 9/11, we (some 70 of us including our children) were together for a reunion gathering up in the local mountain retreat site. Though we are now all dispersed and scattered beyond one church and So Cal location, we have kept in touch and have grown in our friendship and love. What privilege and blessing this is! 

At the friends gathering, we took turns sharing and updating our lives, followed by prayers and blessings. We do not compromise on food, so we also made sure to share a sumptuous feast, thanks to the hosts.  I left at night feeling a sense of loss followed by grief. The truth is I would not feel the loss if the situation and relationships are not founded on love. It is precisely because I love that I feel the loss even more. When I admit feeling loss, grief enters in. The invitation then is to open the door of my heart and welcome grief as a guest. 

A few years ago, my oldest daughter Elizabeth, Grace, and I were enjoying lunch at one of our favorite local Mediterranean cafés nearby our house. I distinctively remember that Elizabeth asked us whether she could move to Minnesota in order to “spread her wings and learn to fly.” After a short thoughtful and grace-filled conversation, we blessed her and her desire. She knew and we knew that she was not asking for permission, but blessing. What she did, though, honored us deeply. Months later, she packed up her stuff and left for Minnesota. She was very mindful about visiting the rest of the family back in Pasadena. She even worked from Pasadena for a few months during the height of COVID lockdown season, avoiding the dreary winter in Minnesota. Thus, in some ways, I did not feel the loss as much. Until this time. . . She took a weeklong vacation to help with and to be in Hannah’s wedding as the maid-of-honor. Understandably, the week flew by. She was here one day and gone the next. I cling to a memory of the street taco run with Elizabeth and Hannah a few nights before the wedding. (Angelenos, check out the Angel’s Tijuana Tacos if you haven’t already!) My heart warmed as I watched Elizabeth joyously supporting and performing labors of love for her sister and the wedding. I cherish the conversations to-and-from the hopelessly congested LAX. The loss is real this time, which has migrated over to grief. I am giving myself permission and freedom to grieve. 

Did I tell you Elizabeth has a Chihuahua dog called Remy, named after the leading character in the movie Ratatouille? Remy is a star and has more Instagram followers than I do. Over the recent years when Elizabeth came to visit us, she would bring Remy. Remy and I became best buddies. He is a cuddly lap dog who loves to sit on someone’s lap all day long if you let him. He is also a dog with a thousand facial expressions. He cracks me up and everyone around him and yes, I laugh at him. It is quite common to hear someone(s) bust out laughing WAHAHAHA or sigh AWWW throughout the day. Remy visited for a week for Hannah’s wedding. I experienced loss when Remy left as I noticed my lap was barren. What followed was a sense of grief. I know I cannot and should not “hold on” to Remy because I do not want to experience loss. Good loss can be experienced when acknowledging and not wanting to control ownership or demand status quo.

Hope is not the opposite of grief. Denial is. I am learning not to deny. I am learning to invite the feelings of loss and grief as welcomed guests in my heart. Hope can function as an antidote for grief over time, but only when there has been a proper process of grieving. Without dwelling in grief, hope never arrives. Even if it does, it remains shallow. The authors and poets of the Bible notch grief up even higher to a level of lament. God fully expects and invites us to grieve and lament. Grief allows and paves the way through a doorway of healing for a full flowering hope to arrive as barren winter patiently awaits the burgeoning life of spring. I feel I am at the cusp of tasting hope yet again. Hope, in this season, is a continuation of deepening intimacy and fellowship of life with family and friends amid natural normal disruptions as well as difficult seasons of life. In short, hope is community I can do life with. Hope is founded on the realization that I cannot do this life alone. (This rings so true now I am getting teary-eyed.) Hope is spring coming, infusing a vision of the vibrancy of life and exquisite enjoyment of life in love. Hope is the expectation of love blossoming all over again. Hope of a spring serves as a precursor to nature’s full blossoming of summer of love. 

SUMMER: ABUNDANCE OVER SCARCITY

We in the Northern Hemisphere have officially entered summer with the summer solstice on June 21. As we welcome summer, my body remembers the dry heat, flip-flops (which I wear all throughout the year), and a few hot sleepless nights as I spent most summers in Southern California. One thing I do not miss is the humid sticky summer in Korea or any other place where stickiness and irritability rule the day. Hot I can handle as long as it is dry, but humidity is a beast I have yet to conquer. One of our family traditions for many years over summer was to spend a weeklong vacation in a scorching hot dry desert in Palm Springs, California. The punishing heat was ideal for play in the pool and for a natural outdoor dry sauna (which was my fav), especially if you crawl and hole yourself in air-conditioned hotels or time-share condos. So, we would go from the pool to the room to a 2-dollar movie theater and repeat. We smelled like whatever brand sun block lotion we put on throughout the entire week. The temperatures fluctuated from balmy 110s to occasional sizzling 120s. 

I took my family to Palm Springs one summer when our children were all less than 10 years old almost as an experiment. I thought we would try Palm Springs and see. We had hit the beaches up and down the So. Cal coastline, explored the city vibes like San Francisco, San Diego, and of course, Los Angeles, hiked the mountains, took countless road trips to national parks, and braved the amusement parks. As much as we enjoyed all of the above, we discovered that we all loved the hot summer desert experience. Perhaps it was the desert mirage that got us hypnotized and we just did not know it. So, we kept going back and every time we went back, we took a few other innocent victims (I mean other families) along with us. In a few years, our humble tradition grew to more than 60 people from our community in Pasadena. It became a communal tradition every single summer. 

Parker Palmer’s insight on summer is worth pondering and well noted. “Summer’s keynote is the victory of abundance over scarcity, and nature shows us how that victory can be achieved.” I remember the abundance of relationships, fellowships, food, and simple sweet times during our annual Palm Springs “feast.” I was a happy uncle to some 30 kids from ages 2 to 18. I was a safe father/“lifeguard on duty” to teach kids how to play safely in the water, even though I did not know how to swim. I was an innocent kid at heart playing with other kids who would play catch, torpedoes, and Marco Polo in the pool. And then there were the generous potluck dinners every night in one designated condo unit where we would bring all our BBQ, main dishes, salads, fruits, desserts, and drinks. The room was filled with the aroma of the potluck dishes blended with the smells of various sun block lotions and aloe vera lotions. We would showcase our daily tan progress to one another. Invariably, we would have one or two who got burned in our midst. Every dinner was a party. 

While the desert summer seems to perpetuate scarcity, regions that experience all four seasons can surely appreciate going from scarcity to abundance in nature. Unfortunately, I live in Southern California where the weather is pretty constant, mild, and simply blah for some people. This is one reason why others choose to live in So. Cal. including yours truly. If it is not 75 degrees outside and sunny, it is either too cool, too warm, and not perfect. At the same time, I do miss the four distinct seasons as I remember my growing years in Korea. 

Parker’s insight deepens. “Here is a summertime truth: abundance is a communal act, the joint creation of an incredibly complex ecology in which each part functions on behalf of the whole and, in return, is sustained by the whole. Community not only creates abundance—community IS abundance. If we could learn that equation from the world of nature, the human world might be transformed.” While the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, the whole sustains each part to function and flourish. Palm Springs reminds me of the wonder and experience of the abundance of family and community. I can go as far as to say that community WAS abundance for all who participated in the almost lunatic behavior of embracing the sizzling temperatures in Palm Springs. The last line of Parker is a gentle charge and challenge for all who desire to experience and witness the transformation of humanity.

THE MONK AND THE ARTIST

Soon after we came back to the US, someone introduced this poem in a group spiritual direction session, and I ended up sharing my reflection. Below is the poem followed by my reflection.   

The Monk tends the edges

And graces the borders of the in-between

He sees the hidden worlds between worlds

Walks in the shadowy lands

Amid awake and asleep

The Artist lifts the veils

And reveals beauty that would go unseen

She sees inside the creases and crevices

Unfolds the color of flowers

Puts scent on canvas

Together they play

Dancing on the narrow edge

Of time

That is NOW

They greet the present moment

Brushing past each other

Sharing secrets

Deb Swingholm, The Artist’s Rule: nurturing your creative soul with monastic wisdom

The first two lines grabbed me as I identify immediately with “the monk” tending the edges and gracing the liminal space. I see myself standing and living on the edge of the inside, thus, identifying with the monk. Inside is where the proven normality lies. Nothing wrong with what is normal and accepted, but I have known for long that that is not for me. At the same time, I am not so far out that I cannot identify with the inside, precisely because I have operated from the inside and know what it is like to be inside. There is a good tradition as much as a tradition that is unhelpful or just simply burdensome and not useful at all. I am quite happy to reside in a liminal space, almost to the point of associating being on the edges as my calling. The good tradition unlocks and empowers the freedom within, I would submit. The bad tradition enslaves and judges, violating the freedom within. 

I, as a monk, have “walked the shadowy lands” where light and darkness co-exist. I have also “seen the hidden worlds between worlds.” Shadow and darkness are not to be avoided like some sort of plague, but to be embraced as part of life’s sweet aloneness journey to discover what we are made for. It is hidden, because it is far from the center grid, and even when some people may see it, it is often ignored. Sometimes, a great paradoxical mystery is that the hidden invisible worlds are more real than the manufactured actual visible worlds. While it takes seeing to live, the invitation is to live out what we are seeing. That is what faith is. 

Then appears The Artist. The colors and scents reminded me of our time in Yangpyeong, almost to the point of a tender ache in my heart. It is a longing ache because this section of the poem encapsulates what I experienced through the Artist’s unveiling and revealing. I have seen the captivating beauty of nature and the goodness of human hearts I would not have seen or what would have gone unseen. I have experienced deep longings of the heart and slow lingerings that unveiled the gift of now. I dearly miss the morning walks flanked by the river and the rice fields and random chance encounters of God’s daily surprises or God’s treasure hunt as my wife would say. Thanks to the Artist who lifted the veils so I could see and experience. The combination of the Artist lifting the veils and my unhurriedness allowed me to see creases and crevices of wonder and beauty. The wonder was the beauty seen, or in my case, finally seen. And the invitation for many more. . . I witnessed the beauty, the beauty of The Artist, the beauty of The Artist’s creation, and the anticipating beauty of what is to come through The Artist’s work. 

I love the expressions of “together they play,” “dancing NOW,” “greeting the present moment,” and my favorite line in this poem, “brushing past each other.” I am reminded of Rumi’s line, “We rarely hear the inward music, but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless.” My dance which is uniquely mine, because of its inward music infused with the dance in the NOW (which is none other than God) is the dream dance of divine and human partnership in the context of the present moment. 

This playful freedom invigorates and energizes the soul within. Without freedom, the soul never fully flourishes. In fact, the soul shrinks and shrivels beyond recognition without freedom. The monk and the Artist playfully collaborate and create something only that this pair of humanity and divinity could create. This joint creative process is a playful work and a work of play. And if it is done right, it opens a door for others to join in the unleashing of creative play. As I shared during the session, the phrase, “playful holy ground” when referring to my experience at Yangpyeong was uttered out of my soul. Thus, “brushing past each other” becomes the secret that only the monk and the Artist share and cherish. Perhaps, in the end, it is not merely the beauty of The Artist’s creation, but an unrepeatably unique beauty flowing out of collaborative endeavor between the monk that I am, and the Artist God is. 

A BRAND NEW SUIT

My wife and I have been shopping for a brand-new suit for me. I cannot remember the last time I purchased one. I hold a pretty vivid memory of wearing a suit and tie every Sunday for church in the early 1980s. Times certainly have changed, further compounded by COVID. It was not long ago that Nordstrom Rack had a pretty big selection of men’s suits. One can understand my small shock that where the suits once were there were socks, undershirts, and underwears. The suit section shrank to only three racks and was pushed aside to a corner. Oh well, whatever. Someone told us to try Macy’s. We had better luck there. After trying on more than a dozen different kinds of suits (from skinny, to slim, to modern, and to classic fits), I chose a dark blue modern-fit jacket and pants. It is clever marketing to name “classic” to mean something other than skinny and slim, I mused. And what in the world does “modern” mean? Am I not a modern man? Again, whatever. .

The special occasion is none other than my second daughter’s wedding which is 5 days out. Surprisingly, I am holding myself very well, knowing I am about to “send off” my princess. I vividly remember listening to Bob Carlisle’s "Butterfly Kisses" in a random parking lot in Chicago when my princesses were barely 5- and 2-year olds. I promptly broke down in a full burst of uncontrollable tears, anticipating “losing” the girls to some random guys. I still cannot listen to the song without tearing up. . .

Predictably, when Hannah’s fiancé, Jeremiah, came to ask if he can date her a couple of years ago, I knew I was protective of my daughter. While I admired the courage of Jeremiah to come and ask, I also knew I would not want to be in his shoe, knowing how lukewarm I was to him. I can tell this story now because Jeremiah won me over with his love and dedication to my daughter, and I have seen how good he is to Hannah. Jeremiah is a solid man of God who loves God. I am very proud of welcoming him into the family. They look great together. I’ve been impressed with how they communicate with each other, in big and small matters. What more do I want as a father of the bride? I am ready to hand my daughter’s hand over to Jeremiah. 

Love is letting go and releasing someone to be who they are, who they are born to be and do. I would never dare to control Hannah or Jeremiah, but to be fully who they are meant to be. Love is also bearing burdens. Looking at my own life, they will go through different shapes and sizes of challenges and difficulties. While not controlling or being possessive, I as a parent will continue to bear and/or share burdens with them and their future. Love is cheering, cheering for shared joys and accomplishments. I know I will cheer for my first grandchild and their many other “first fruits” as a couple and family. I will cheer for them to simply continue to journey and to be faithful to the process of life, which is the same as being faithful to God. Love is hovering around like a “guardian angel” to protect and guide anonymously and secretly, and not as a helicopter parent, waiting to pounce and punish. I realize that these are all tangible qualities I have experienced of God as a parent in relating to my own life. As who God has been in my life, I merely want to replicate being a small god to Hannah and Jeremiah. 

I was leafing through Hannah’s baby and childhood album, savoring, and celebrating her life from a tiny baby in my arms, minutes after her birth, to a girl who is now taller than me (though I may continue to deny it, as I try to stretch myself standing next to Hannah). She is taller than me figuratively too because she is so mature and knows herself so deeply compared to when I was her age. She has all the tools to make life worthy and meaningful together with Jeremiah. 

There is no telling how I will be walking down the aisle with Hannah as I have not gone on this road before. I might be fighting back my tears, which would not be bad. But then, I might lose all my bearings and break down and crumple down on the floor. This is not whatever. I gotta get my bearings, I am telling myself, at least not until the wedding is over. . .

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by.
Precious butterfly.
Spread your wings and fly.

She'll change her name today.
She'll make a promise and I'll give her away.
Standing in the bride-room just staring at her.

She asked me what I'm thinking and I said
"I'm not sure-I just feel like I'm losing my baby girl."
She leaned over
Gave me butterfly kisses with her mama there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
"Walk me down the aisle, Daddy-it's just about time."
"Does my wedding gown look pretty, Daddy? Daddy, don't cry"
Oh, with all that I've done wrong I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning and butterfly kisses
I couldn't ask God for more, man this is what love is.
I know I gotta let her go, but I'll always remember
Every hug in the morning and butterfly kisses...

JUNGLE CRUISE

“We love how you are pursuing your dreams. Your life example of following your dreams gives us hope, courage, and permission to pursue ours.” This has been one of the most frequent comments and encouragements we received while in Korea. A few added the phrase, “at your ripe age,” which made me crack a smile if not laugh out loud. Our adult children have chanted similar encouragements in recent years, which we cherish dearly.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that it took us all of our lifetime to discover and orient our lives to be where we are. Certainly, we have not arrived, as we are in the thick of things; we are wading knee-deep through a jungle swamp or hacking away at the jungle bushes to make our own trail while swatting away pesky insects. Peering through the jungle canopy, we catch glimpses of the mountain top occasionally to know we are moving in the right direction. However, we are not dreading the jungle; we are terribly excited, almost to a point of ecstasy, pinching ourselves and enjoying what every day brings, particularly our time in Korea. 

My wife loves what she is doing in spiritual direction. She knows now that she was made for this. I can vouch for her passion because I have seen the transformation. I see her alive every day. The decisive confirmation of her calling comes from her interior conviction that this vocation is not only for her but also for the sake of the world. Frederick Buechner’s words ring true, “The place God calls you to is to the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” Pursuing what you love, thus, is not a selfish endeavor, but a lifelong endeavor to love yourself and to love the world God created. In the end, all these loves are encapsulated in loving God. In a way, she has already been to the mountain top. She has graciously and willingly joined me in the jungle tracking for my sake as well as for our joint calling.

Our lives and the pursuit of our dreams are a drop in the bucket, as there are many others who are on a similar path of discovery and counting the cost. Even then, I lament that Christianity has mainly become a thinking religion. It is almost to the point of “believe the right doctrine, and you will be saved.” There is an alarming disconnect between believing the right set of beliefs and living out our faith journey. The world no longer wants to be judged because it does not believe rightly. The world needs people who can model what it means to live and love rightly. That is the cry of the world, particularly in Korea. 

Living and loving rightly do not mean perfection, but the desire to live authentically, acknowledging when we fall and fail. The living example is just that, an example of the good, the bad, and the ugly, which happen in real-time. What has inspired me over time is not the life of perfection, but the life that continues the imperfect journey toward perfection.

Looking back at our time in Korea, I have been gifted with older saints who are living out their faith journey here in Korea. As others may look to us for inspiration, we look to others for inspiration. Some of the common traits of these older saints we have come to admire are their humility, simplicity, thankfulness, and mindfulness. Topping all these traits, they are utterly and unapologetically themselves. All earnestly admit their faults and failures in the past and are quick to accept their shortcomings. This particular quality of humility has been life-giving and deeply refreshing for me. They also know they have not arrived and thus maintain their lifelong learning posture, which reflects their humility. 

They are not simple-minded but maintain the quality of childlike simplicity. As they mature and become more seasoned, their lives have become simpler, having sorted out what is essential from the non-essentials of life. Simplicity also is reflected in their finances, rejoicing in what they have and trusting in God’s continual provision while maintaining the spirit and practice of generosity. In simplicity, there is generosity. The posture of thankfulness seamlessly permeates their lives in big and small things. They are not blinded by pursuing more, better, and bigger things in life but sustain an attitude of gratefulness, particularly in little and seemingly insignificant things.

A slower pace of life does not necessarily translate into mindfulness, but they have successfully cultivated mindfulness out of a slower pace of life. Mindfulness begets the kind of seeing, noticing, and hearing that beckon a timely and godly response. Mindfulness allows them to capture life as it happens in real-time and allows them to be fully present. When meeting people who are fully present, their mere presence is a gift, because one is not competing with their mind being somewhere else. 

The older saints we have come to respect know who they are and who they are not in all their gifts and limitations. Perhaps since they know they have fewer years left to live, they cannot afford to live as someone else other than themselves. Perhaps since they have lived a few more years, they know it is futile to pretend to be someone else. I would vouch for a combination of both as I recollect my own journey. Thomas Merton’s curt words came as a shock when I first encountered them years ago, “For me to be a saint means to be myself.” The next line fills out further, “Therefore the problem of sanctity and salvation is in fact the problem of finding out who I am and of discovering my true self.” Stemming out of the discovery of true self, one is to fully live out of one’s true self. Only then, we become a solution to the world’s deep hunger. What a gift they are to me and to the world. Wherever they are and whatever they do, the light of sanctity and salvation shines, providing hope and restoration. 

WHAT'S NEXT, PAPA?

May 26 Entry

This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It’s adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike “What’s next, Papa?” God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children. (Romans 8:15-16, The Message)

Our time in Korea is drawing to an end, as we have less than a week to go. While there is still room for more adventure and surprises, there has been enough adrenaline from the adventure and the surprises we have experienced. We came to Korea by asking, “What’s next, Papa?” We knew our “next” would involve Korea and/or Koreans somehow. As we leave Korea, we are asking the same question. But the “next” is not the vague amorphous kind; instead, it is sharper and is filled with specific expectancy. As expected, our Papa is not giving us one choice meal to either take it or leave it. Instead, our Papa is dropping hints and possibilities almost like the meals we had in Namhae with 20 some dishes to enjoy.

As I ask, “What’s next, Papa?” I picture Papa replying with a question and a warm smile, “What do you want?” Papa is not giving us one thing to do or a marching order of some kind but is giving us options like a buffet spread before us. Papa asking us the question, “What do you want?” sounds so much like a good, loving, and caring Papa. I love this Papa!

From this time in Korea, I have grown to greet God with a childlike greeting. A month-long stay at Yangpyeong and the time outside of Seoul definitely helped as we soaked ourselves in nature, which is God’s gift to us, and submersed ourselves in less busy contexts. With the people we encountered, we were able to see eye to eye long enough to notice and affirm the depth of each other’s souls. We were also able to linger without the pressure of time and gaze in the same direction as if we were dreaming the same dream. During our time in Korea, several people back home (in the US) told us that things are happening around us without us striving. Not to discount the notion of striving at all, I want to embrace and learn more about how to ask Papa, “What’s next, Papa?” The childlike asking stands in direct contrast to striving, it seems.

Apostle Paul answers and connects the dots between two of life’s most foundational questions: “Who is God?” and “Who are we or who am I?” Paul explains the basis of a childlike greeting to Papa: we know who we are, and we know who Papa is. This foundational awareness orders all (I mean, all) of life’s existence. Out of which comes the question, “What’s next, Papa?” The question loses its significance and power without the understanding of the existential awareness. Only then, striving or performing is no more. Striving is what Peterson calls, “grave-tending life,” or “the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear” (ESV).

A couple of childlike qualities I have further embraced are simplicity and curiosity. Children know abundance from simplicity. I have experienced the depth and beauty of such simplicity. In simplicity, there is profound abundance. Life suddenly is not about more and more but being fully immersed in the little of what is in front of me. I do not have to have an exquisite buffet spread out in front of me, but one sweet potato will do. I do not have to have my calendar filled up with successive important and impressive appointments, but one schedule with one person will do. I do not have to see many attractions or do many activities, but one hike to a mountain right behind our place will do.

Children possess endless curiosity coupled with adventurous expectancy and know what they want and do not want. There is far less filtering in voicing their desires and indifferences. I think I know what I want or do not want with the kind of assuring confidence that children possess. I do not want to subject myself to institutions, particularly institutional Christianity. I do not want to own a home. I do not want to be in US long-term. I want to write. I want to speak and communicate and share what I have been learning. I want to see the world. I want to relocate to Korea. I want to position myself on the edge of the inside. I want to be of help to people in Korea to deconstruct and reconstruct their faith. My writing came out of pursuing curiosity. As I followed, the conviction to write regularly and continually came gradually. Curiosity then turned into a desire.

Peterson’s sentence is reassuring to my soul. “God’s Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are.” I love the choice of the word, confirms, which means to bear witness with or to testify unto. The work of the Spirit is to confirm who we really are, who we already are. If there is rebuke, correction, teaching, or guidance of the Spirit, it is to confirm so we can know and live like we are the children of God. With this confirmation and assurance, our asking of “What’s next, Papa?” is filled with adventurous expectancy.

TRAVEL TO NAMHAE

I wrote this journal the day we left Yangpyeong and headed down to Namhae. It is a lighthearted journal. Travel to Namhae with me. . .

May 12 Entry

As expected, it felt rather peculiar to say goodbye to our temporary “home” at Yangpyeong. We packed much of our stuff last night as we anticipated hitting the road earlier in the day due to the distance we needed to cover today. Even now, I feel faintly homesick after leaving Yangpyeong. It is a shade of tenderness and fondness I have not yet felt in Korea. . .

This is the first time I have driven this long of a distance in Korea. I have driven shorter distances but never from one end of the country to the other. I was not nervous, but I have seen enough K dramas where freakish things happen on the road. So, I was extra mindful as my usual tendency is to daydream when driving. Once I hit the road and stopped at a first rest stop, the little nervousness I had was gone and I was all giddy. The rest stops in Korea are out of this world, if you would ask me. Most blare loud music from the bygone era, which feels a bit odd but somehow feels right. It is akin to the idea that retro is in. Best of all, it features all kinds of eateries and restaurants, some of Korea’s favorite snack items (tteokbokki, fish cakes, world-famous Korean fried chicken, fried potato chips, corn dogs of all kinds (gotta have em with ketchup, mustard, and powdered sugar), all kinds of bread and pastries, etc), and convenient stores which have other snacks as backups in case one is not satisfied with the food that the vendors are selling. To me, it is the second-best thing after the traditional outdoor markets in Korea. Whereas I have experienced the traditional markets growing up, rest stops did not exist until I left for the US. So, there is a lot of catching up to do.

Since we did not have coffee in the morning, we ordered good old Americanos only to be mightily disappointed. Something was off and it tasted like warm mild barley water to me. “Oh well,” I thought, and my Enneagram 7 instinct kicked in to save the day as I quickly shifted my attention to the rest of the day. I knew that we would stop at a few more rest stops so there was a good chance to redeem the terrible experience. We also tried the Korean street breakfast toast. The toast basically had scrambled egg, a thin slice of bacon that is see-through, lettuce, and some unidentified sweet sauce all between two pieces of soggy bread. The toast amazingly matched the disappointment of the coffee, which is rare for me. I am usually not difficult to satisfy, a trait I developed in my childhood. I could eat very mediocre food and make it look like it is the best food ever. Many have commented that I have a gift to make others want to eat whatever I am eating. We ended up stopping by two more rest stops which were a little better but not enough to save the day. Like I said, oh well. . . there is always tomorrow.

As we got closer to Namhae which lies on the central southern tip of the Korean peninsula, we could begin to see the open ocean for the first time during this trip to Korea. The region of Namhae is comprised of two large islands that resemble some sort of amoeba shapes. A couple of nights ago, I reserved an oceanfront pension that is on the quieter side of the island. Sure enough, the road to the pension was precarious, if not treacherous, as I navigated a very narrow strip of coastal embankment road with no guardrails, that is wide enough for only one car. Understandably, my wife was nervous. I did not have to look her way, for I felt the nervous vibe. One false or foolish move, you are in the water. As nervous as my wife was, I was cautiously excited but did not want to show it for this is the kind of experience one can have only in this part of the world. I told my wife not to have too high of an expectation and she believed me because of the road. Once we parked and saw the pension in front of us with nothing standing between the pension and the open sea, my wife’s nervousness melted away, and she was all smiles from ear to ear. I too cracked a smile as if to tell her I knew all along what we were in for. The host promptly knew it was us as we were the only guests for the night, as we found out later. The name of the pension is called “the house of the poet.” It turned out that the host’s older brother used to be a poet and had since retired. The host led us to a top room with an open private deck and we naturally gasped “wow.” At one point, we were lying down on the deck benches and heard only gentle ocean waves flapping on the bank and the sound of the birds. No other competing noise. Now at 8 pm, it is pitch dark and we could hear ourselves breathing and the continued ocean flapping.

My wife asked me what I thought and/or felt is the difference between Yangpyeong and Namhae. I said, “Yangpyeong feels quainter and more snuggly whereas Namhae feels more expansive and big-hearted.” Obviously, the big difference is the ocean. Both are unpretentious and generous. The soul of my childhood “knows” the generosity and geniality, it seems. We took a long walk along the ocean embankment, basking in the here and now, just the two of us. After dinner, we drove along the narrow-twisted scenic coastal shoreline road, hugging the island, and bumped into what is called the “German Village” which was established to commemorate the nurses and miners that went to Germany to work in the 1970s and 1980s. One of my aunts was a nurse that went to Germany during that time span, I recalled.

We are now back in our pension. I thought about not writing my journal today but now that I did, I am glad for it. Where was God today? God was with me in my driving and navigating the road. God was with me in silence and small talks between my wife and me. Perhaps and just perhaps God was with me when I ate the soggy toast and the mild barley water coffee. God was with me when I prayed for my sister who went to ER for her migraine headache back in the US. God was with me when I remembered the good people God has surrounded us here in Korea. God was with me in giving this tranquil pension for tonight. God was with me when I was standing and sitting. Thank you, God. You are an amazing God.

YANGPYEONG JOURNAL | FINAL

May 11 Entry

Exactly one month ago from today we began our stay at Yangpyeong, and today also happens to be our last full day. I appreciate having this day to reminisce and reflect on the last month without having to be in a hurry or being in demand. We got situated outdoors in a café very close to where we have been staying but never had a chance to visit until today. The café features an impressive open-air space with retro industrial-style structures meshed with simple sleek modern designs. The garden, or so-called the art space, is where we were drawn to sit today mainly due to the perfect weather outside and the height of spring in Korea. I can’t let this pass by without sucking the marrow of the now while reflecting on the past month. . .

This morning in a group spiritual direction session, we did Lectio Divina on John 21:1-14. I volunteered to share while others companioned me in my reflection, helping me to draw out further from my inner space. John’s familiar passage is about Jesus appearing back (after the resurrection) in the Sea of Galilee (where it all began) where disciples went back to fishing and Jesus instructing them to cast the net on the other side. They ended up catching loads of fish. Jesus then prepared breakfast with the fish caught and the bread he brought. If I am given an opportunity to direct a movie portraying the story of Jesus, my opening scene would be this. Then I would go back to the beginning to fill in the rest of the story. . . Below is the summary of what I shared in essence.

First, the phrase, “the disciple whom Jesus loved” caught my attention immediately. John was referring to himself as one whom Jesus loved. It could be read as John showcasing careless audacity or even blatant arrogance. This time, I did not read it that way. I read it as a matter of fact. John’s identity was solely and securely based on Jesus’ love for him. As John was reaching back to his memory of this day (in John 21) from his ripe age in his 90s, he did not fail to insert that phrase. He felt it then and he still held that conviction, decades later. In that short phrase, I can imagine the life of John and what it must have been like.

Second, the phrase, “As the sun came up, Jesus appeared standing on the beach. . . ” Perhaps because of my growing “trained” eyes of observing and noticing nature, I can better appreciate John connecting the sun with Jesus’ appearing. Something small but it must have lodged in John’s memory of the day at the beach. John’s memory of the night and the day is remarkable, and I notice that John is using all his senses to remember and recollect. There is seeing, hearing, smelling, touching, and even eating (I say yes!) in fine detail. One of the unexpected gifts of being in Yangpyeong was the time, space, and ability to notice things. I have found that I am noticing things that I had not noticed before or cared to notice before. As I notice, I retain much of what I felt, saw, heard, smelled, etc in greater detail. It is almost like things are moving in slow motion. I see, hear, and feel, therefore I am.

Third, I am moved by Jesus’ invitation of “Breakfast is ready” (The Message). Breakfast consisted of the fish the disciples caught (which were caught because Jesus intervened and the disciples obeyed) and the bread Jesus brought. Jesus did not have to bring bread as He was the living bread. The theme of Jesus being the bread of life in earlier chapters in John naturally gets invoked. . . Even then, it seemed that Jesus did bring bread. When Jesus tells us “ready,” it is where God’s unconditional provision meets the fruit from our effort (in loving obedience) which is a direct result of God’s graced guidance. God is doing all the heavy lifting and all we need to do is go “fishing” and then follow His instructions of “casting the net on the other side of the boat.” God’s readiness for us occurs when all we have to do is to show up and start moving and the rest is God’s grace. Simply and wonderfully too good to be true, but true. Jesus spreads the breakfast before us and tells us it is now ready.

This Yangpyeong stay has been exactly that. I now have the language to couch my experiences. We went “fishing” and followed Jesus’ guidance, which ultimately was met with Jesus’ unexpected gifts of “bread” prepared for us. And Jesus told us that the breakfast was ready. We partook in the meal with Jesus, getting a taste of what union could look like, and were blessed. We in turn shared the blessing with others.

As I sit pondering back after a month-long stay, I am reminded of Thomas Keating’s wise words in “What Matters.”

 Only the Divine matters,
And because the Divine matters,
Everything matters.

We arrived in the dawning of spring when cherry blossom flowers were at their peak, and life began to peek its head out into the world ever so coyly after a long harsh winter. Even within a month, I saw gradual and breathtaking changes every day. Never did I know that within spring, there would be multiple smaller spring seasons. I leave Yangpyeong at its spring peak where everything is in a full spectrum of greens bursting and abundantly more colorful flowers than I know by name. I saw God in more of God’s handiwork than I had before. I witnessed God in people as well as children who came to visit. I perceived God by random chance encountered people, bakers, artists, street vendors, “grandmas,” baristas, gardeners, farmers, pastors, restaurant servers, etc. As I began to see God in everything, they invariably became my teachers, and I learned to listen and heed their teachings. None of them were audible teachers. They are teachers of the heart because what was already in me recognized the teacher in others, confirming what was already in me. What was not already in me remained in me as wonder and tucked away as causes for further reflection. At some ripe time in the future, they will bear fruit in my heart to make what is mine; I am confident of it.

YANGPYEONG JOURNAL | WEEK 5

After today, I will only have one more full day here at Yangpyeong as we hit the road to Namhae, Yeosu, and Goheung in the southern part of Korea. While I will continue to journal daily, I will most likely post one final Yangpyeong Journal next Tuesday. Thanks for reading!

May 7, 2022 Entry

This morning was a jewel of a morning. It was a morning like what Thomas Merton called “a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven.” Unlike the sunny and bright days leading up to today, today was supposed to be rainy and cloudy. However, the elusive rain never came, and occasional flakey clouds dotted the otherwise blue eternal sky. The morning was crisp, and the warming sun felt like God’s embrace as if to foretell what we were about to experience.

Led by my wife, we gathered on the deck, which was partially covered and partially open, evenly dividing those who wanted more sun-aided warmth and those who did not. The first exercise we did was simply to “gaze.” This exercise was something my wife learned during her spiritual direction program. Having experienced something profoundly deep, she and I talked about starting with that exercise this morning. The exercise involves pairing up with a partner (randomly selected), sitting in pairs facing each other, and gazing at each other taking turns. One person gazes first while the other may choose to look into the distance or close their eyes. Many choose to close their eyes. You do that for 3 minutes. Then, repeat the process switching roles. We then had each pair debrief their experiences of gazing and being gazed and after a few minutes, we opened the time of sharing. One person who was being gazed had a powerful encounter. He said, “While being gazed, I sensed remarkably that God was gazing me.” As he shared, others gently nodded their heads in agreement. Quiet tears began to roll on many people’s faces.

I was paired up with a young mom with a daughter. As I was gazing into her face and her closed eyes, I heard the distant voice of a girl, and I was not sure if it was her daughter’s. When the voice was heard, the young mom’s head tilted with her eyes closed, and she raised her ear as if to discern whether that was her daughter. The reaction was as instinctive as a mother could be, and I realized that she did not even know she tilted her head to listen. That happened twice. Later, the image I drew up in my mind was the image of God as a tender loving mother, tilting Her head and leaning in to listen whether Her child is calling Her. God’s reaction would be as instinctive as God’s unconditional love for God’s children.

We then segued into another kind of gazing. I asked them now to gaze into the sky, the uninhibited view of it for another 3 minutes. By then, it was the peak morning with wide open blue sky with fast moving playful clouds, orchestrating different shapes and sizes as they moved across the sky as if to tell us a story. Then without a break, I had them to write a sentence or two focusing on self-compassion. “What would you need to hear from your inner self the most right now regarding loving yourself?” was the question. Thus, another round of 3-minute silence. Perhaps because of having gazed into the stunning blue sky, the sentence I heard from God was, “Son, live as free as the sky.” With my eyes closed, I smiled and decided to cherish it by not disclosing it to others. I wanted to keep it more personal and private this time. One more short exercise was for each to examine their tears, as many shed tears, especially the unexpected kind, during the last few days together. Tears not only hold a secret of who one is but also reveal God’s messages to each of our soul. I asked each to examine also in silence for 3 minutes.

I brought everyone’s attention and had us sit in circle again to debrief as a group about the three back-to-back-to-back exercises and what their experiences were like. During the time of sharing, more tears flowed. What God spoke to each person quickly could amount to a collection of precious stones and jewels. God spoke without the shadow of a doubt through gazing into the sky, into each other, and into oneself, all clothed in silence. I realize again that it is a paradoxical truth that God speaks to us in silence and/or when we are silent. God’s presence was revealed to us through self-examination and speaking words of self-compassion to one’s battered and neglected soul. Our natural tears mixed with God’s unmistakable and unmissable presence showcased through what each precious soul captured displayed incredible and diverse array of beauty. All were mesmerized by God’s grace and transforming power.

Then the culminating exercise was for each to tell oneself something akin to “(One’s name), you are okay and I love you.” The Spirit encouraged them to modify and personalize as each saw fit while maintaining group silence in between each statement. It was such a personal and intimate time of confessing self-love while the rest simply sat in silence and agreed. Many confessed the difficulty of saying “I love you” to oneself. Saint Bernard’s wise words of “the love of self for God’s sake” feels wild and unsettling at first, but it is a mature love, going beyond the immature stage of “the love of God for one’s sake.” There was deep and holy silence between each confession and when we were all done, there was a definite sense of celebration of God’s penetrating love and compassion displayed through the spontaneous declarations of self-compassion.

During the jeweled morning, some of the things that were experienced and spoken were nothing short of mystical and contemplative breakthroughs, similar to Thomas Merton’s mystical experience penned below.

In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness.

Later, Merton continues the same day’s journal by writing, “There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun,” and “the gate of heaven is everywhere.” After witnessing the Sun shining on us and everyone walking around shining like the sun, I was ready to happily call it a day. After seeing the gate of heaven that is not far but really right around me all the time, I was ready to retire into the night where I could possibly dream of the heaven inside the gate!

YANGPYEONG JOURNAL | WEEK 4

April 28 Entry

Today was yet another gift, an unexpected one at that. My wife has likened our time in Yangpyeong to a treasure hunt. Today we discover some treasure. . . A dear couple visited us today. In our past visits to Korea, they had opened their home and their hearts to us on multiple occasions. I first met the husband back in 1994 as mission mobilizers. He was a mobilizer working with students in Korea and I in the US. We somehow kept in touch, and over the years, he invited me to speak at his organization multiple times. He served as the head of his organization in Korea. Our wives naturally got grafted on to our growing friendship. So, this was no ordinary couple. 

It so happened that their son-in-law’s mother currently serves as the director at Korean National Center for Forest Therapy in Yangpyeong. She invited them along with us to the center, which is funded and run by the Korean government. The name of the center intrigued both my wife and me. After a fine roadside tofu stew lunch, we were given a tour of the center and experienced the forest therapy, including meditating lying down in a forest and slow methodical barefoot walking on ochre soil for some 50 meters. 

The last portion of the program involved walking down to a coffee roastery at a village right next to the Forest Therapy Center (which used to be a gold mining region a long time ago). I assumed it would be some sort of a commercial café attached to a roastery. As I got nearer, my eyes got wider because what I saw did not match what I had imagined. Life can be full of surprises and wonder. With my peaked curiosity, all my senses were heightened and locked in. The roastery turned out to be a country home that sits on a sloping valley surrounded by lazy gentle mountains with more than 70,000 square feet garden of trees, plants, and flowers. 

What greeted us was the small statue of a whimsical boy Jesus, given to the host by Catholic nuns nearby, welcoming everyone with open arms. Very fitting, I felt, because that was exactly what I felt the moment I saw the house and the garden. The host told us this valley is where “time stands still” and that she is invited to savor the present presence and every competing distraction blows away. She served us her own roasted and brewed coffee with holy awe and perfection. How she handled the coffee ground and the hand dripping, prepared the cups by warming them, how she poured, etc seemed to be all part of the seamless ritual that has been performed many times. I have been served coffee countless times. This was close to being a deeply religious and devout ceremony. I was humbled by how she served the coffee and had the inner urge to imitate her if I can. The coffee itself was amazing as well. The name of the coffee roasting company, Jehovah Jireh, translates as “the Lord will provide or see,” based on Genesis 22:14. 

I asked the host if she could give us a short tour of the garden. I was glad I asked since she came alive and guided us on a 30-minute tour. She could have easily gone for another 2 hours. . . This was a special garden not because it was impeccable, well organized, or professionally groomed and manicured. She knew that she was not a professional gardener. It was special because the host knew every square inch of the garden. She had a tender and intimate story for almost every single living thing in her garden, where it is from, how it has grown, what she had to do to tend, etc. She might as well have a name for every single plant and tree, I thought. It became so apparent how she showed respect and affection for each living thing including baby salamanders and tadpoles. I felt that her affection and care translated into reverent worship for God’s creation and thus God. At one point, she stopped at a small tree where two or three major branches were vibrant and growing while the other two branches died due to extreme cold. What she said while gently caressing the tree shocked me. “I felt pain when I knew that these two branches died.” She followed her statement by saying, “What can I do except to accept?” with a slight smile on her face. Acceptance was not a nonchalant and uncaring kind, but identification with the pain. The tree embodies both life and death. Precisely because of two dead branches, the other three branches can be more vibrant, benefitting from more nutrients. 

What is dead is not dead. What is alive is not alive. Life and death are a cyclical process forever intertwined blurring the lines between what is truly alive and what is truly dead until death is no more. In some mysterious ways, both life and death are more illusions than reality. There will come a day when death is no more. Somehow, there will be life that is a full pristine reality with nothing else. However, until then, death can be a teacher for living and living well. The host when asked by my wife, “Have you ever regretted moving from Seoul and being here?” responded, “When I wake up in the morning, I move my hands and feet and I have a thankful heart because I can move and go about another new day. I go as far as I can go every day. I have learned when to stop.” I sat at another master’s feet today. In the back of my mind all the while wondering what treasure God is trying to highlight to me . . . 

YANGPYEONG JOURNAL | WEEK 3

April 23 Entry

I read Mary Oliver’s poem, Loneliness, yesterday. The words have lingered and came alive while I was walking this morning.

I too have known loneliness.

I too have known what it is to feel

misunderstood,

rejected, and suddenly

not at all beautiful.

Oh, mother earth,

your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.

It has saved my life to know this.

Your rivers flowing, your roses opening in the morning.

Oh, motions of tenderness!

One of the regular rituals I have embraced which is an extension from life in Pasadena is to get out and walk. The morning walk route I like in Yangpyeong is along a substantial stream which can pass as a small river alongside the fields of rice and other vegetable gardens. During monsoon season, the width of the stream can be as wide and full as the Seine River that cuts across Paris. The sound of the stream is soothing and hypnotic. The other day, we, along with a few day visitors, sat and drank coffee at a café right by the stream I walk in the morning. The background noise of stream flowing may be the best background sound for people both to carry on a conversation or sit silent. More than one person uttered during our coffee conversation, “I love the sound of the water flowing.”

I walk toward the sun, greeting me, on the way out from my place and walk back with the sun, comforting me, on my back. I notice that every morning is different, unlike the predictable Southern California weather. This morning was foggy with mist rising and the sun trying desperately to push away the fog and peer through. A few mornings were cloudy and dark, and the colors of nature reflect the weather. The stream is apparently pristine enough to draw the kinds of birds preying on fish including elegant white and black cranes.

This morning, I resonate with the words, “Oh, mother earth, your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.” There is no denying what mother earth does to one’s soul if one will allow it, which is to slow down to notice. One of the major differences between city and countryside life is its pace. Being able to linger is a gift of country living. But maintaining lingering is a discipline I hope to learn more of. I am further moved by “your arms never withhold.” It neither judges nor rejects anyone or anything even when humanity performs unsightly acts by shaving massive portions of the mountains to build homes which is not uncommon here at Yangpyeong. The arms of nature never fold, crossing her arms in a pose of unwelcoming messages in stiff resistance. It continues to simply be and embraces everything that visits. No wonder it is called Mother Earth. . .

The next line is incredulous and seems at first too big a leap from the previous stanza, “It has saved my life to know this.” As a city boy, I am not sure if I am there as Oliver penned it. Today’s inklings are that being in nature’s embrace reminds me of my place in the universe and that I am not in charge of running the universe. Thus, the humble realization of my place saves me even if my place is obscure and small. One more musing. The tenderness of nature melts one’s hardened heart and saves one’s soul. I would like to think that this musing is not too far from God’s kindness leading us to repentance, saving us (Romans 2:4). The line triggers further curiosity and desire to know more. . .

One thing is sure. . . I come back from my morning walk and feel nature’s comfort and tenderness. Thank you, God. Thank you, Mother Earth.

DUMEURO

(Below is a portion from April 21 entry.)

After they left, we had about 3 hours to get recharged for the next gathering as we were invited by the organization that loaned us their van to a bbq party at a local organic strawberry farm right next to the impressive Bukhan River. In addition to what looked like a sizable strawberry greenhouse farm, they grow all kinds of other organic vegetables too many to name. The main menu was fresh, never been frozen, one-day-old pork neck meat that were sliced in the right thickness for grilling. The meat was part of a living thing the day before. I thanked the pigs (3 pigs to be exact as one pig generates about 5 kgs of neck meat, I was told) for giving us their bodies for our nourishment. My wife who is not a meat lover by any stretch of the imagination told me afterward, that it was one of the best pork meats ever. We are so used to not-so-fresh and frozen meat, and we do not really know what fresh meat tastes like until times like these.

The host was a petite-sized lady who told us she just turned 50 this year without being asked but had a commanding presence about her. Her straight posture could pass for being a 20-year-old. Her shoes told me right away her work is demanding while her glowing face told us the opposite story. She donned a straw hat, and a pastel-colored scarf around her neck, wore a dress but underneath the dress, she had long pants on with a light down jacket. I momentarily wondered about the purpose of the dress she was wearing. But what do I know? The wondering went away as quickly as it came to me and never became a matter of distraction again as she gave us a short tour of the farm. The light down jacket she was wearing signaled that she must have been there since the early cold morning as the temperature difference is well over 30 degrees from its lowest to highest. When we arrived, it was still warm enough to wear a light long sleeve shirt.

She had studied at London Bible College some 20 years ago, and taught English at Yangpyeong until 4 years ago. It was about 4 years ago that she joined her parents’ organic farm, which was her father’s dream from long ago. Our host and her parents now are solely responsible for caring for and growing the farm. As a bypassing comment, she said how her parents could not have taken a vacation.

As we devoured the meat while everyone was standing around the table right next to the grill, more than one person commented that if we eat while standing, we can pack in far more into our stomachs. I knew that to be true in my own experience even before the comment was made. The unspoken agreed-upon mission was to eat up all the meat or at least come close. It turned out to be an exceptional “course meal” as different farm-fresh vegetables found their way into the feast including fresh beets which Grace loved, assorted greens for Sangchu (greens you wrap meat in) as well as salads, homemade Kimchi, and Pa Kimchi, Doengjang Jjigye, a fermented soybean stew, and of course, fresh-picked organic demure sized strawberries, much like the host. As much as we tried (there were 11 of us total), we could not get close to eating 3 pigs neck meat. We came close to 2 of them which was a strong showing. It was one of those special meals where I had to have Coke as I rarely drink Coke these days.

After the feast, we all congregated around the campfire set up next to the river and engaged in “fire watching” or more affectionately called “fire numbing” (directly translated from how Koreans call it). As the host parents were leaving, they had a couple of boxes filled with unshelled peas. Someone caught the scene and offered to shell them while fire-watching. 3 of the women sitting around the campfire started shelling peas, and the host seized the moment and told a story of her encounter with peas.

One night, she decided she would sketch the familiar peas as she likes to draw. She relayed how she was overwhelmed by their exquisite shapes, colorful textures, and finer details if we linger long enough to observe. As she observed carefully and enlarged the peas into a painting, she recognized the incredibly complex beauty of the peas that simply could not be captured in a mere photo. Finally, she broke out in full “doxology” toward the Creator of the breathtaking wonder of peas. She told herself how she would go back to the farm the next day and admire everything she sees.

So far, I did not tell you she was a storyteller. For the 4-hour duration we were there, she must have spoken for a good 3-hour total. Considering there were 9 of us (two were her parents who ended up leaving for home early), that was quite a feat. I barely managed to get a total of 3 minutes of airtime if that. If someone successfully manages to insert one sentence or two, she jumps off the statement and takes off to a whole new storyline. She knew herself well. She told us that she is one who can watch a one-hour movie and be able to talk for 2 hours with a friend. She talked like the mesmerizing river that flowed in front of us. She is not a domineering type but has a charming and calming quality about her. I gladly sat at her feet tonight, soaking in the food for thought for tomorrow and beyond.

YANGPYEONG JOURNAL | WEEK 2

April 15 Entry

My day opened with a zoom session with my spiritual director this morning, which is afternoon back in Southern California. I have been sitting with him monthly since I started my sabbatical. Before the pandemic, we used to meet face to face at Sierra Madre Passionist Father’s Retreat ground. During my direction time, I mostly do the talking. He would listen and spray thoughtful questions. In my earlier sessions, he heard all my rants, anger, and disillusionments, and helped me process my faith deconstructive journey.

Now, my sessions with him revolve around discerning what God is currently doing in my life and how to move with God step by step into the next phase of my life. I feel generally hopeful about where I am in life. I have trekked through dark and lonely valleys and endured the scarcity and barrenness of the desert. Even then, I have experienced life-giving and thirst-quenching stream and provident cool shade on the green pasture. Using Richard Rohr’s language, I have entered the second half of life and have retired “the loyal soldier” of my first half of life.

Today, I shared with him about Yangpyeong one month stay and the healing stay. Additionally, I spoke to him about keeping a daily journal for the next 30 days. I also laid out my plan to be in Asia this fall and how my wife and I could plan to be in Korea for another one-month stay somewhere outside of Seoul. I noticed my energy rising with excitement about keeping a daily journal in addition to the healing stay idea. The interior energy was a surprise. My spiritual director caught my energy too. He told me that a few of Henri Nouwen’s earliest writings were of travel and retreat journals: The Genesee Diary and Gracias: A Latin America Journal. This is my fourth-day journal entry, and I am eager and delighted to sit, reminisce, and simply let it flow out of me. The act of remembering and savoring by capturing what my mind, body, and soul remember has been an exercise of awareness that I am somewhat foreign to. Normally, days blitz by making it difficult to remember what really went on during the day. And thus, what really mattered most to my soul blows by without clear awareness. . . If “God does come to me disguised as my life” as mundanely and ordinarily but also as extravagantly and brightly, the responsibility is mine and mine alone to discern, recognize God’s disguise, and be in union with God every day.

Right after my time with my spiritual director, I migrated to a group spiritual direction zoom that my wife first started a few years back with two others. I was grafted into the group as a latecomer and have been immensely enjoying the fellowship that meets every other week. They were initially drawn to my wife’s learning journey of spiritual direction. Now, we meet as a peer-to-peer spiritual direction group.

Since this is the passion week, this morning, as part of our prompt before reflective sharing, we meditated on Henri Nouwen’s reflection on Holy Saturday titled, “The Day of God’s Solitude.”

The following comes from a series of devotional reflections on the Stations of the Cross by Henri Nouwen.  This is excerpted from the meditation for Station 14:  Jesus is laid in the Grave – from Walk With Jesus

There was deep rest around the grave of Jesus.  On the seventh day, when the work of creation was completed, God rested.  “God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on that day he rested after all his work of creating,” (Genesis 2:3).  On the seventh day of the week of our redemption, when Jesus had fulfilled all he was sent by his Father to do, he rested in the tomb, and the women whose hearts were broken with grief rested with him.  Of all the days in history, Holy Saturday – the Saturday during which the body of Jesus lay in the tomb in silence and darkness behind the large stone that was rolled against its entrance, (Mark 15:46) – is the day of God’s solitude.  It is the day on which the whole creation waits in deep inner rest. (Italicized is mine)

My evangelical tradition fast-forwarded too quickly from Good Friday to Resurrection Sunday. The so-called Holy Saturday was non-existent or of non-importance as in “Sunday is coming.” Sunday could not come soon enough. We went from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, forgetting the Saturday in between. The paradoxical idea of Jesus resting in the tomb after fulfilling all he was sent by God to do and the women resting in brokenness and grief is remarkably profound. Nouwen designates Saturday as the day of God’s solitude. Rather than bypassing or skipping too quickly to Sunday, we are invited to the deep inner rest of Saturday. In death and darkness, there is rest. Death and darkness are thus not to be avoided but to be embraced and learned to live in. The linkage from Nouwen’s meditation on Holy Saturday to Resurrection Sunday is the very notion of waiting, as Nouwen writes, “the whole creation waits in deep inner rest.” This waiting is resting. And resting is waiting, with hope for life that is the Easter Sunday.

Coincidentally, one of the books I have brought with me to Korea is Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor. In it, she writes as if she had pondered Nouwen’s meditation above.

“As many years as I have been listening to Easter sermons, I have never heard anyone talk about that part. Resurrection is always announced with Easter lilies, the sound of trumpets, bright streaming light. But it did not happen that way. If it happened in a cave, it happened in complete silence, in absolute darkness, with the smell of damp stone and dug earth in the air. Sitting deep in the heart of Organ Cave, I let this sink in: new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

Easter Sunday coupled with celebratory spring greens and vibrant colors of life everywhere around me like a majestic choir after a long dreary “dead” winter stands as a vivid testament of life and resurrection.

Perhaps the deeper we rest in the tomb of and with Jesus, in silence and solitude, in darkness and death, in our union with him in solitude, the more profound experiences we will have in witnessing new life.

Dumeuro (Bonus)

(This portion is from April 18 entry. Grace encouraged me to include this as a bonus feature.)

Sensory overload was a theme today. One of the first tips our host gave us upon arrival was about Yangpyeong’s traditional outdoor market that opens every 5 days. The dates that end with either 3 or 8 are the days they open. The only equivalent example would be weekend farmer’s market back in the states. Today was April 18 so we circled the date a few days ago to check it out. In addition to no guests visiting us today, it was also Monday which normally translates into being less busy. It was a pleasant 40-minute drive along the river to the biggest city, Yangpyeong. Yangpyeong is a city as well as a name of the county.

I found a parking spot which could have been extremely stressful to find, but a parking angel visited me at the right time and gifted me a spot with a pretty bow on top. Backing into a parking spot makes so much sense in Korea because the space is tight, and I am like a pro now. All the cars feature side mirrors that fold with a push of a button, unlike the manual ones. As soon as we entered the traditional outdoor market scene with colorful umbrellas and tents covering the warm sun with tons more people than we anticipated, I was transported back in time to my childhood. We were shoulder to shoulder in some crowded sections of the market. My body reflected my age, but my senses were that of a 7-year-old wanting to try every food in sight. My eyes widened, my nose opened (too bad we were all masked up), and my saliva gland began to work overtime. As we were hungry and it was close to noon, we decided to eat first. The first thing that caught my attention was deep-fried fish cake enveloping a long rice cake, like a corn dog but with completely different ingredients. As has been a recent pattern, my wife took one bite, and the rest was mine. Like a good American when eating a corn dog, I only asked for mustard and not ketchup.

We walked less than 20 feet and found an empty plastic table that was just clearing from earlier guests at another outdoor restaurant. My parking angel must have been following me, this time clearing people out. . . such a selfish thought but it was entertaining to think about. Less than 2 seconds later, one lady came over and asked us what we would like to order. After quickly glancing at other tables, I ordered mushroom soup over rice and assorted Jeon (pan-fried, flour coated, and egg battered slices of fish, minced meat, and/or vegetables). All for less than 10 dollars. We took one sip of the soup and our eyes opened even more wide because it was everything we imagined and more. The table right next to us had 2 middle aged men who seemed to be friends by the way they were talking to each other, not using honorifics. I overheard one of them saying to the other, “I like this scene. This feels like we are back to normal, smelling and being able to touch the ‘aroma of humanity.’” I agreed with him in spirit, paid, and cleared out for the next awaiting guests.

Even after a hearty lunch, my appetite showed no slowing down with my eyes and nose jerking side to side to soak in all the sights and smells. After purchasing a few candles to use for our guests, we stood in a long line for Mandu, steamed meat and vegetable dumplings for dinner tonight. We also bought a small portion of freshly made Tteok, Korean rice cakes. I saw an old lady selling half a dozen kinds of Kimchi. She could be as old as my mom and her stall looked like Kimchi made right. The one that caught my eyes was Pa-Kimchi, green onion Kimchi that is crispy and aromatic. I loved eating them growing up. My wife wanted to buy some Naengi, a fresh spring green that appears at the end of winter. As we purchased one bag, the merchant grabbed some extra from her other pile and gave us extra. Noticing her action, I quickly blurted, “Thank you for your kindness, you are giving us extra.” She plainly said, “this is what we do in traditional market.” “Thank you, I hope you sell much” (direct translation from Korean), I replied in earnest. This is what the sweet aroma of beautiful humanity is like, I thought leaving her and the market.