FOR THE SAKE OF ASIA

Happy New Year! Welcome to my fifth season of blogging. Thank you for reading and engaging with my interior journey. This year’s first entry reads more like an update that will set the tone for the year ahead.

“For the sake of Asia” was the phrase that was repeated twice to me by a reputable leader in Asia. A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to prayerfully consider joining a Spiritual Direction program and eventual partnership for the sake of Asia. He told me that he was led by the Spirit to ask me. Ever since then, the phrase, “for the sake of Asia,” has lingered with me. At the same time, when I look back on this year, the phrase does not come as a surprise at all. On my 60th birthday, one of the keywords that was given to me was “Asia.” The bookended theme this past year was Asia, with confirming divinely appointed details in the middle.

2023 was a whale of a year. 2023 can be surmised to be a welcoming culmination and forward movement after waiting and discernment for the last four years. As a result, 2024 is about to start with a bang after much waiting and seeking. My wife and I are to depart to Malaysia in early February for about a year eventually en route to Korea, hopefully in 2025.

Back in 2020 summer, in the middle of our sabbatical, there arose a glimmer of desire that God might be calling us to Korea. The only way to ascertain the calling was to go to Korea in the height of the pandemic which meant we had to undergo two-week mandatory quarantine upon arrival. Though our movements and activities were severely limited, we sensed without a shadow of a doubt that God was indeed calling us to Korea.

Concurrently, we also began to discern that God was not only calling us to Korea but to a wider Asia. This discernment led us to a venturesome six-month-long exploration in Southeast Asia and Korea earlier this year. The result was unmistakably affirmative. Korea remains our top desire and destination for ministry but with the whole of Asia in our purview.

For close to forty years of ministry, we stayed back in the US (or held back in the US for different reasons at different times) primarily in the areas of mobilization and leadership. About ten years into our ministry, I tried to convince my wife to pack up and go to Asia, but my wife was not convinced. Ten years later, my wife initiated a similar dialogue with me about going overseas. After some time, I told her that I did not sense the calling. Though these two incidents were short-lived, they spoke volumes of the latent desires of our hearts.

This time, we both have discerned God is on the move and we both are ready, ready to embrace what God may have for us. The last four years have trained us to “trust the river and the Giver.” What we, together, want to do is simple and clear: spiritual direction ministries (both individuals and groups), hospitality (creating a space of freedom for people to dance their own dances and sing their own songs), writing, and speaking. I hope to publish my first book in English and my second book in Korean next year, God willing. We have multiple trips lined up in 2024 (three trips to Korea, three trips to the Philippines, and multiple trips to Singapore, Japan, Thailand, Indonesia, and Vietnam (the latter three probable).

All in all, we remain grateful to God for where we are in life and what we are about to do. Our doing has been long in the making and stemming right out of our life’s experiences and desires. Looking back, “Asia” makes great sense (not that everything in life has to make sense), and that we feel we are poised for this unique and daring season of life.

STORAGE

When I moved from one house to another
there were many things I had no room
for. What does one do? I rented a storage
space. And filled it. Years passed.
Occasionally I went there and looked in,
but nothing happened, not a single
twinge of the heart.
As I grew older the things I cared
about grew fewer, but were more
important. So one day I undid the lock
and called the trash man. He took
everything.
I felt like the little donkey when
his burden is finally lifted. Things!
Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful
fire! More room in your heart for love,
for the trees! For the birds who own
nothing–the reason they can fly.

Mary Oliver

I first read this poem on September 6 of this year, soon after we landed in Korea. I knew that we needed to move around this time since our hope of staying at Yangpyong fell through. Disappointment soon translated into a mild case of desolation. Appropriately, I wrote on the side of the title of the poem, “When desolation was a theme.” Upon arriving back from a six-month-long trip to Asia, we did what Oliver described. For a few weeks, both of our trash and recycle bins were full to the brim, and we donated even more to a local thrift shop. I wish I could say I was as decisive as Oliver, but I did accept the process as a spiritual exercise, intuitively sensing that it would allow us to “fly.”

It was during that time I was also meditating on Jesus’ words in Matthew 6 about considering “the birds of the air and the lilies of the field.” In the passage (from verses 25 to 34), Jesus repeated this one word seven times which often is translated as worry in English. In Greek, it is a little more nuanced—it means to be anxious or to care for (or look out for) a thing. One could deduce that Jesus’ teaching was against being anxious or troubled with care for something else that takes our eyes off the main thing. Rather, the main thing or concern was to “seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” Jesus did not consider “all these things” as completely rubbish (in fact, Jesus said these things would be given) but his main concern was where our primary focus and interest lie. Jesus equated worrying with having little faith.

In addition, my monkey mind jumped to G.K. Chesterton’s words I read a couple of years earlier, and has stayed with me. It is not a short paragraph and I thought of omitting a few middle sentences, but I would like to go ahead and share the whole paragraph. I would encourage you to read with a bit of imagination.

“Angels can fly because they can take themselves lightly. This has been always the instinct of Christendom, and especially the instinct of Christian art. Remember how Fra Angelico represented all his angels, not only as birds, but almost as butterflies. Remember how the most earnest mediaeval art was full of light and fluttering draperies, of quick and capering feet. It was the one thing that the modern Pre-raphaelites could not imitate in the real Pre-raphaelites. Burne-Jones could never recover the deep levity of the Middle Ages. In the old Christian pictures the sky over every figure is like a blue or gold parachute. Every figure seems ready to fly up and float about in the heavens. The tattered cloak of the beggar will bear him up like the rayed plumes of the angels. But the kings in their heavy gold and the proud in their robes of purple will all of their nature sink downwards, for pride cannot rise to levity or levitation. Pride is the downward drag of all things into an easy solemnity. One "settles down" into a sort of selfish seriousness; but one has to rise to a gay self-forgetfulness. A man "falls" into a brown study; he reaches up at a blue sky. Seriousness is not a virtue. It would be a heresy, but a much more sensible heresy, to say that seriousness is a vice. It is really a natural trend or lapse into taking one's self gravely, because it is the easiest thing to do. It is much easier to write a good Times leading article than a good joke in Punch. For solemnity flows out of men naturally; but laughter is a leap. It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light. Satan fell by the force of gravity.”

G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (from a chapter, The Eternal Revolution)

The idea that seriousness is a vice (which he modulated as a sensible heresy) allows me to pause with my mind swirling. The simple sentence “It is easy to be heavy: hard to be light” drives it home. The imaginative idea and why of angels flying and Satan falling lingers with me.

The birds can fly because they own nothing. “The angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” Owning nothing is an impossible task in this life. However, owning to attach our values, and identity, and to give elevated meanings falls short of poetic and imaginative exhortations and the very teaching of Jesus. We own to rightfully let go and let it flow right out of us. What we own does not define who we are. If anything, we are defined by what we are willing to let go. In the end, we are who we are only by how God created us to be, not by any additions, weights, or meanings.

The call, if I can use the word, for “more room in our heart for love” (it is not lost on me that Oliver adds “for the trees”) and seeking the Kingdom of God first and his righteousness sound perennial truth to me today. Letting go and creating more room in our hearts for love seem directly proportional to one another. I convince myself today that it is the only way I can fly.

IN BLACKWATER WOODS

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it:
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

Mary Oliver

When my wife and I went to Korea this fall, one of the few books I decided to bring was Mary Oliver’s Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver. I have now finished the 440 pages of Oliver’s poems organized reverse chronologically, from the latest (2015) to the earliest (1963). This explains why I am highlighting Oliver’s poems exclusively this December. I must have marked at least two dozen of her poems by the title which was my way of reminding me that these poems require future visits. Oliver was keenly in love and awe of nature. She deeply admired nature and paid attention as if her life depended on it.

This poem draws another set of lessons (from the previous week’s poem) of human experiences from trees and forests Oliver loved. Fire broke out in Blackwater Woods situated in Cape Cod National Seashore in Massachusetts which she frequented. Oliver has first six stanzas devoted to the devastation and loss which she coins “whose other side is salvation.” This insight is an unexpected and stunning observation. I relish her humility when she wrote that the “meaning none of us will ever know.” I do not know how salvation (not as in “going to heaven” but as in how we live this life more fully) happens, but it can happen. If salvation is only restricted to going to heaven and we do not experience salvation in this life, then I do not know what is more futile and depressing than that.

At the risk of sounding slightly tangential, in recent weeks, I have been pouring into various podcasts and YouTube regarding N. T. Wright’s most recent book, Into the Heart of Romans: A Deep Dive into Paul’s Greatest Letter. I have not read the book yet (I am contemplating whether to purchase one) but one of the main points of the book revolves around the misunderstanding of taking Romans 8 as a significant chapter on salvation (as in going to heaven). Wright argues that Paul is not addressing salvation as how we interpret salvation from our vantage point, but Paul is essentially addressing “vocation”—the fact that we are called to participate in being the image bearers of God in this life.

In Oliver’s mind, perhaps, salvation in this current life comprises three things: “To love what is mortal, to hold it as your own life depends on it, and to let it go when it is time.” I admire Oliver’s keen insight flowing out of her integrated life—her outer and inner life seamlessly connected. Living well on this earth stands as proof of our salvation, Oliver seems to be saying. To interlay Wright’s observation, living well–participating in being God’s image bearers in this life—is our vocation in this world which reflects our salvific life.

I think of my adult children, especially as my wife and I are about to “leave the nest.” Some have correctly observed that we are doing the exact opposite of what grown-up children usually do. As a parent, loving what is mortal effortlessly zeroes in on our children. In all of my life, I have tried to love them as unconditionally as I could as if my life depended on it, with many shortcomings and failures. While my desire and responsibility to love remain and perhaps even increased, in recent years, my wife and I have been learning to let them go, let them go as it is time. Letting go of what we love ultimately involves death (as in the poem), but it is also a proven mature spiritual practice to die before we die. We let go so that they can be free to be and become who they are meant to be as God’s unique image bearers, without our meddling and sprinkling even “good” pieces of advice. As I realize that I am not an extension of my parents’ lives and expectations, I, too, have to embody the realization toward my children.

While I was never a helicopter dad, I did have unspoken amorphous images, projections, and “prayers” for my children. It is not lost on me that letting them go is not even for my children’s benefit but for mine. By letting go, I am also free from my own “good” illusions and expectations. Freedom is experienced all around—we all get to live more freely, experiencing salvation on this earth.

WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
    but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, ”Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, ”It's simple,” they say,
”and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”

Mary Oliver

For most of my mornings, I walk a 3.25-mile loop toward the foothill of the San Gabriel Mountains and back. As Pasadena and Altadena are one of the oldest neighborhoods in Southern California, the area is dotted with magnificent oaks, pines, and sycamores, not to mention the sky-scraping and skinny palm trees. A few years ago, when a nasty 60-mile gusty wind swept the region, many tall trees fell and even decimated portions of numerous old and impressive homes.

A few springs ago, my wife and I along with a couple of friends visited a national park in the southern tip of Korea called Goheung. We quickly found ourselves surrounded by stately Cypress Forest, infusing a healthy dose of Phytoncide into our lungs. All of us got promptly spread out and situated comfortably on a lying down bench, contoured to our bodies to look up to the unmatched combination of trees, sky, and light. We must have stayed there for a good half an hour. (I took this photo above.) This image came to my mind when I read Oliver’s poem today.

Like Oliver, I, too, am “distant from the hope of myself,” often bemoaning the state of my inadequate and fallible being and from second-guessing my authentic self to toxic self-condemnation. If it is self-condemnation, that is one thing, but in my state of self-condemnation, I blame and “attack” others. That is how I roll and how we all roll if we take Rene Girard’s insight of scapegoating seriously—the ability to hate ourselves by attacking others.

What can save me is the imaginative calling of the trees which Oliver says it so simply and poignantly. While I am not an all-out ardent nature lover, I appreciate nature whenever I get out. I, without failure, quickly realize every single time what I have missed all along. My love for the trees is growing. I think I understand the lure of the trees calling, “Stay awhile.” Trees are all rooted and uplifting, growing downward, upward, and outward. As a “grounded” creation, the message of trees calling us to “go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine” is indeed light-filled and uplifting.

I do not know what Oliver meant by “go easy.” How I read today is to go with the flow, the natural flow of life. The message of “going easy” is far from the cry and the teachings of the world. The world teaches us to go hard, compete, and compare to the detriment of denying or falsifying who we truly are. Trees don’t fret or regret. They weather all kinds of natural and man-made elements. They just are, rooted and uplifted, both regardless of the surrounding external world and because of the surrounding environment.

Jesus’ opening teaching of the Sermon on the Mount of being the light of the world (Matthew 5:14) bears in mind that we are poor in spirit, meek, pure in heart, merciful, mournful, etc. (Matthew 5:3-11). It is not that we should be all the above, but that we already are. It is precisely in the state of being poor, pure, mournful, merciful, hungering and thirsting for righteousness that we are the light of the world. In the end, I think Oliver is right—the light we shine is not our own, but the original and only Light that is filtered through our life.

THE JOURNEY

As it has been a tradition for the end of the year, I will again take the month of December to share a few of my favorite poems. I take the liberty to share my musing and reflection based on my life and my journey. I am not approaching the poems to analyze and pursue after the original intention of the poets. I have no such illusion. I am, in many ways, allowing the poems to “read” a particular junction of my life. As great art does, I am mostly allowing them to “mirror” me while I occasionally take a peak through the “window” into the poets and their lives. How do you read your life?

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Mary Oliver

The last fourteen lines of the poem, which reads as one long breathless sentence, build like a crescendo, starting from “little” and “small” to resolute determination. One’s concerned action for the world eventually situates as a natural extension of saving one’s life. This juxtaposition of the world and oneself is often bifurcated and even portrayed as opposites. Deeper probing into the world to discern what one should be doing and saving one’s life are encouraged to be seen as two sides of the same coin. It is also the grace of God that does not waste anything, to redeem everything, to put it positively, in both saving the world and saving oneself.

There are “many” voices that Oliver refers to. Then there is a “new voice.” This “new” voice has in fact been the ancient voice of one’s own as it has been there all along, keeping close company and ever patient. It is the voice that is both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The “new” but ancient voice will not be heard unless one has left other voices behind. The stars were there all along behind the wild night, the prying wind, and the sheets of clouds.

Furthermore, the slow-burning recognition and discovery of one’s “new” voice is accompanied by striding deep into the world. To me, therein lies the subtle and mind-bending and heart-stirring work of discernment—discerning what world voices to reject and to leave behind and what world voices and cries to accept and embrace.

In this sense, this poem strikes me today as an invitation to discern and discern well. The story of a man born blind being healed by Jesus (John 9) is a fascinating account of many voices vying for attention and dominance. The truth was that the man was once blind, but he could see through Jesus’ healing touch. John does not fail to capture many voices of the crowd including the neighbors. Then there were the divided voices of the Pharisees followed by the voices of the healed man’s parents. John starts the chapter by providing the account of healing and ends the chapter with the conversation between the healed blind man and Jesus, with all other voices fading into the background. Then there was the stinging saying of Jesus pointing to the Pharisees, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” (John 9:39) Whereas the healed man “discerned” and eventually saw, Pharisees thought they saw, and they remained blind. The Pharisees were bent on protecting and preserving their religious tradition. Any voice that wants to “save oneself,” using Oliver’s language, remains a prime candidate for rejection of the world’s voices.

Discernment posits itself as where prayer and action meet. Discernment integrates prayer and action: as action stands as the tangible beneficiary of prayer. In prayer, we discern to act and act to discern. While putting prayer into action, we continue to discern. Oliver’s poem captures a perennial truth of practicing freedom of detachment in discernment. There is awareness and recognition of the detachment (as in many voices, sometimes many “good” voices) followed by decisive action to leave the detachment behind, little by little, rather than being haunted by ankle-grabbing voices.

In recent years, I have had to leave many voices, with most of the voices being good and reasonable. These good voices, however, are not my voice. This gradual recognition while being true to my authentic voice required standing firm and risked possibly even upsetting a few along the way. I cannot see far but I see far enough to move (in action). As I act, I will need to continue to discern by striding deep into the world and deep into my soul to discover my authentic voice.

“IT WAS LIBERATING TO ME”

This morning, I was looking back to my time at the conference my wife and I attended in Jeju Island back in October. I did not write this piece back in October, but this morning, a month and a half later. I am surprised by the energy this memory grants me today. . .

The morning after the Halla Mountain hike (back in October), I gave a paper at the annual Asia Society for Frontier Mission (ASFM) conference, titled Human and Spiritual Journey as Subjective, Personal, and Experiential (which I featured in the previous posts). I knew my paper was not necessarily in line with the missiological tradition in nature. I did not want to. I wanted to be authentic with myself and my own journey and wanted to test the ground whether some aspect, some existential and some practical, of my human and spiritual journey would find resonance. I have been convinced that most of the missiology in the past failed to include and/or adequately address the existential nature of humanity. Before we are Americans, Koreans, Korean-Americans, or something else, we are all humans. Before we are Christians, Muslims, Hindus, or something else, we are all humans. Before we think we are privileged, underprivileged, powerful, powerless, influential, or irrelevant, we are all humans.

I knew the participants would be from multiple cultures and religious traditions from Asia, all following Christ. ASFM over the years has stood firm and tall, carving out its bold stance outside the boundary of the Christendom. This idea of “beyond Christendom” is something I have embraced in its early formative years. The eventual acceptance was not without great struggle. After wrestling with many uneasy questions, my once sure foundation of Christianity crumbled and was replaced by the Kingdom of God foundation. I have come to appreciate and espouse the radical inclusivity and generosity of the nature of the Kingdom of God. I came to see that Christendom was and is far from the reality of the Kingdom of God.

While I was comfortable and felt at home with the participants, I was not sure whether my “message” would find its footing. Thus, I was prepared to treat this year’s ASFM as my last. Plus, this year’s theme was about the “next gen” leadership and the makeup of the participants reflected the theme. Compared to the previous years, this year’s average age decreased significantly. There were seven younger leaders, all in their 20s, from Southeast Asia, several of them were imams (religious leaders in Islam traditions, similar to the concept of pastor) in their own villages and towns. There were also several younger leaders from the US and fewer from Korea. As such, I was curious and looking forward to how “younger” leaders would respond to my talk.

I was given a generous amount of time, long enough to present my paper and have ample time for questions and answers. During our large group Q and A, a Hindu follower of Jesus who is also an influential leader said some glowing things about my paper and told me that he resonated deeply. He did have one question: Where does community come in the pursuit of our journey as subjective, personal, and experiential? I affirmed it was a great question and I simply said that personalism cannot be separated from community. One reason I did not use the word, individual (over personal), was precisely because it can be viewed as possessing an anti-community sentiment. The idea of personalism and community go hand in hand as none of us live on an “island.”

After a few more affirming responses, a short silence followed. A young imam from Southeast Asia broke the silence. Since his English was not his mother tongue, he said the following through a translator. “Your paper was liberating to me. The older and more seasoned imam in my surrounding village has also tried to “correct” my interpretation of the Quran.” He then went on to say that there are some Christian missionaries in his area who also have “policed” his interpretation of the Bible. Since he is a baptized follower of Jesus, some Christians in his area know the young imam and apparently tried to correct his theology. I do not know the context. Perhaps the missionaries were well-intentioned. However, the young imam’s choice of word was that he was being “policed.” One could hear a pin drop during his short response. He was exhibiting no visible emotions, but everyone felt his genuineness, candor, and vulnerability. I knew it took an act of great courage for him to say what he said.

After another short silence, I broke the silence this time and told the young imam (through a translator) that I apologized on behalf of Christians and asked for his forgiveness. I was perturbed and moved with compassion at the same time. After the short exchange, tears flowed. If there was one moment at the conference, that would be the still picture that elevated the entire conference for me.

After my presentation, I had fruitful interactions with multiple people throughout the conference. On one of our outings to a meal outside the hotel venue, I sat with the young imam and his translator and enjoyed hearing his story. I learned that he was only 20 years old. As we bid farewell toward the end of the conference, the young imam and I shook hands and while holding my hand, he placed my hand to his forehead as a gesture of honor and respect. I felt honored and glad that I remained true to my journey of learning. What I potentially thought to be my last ASFM turned out to be an affirmation and confirmation of my direction both now and in the future. And that I must speak. . .

DOUBLE PILGRIMAGE

For most of my life, I have known only one pilgrimage, the path of life that is given to me in relationship to the world. It is the world around me that happens to me, that hurls heartaches, headaches, opportunities, and wonders at me, and the world that is kind, kindred, harsh, and violent to me. The “Korea world” in the late 1960s and the early 1970s in Seoul was mostly my vast playground filled with wonder and mischief. The “America world” through the late 1970s into the early 1980s was rude and harsh, and I valuably gained independence and confidence in navigating life. To me, ironically, the world of my early Korea was plentiful while the world of my young America was scarce.

The “Christian world” from the early 1980s until probably about 10 years ago has been yet another world. The panoramic swing of emotions and lessons learned in Christian life (as in what and how to do and what and how not to do) created and forced an outlook of life and its meaning beyond Christianity as a religion. While all my “worlds” were significant bubbles, the evangelical world was a bigger illusionary and confined bubble, detached from the world. Recognizing the bubble as a bubble has freed me and “freed“ Jesus out of a parochial evangelical world. In all, I have needed to journey through life through my perception of these real “worlds.”

While my pilgrimage through these worlds is uniquely mine, I also know that it is not unique, and I am not alone. Over time, I have learned the finely tuned skills of survival and accumulated knowledge to navigate the world. The pilgrimage was generally prescribed to me as the world tried to dictate my reactive posture of the pilgrimage experience. I have always been irritated and thus protested the nature of the prescription of a “well-traveled road” and assumed and accepted boundaries. These protests—“going off the trail” to use the pilgrimage language—were not without cost and hardship.

As a young Christian, the foundational understanding and view of pilgrimage had not changed much. If at all, the so-called “heaven” was now the prescribed destination. I was taught to endure and persevere since the earth was not my home. And take as many people and peoples to heaven with me. The world was posited in my heart as inhospitable and profane.

As my wife and I are about to embark on the grandest journey of our life to Asia, I have discovered and paid attention to another pilgrimage in the last 5 years. It is the pilgrimage of my soul, inner self, true self, or the given self by God. If the former pilgrimage is about learning to relate to the external world, the latter is about discovering the interiority of my soul, inner terrains and landscapes, peaks, and valleys (and caverns), and treasures and traps. It is as much intricate and complex as the world, if not more.

Beyond the façade of my busy and sometimes frenetic pace of life, I have discovered the gift of slowing down, rest, and Sabbath. Whenever I visit Manhattan, New York, I tell myself I am alive and love this unparalleled city. It is also the same me that loves the slow countryside living, closer to nature, away from the pollution of all sorts. Since my wife would not watch action movies, I am alone when watching adrenaline-pumping action and adventure movies. At the same time, I can easily find myself in nature and get lost in observing and finding inspiration in nature. I have enjoyed Robert Ludlum and Bernard Cornwell’s fast-moving action-packed novels while at the same time, I have immensely been drawn to poetry. I enjoy extreme forms of exercise—sweat-it-all-out-kind of exercise. Yet, I am just as happy to meander through art exhibit rooms filled with exquisite collections. I remember being lost in the world-famous Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia years ago and could not have been happier. So full of contradictions and yet they are all me.

On another layer, while I am an extrovert, I have learned to find energy by being alone, especially in nature. I have learned to experience life at “3 miles an hour” (which is the unhurried walking speed) and began to see things I have not seen and simply missed. Learning to pay attention to what is real has revolutionized my spirituality and thus my outlook on my pilgrimage journey. I am discovering that compassion for my own fumbling and yet holy (both human and divine) pilgrimage has created sympathy and generosity for others’ pilgrimage. I have come to love the divine attention of life carefully stewarded and gifted by writers, artists, and poets. I have begun to read the Bible from this perspective, not as a manual or a rule book consisting of a collection of theological and missiological constructs.

I do think that in the end, the double pilgrimage is not two separate journeys but one. Each of our pilgrimages is both unique and universal. Because of its uniqueness, we must pay attention to our self, our life, and our “world.” Because it is universal, we share in the perennial human tradition of discovering our own pilgrimage and finding inspiration and instruction from others.

DON'T HESITATE

As I sit and sip my go-to medium Americano with extra room at Peet’s Coffee in Pasadena this morning, my mind effortlessly locks back to the sip of fine champagne with my friends over the weekend. Michael, a deadpan humorist in the group, who is also highly respected brought the choicest champagne. He proceeded to toast to the five of us who have turned 60 years old this year along with thirteen others. Michael raised his glass high and said, “You have served God, but God has also served you,” as all five of us have been in full-time ministry for decades. Our glasses clinked with Michael’s glass and with each other and happily shouted “Cheers” in unison. Earlier, my wife and I rode with Michael and his wife for a group hike. In the car, Michael said in a concerned tone, “I forgot to put champagne in the fridge!” and was about to turn around. His wife gently reminded him he did. That was when I suspected he wanted to create the toast moment. It is a good thing because the moment has now been etched into a fond memory.

The truth of the matter is that we are not just “others.” Most of us have been friends for more than four decades (and counting). The longevity of our friendship alone is enough to celebrate. Our friendship ultimately traces back to Young Nak Presbyterian Church of LA and we all are living witnesses of God’s unmerited revival in our midst. We were all swept up with our feet not touching the ground, figuratively speaking, and eventually got spread all over the world—carrying the DNA and memory that God met us powerfully. After raising young families and doing our due diligence on ministries and works set before us, in the last several years, we have begun reconnecting intentionally and regularly.

One thing I have observed is that we all have served faithfully in whatever the context. We all did what needed to be done. We did what we had to do. Now, we are transitioning to doing things that we want to do, what our hearts desire. On the surface, it sounds like a simple switch, but we know that there has been a long and lonely process of honest soul searching, letting go (the process of detachment and deconstruction), and paying close attention to what our soul truly desires and longs for. Finally, we are following through even if it means facing uncertainties, and unknowns, as well as a whole new world of open vistas and possibilities. The will to “follow through” stems from “courage to be, more precisely courage to be oneself” which would inevitably include crossing new frontiers of life. I see this existential courage in action, and it is a privilege to be part of it.

Additionally, if there was one dominant theme and emotion I felt during the weekend, it would be joy, the joy of being together and being connected. Joy gets tripled because of our shared rich past, abiding present, and hopeful future. Perhaps hundreds (if not thousands) of photos we took were a sign of treasuring the joy we experienced together. Perhaps extra lingering in between conversations, silence, and laughter especially when saying goodbyes was an intimation of ruminating on joy. Perhaps the hike represented a vivid reminder to us all that we are all, sometimes alone and sometimes together, on the journey. Perhaps all the meals we shared were a sliced reality of Jesus’ envisioning of saints’ communion.

On the last night, I almost read the poem, Don’t Hesitate, by Mary Oliver with the group but held back. As I sit with the memory of the weekend this morning, the poem gently makes its way to me.

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

There were plenty of seen and unseen (which are “quiet miracles that sought no attention”) instances of love happening in the midst of us. Love came to us in the shapes of care, listening, smiles, laughter, warm touches and hugs, soft gaze into each other’s eyes, service, and tears. This love translated into joy was an undeniable gift from heaven that showered us like the warm November ray of California coastal sunshine.

I love Oliver’s choice of tentative and wondering words, “possibility, perhaps, sometimes, something, could, anything, anyway, and whatever.” She is not forcing or demanding joy, she is simply highlighting and inviting us to joy’s abundance—if you look for it, you will find it.

All in all, I am glad that we all “did not hesitate and gave in to joy” when joy swooned and swept us up. Surely, joy was not made to be a crumb.

HUMAN AND SPIRITUAL JOURNEY AS SUBJECTIVE, PERSONAL, AND EXPERIENTIAL | PART 3

One of the greatest gifts of poetry to humanity is that poetry can hold contradictions as contradictions and mystery as a mystery without needing to unnecessarily divide and force things into binary thinking. Though the words tend to be dualistic in nature, poetry somehow can capture ironies, wonders, and mysteries and hold everything together without judgment. Poetry that holds this space of generosity and grace tends to span over many centuries and is well-loved across religious and cultural traditions. Poetry is the language of the human soul.

Poets with their keen ability to “caress the detail, the divine detail”[1] can make their experiences relate to people outside their world. While doing so, they struggle with the very existence and purpose of language, trying to be as precise as they can muster up and at the same time realizing the limits and even failure of language. Such profundity of language keeps the poets continuing to express themselves as unerringly as they can. This intolerable liminal space is where poets live and spend an inordinate amount of time and effort to be truthful and faithful to each experience and expression. I increasingly appreciate the process that went into the nicety of language with the backdrop of language limitation. More and more I am being invited to dwell in such judicious words and phrases to drink deeply from their life in relationship with my life. Rohr is right in that experientially for me, good poetry seems quite worthy of high religion and not for self-defined and self-interested “black and white” morality-driven low religion.

I love the “poetry” portions of Scripture, especially the Psalms (including other wisdom books in the Old Testament. I would also even consider Old Testament prophets as poets) for their brutal honesty, willingness to hold tensions and ironies of life, and the audacity to call life as is, not necessarily as it should be. While we know that “God is good,” the Psalmists would pause and honestly say, “I know God is good, but not today.” Today, I am angry, in lament, upset, in pain, under duress, being pursued by enemies, etc. The greater attraction and freedom are that one does not have to end with praise or a declaration that God is good. The Psalms invite us to be aware, be real, and be honest and okay with the fact that God does not seem good today. God’s goodness ultimately prevails someday for sure, but we do not have to force it upon us today before we are ready. It invites us to hold the tensions and the liminal space without a clear resolution. The Psalmists or the poets tell us it is okay. I find this generosity freeing. I find this God magnanimous and full of grace. 

While traveling throughout Southeast Asia and now Korea because I am in a new environment, I am more cognizant of what is happening around me. With heightened awareness, I can engage better my life’s interior orientation such as emotions, thoughts, and senses. My usual tendency is to deny negative emotions and thoughts and try to coast along but I am learning to “greet and host them all”[2] as my guests. Anxiety and anger, the slow simmering kind, as well as the excitement of the unknowns and adventures risen to the top in recent weeks. The “all” aspects of my life become a doorway to connect with the poetry of all aspects of life. I find myself conversing poetry with the “poem”[3] of my life and vice versa.

The Psalmists also seemed to struggle with language as we do. Never mind the fact that the Bible has been edited countless times and reorganized by later scribes and priests with certain religious, national, and political agendas, not even mention the translation effort into many different languages for many centuries, adding more complexity. On a grand stroke, I would like to think that the Bible is giving us permission to struggle with our own words honestly, stemming from our experiences and engagement in our lives. There is the invitation to process by entering and owning our life as well as by learning from the writers (poets if you like) and editors. The Bible engages us in the very process of life, not necessarily giving us answers in life. 

The parables Jesus taught, and “other-worldly” eloquent teachings Jesus said are like good poetry. The teachings reveal what’s often underneath beyond a simple yes or no and engage a process by which answers arise from within. Jesus is the master of saying just enough, causing those who are willing to listen and see to hear and see, not overexplaining and destroying astonishment. Jesus possesses an unparalleled way of asking questions, deep and existential questions, that we cannot and had better not avoid. Poetry, dare I say, plays a similar role in raising questions in my life without destroying astonishment or curiosity. In fact, poetry creates an expansive and generous space for shared astonishment, wonder, and curiosity. 

Both engage in the very process of life. Without the process, life is not life—no one blinks on life and blinks off life. As we live or process life with awareness, we experience life as it happens, in real-time, discover grace as synonyms for power and wisdom to know how to live and find a connection between what is personal and universal, thus connecting with the world God created and ultimately with God.

Conclusion

Both God and the Bible fully expect and celebrate life to be fully lived according to God’s original blessing and intention. All of us are on the journey of discovering who we are (how God created us to be). This journey is and should be unapologetically subjective, personal, and experiential. As we own our subjectivity and honor our life experiences, I believe we develop greater capacity and hospitable space for others to own their subjectivities without us meddling and vice versa. And that is a good and honorable thing because that is how God designed us!

[1] Vladimir Nabokov

[2] The Guest House by Jalaluddin Rumi

[3] “Poiema” is the word Apostle Paul uses only twice in the New Testament: Romans 1:20 and Ephesians 2:10. Romans 1:20 verse refers to the creation whereas the same word in Ephesians refers to humanity.

HUMAN AND SPIRITUAL JOURNEY AS SUBJECTIVE, PERSONAL, AND EXPERIENTIAL | PART 2

The Bible features breathing and alive words not because it contains a single “correct” meaning associated with the texts, but precisely because it allows multiple varying interpretations and meanings based on the readers’ contexts and times. In my limited and humble mind, I love the generosity and expansiveness of such God in and behind the Bible. God does not and would not waste time and energy to test if humanity would understand one single right meaning behind each text within the Bible. That would be an extremely petty and small-minded God. What confounds the matter is that humanity is never isolated from countless myriads of cultures and languages. Not to mention the different epochs of times humanity existed over many centuries. . . It seems that God allows the bible as a medium to dance between partners of divine meanings with human involvement. In fact, God expects peoples in different cultures and times to give their “best” meanings and allow the Scripture to speak and dialogue where peoples are. God expects us to earnestly engage, not find one “correct” meaning, as life in real time happens and moves across time and experiences.

In this sense, the Word of God is living and active (Hebrews 4:12), whoever we are, engaging in the multiplicity of interpretations and meanings. Christopher Smith uses “pervasive interpretative pluralism.”[1] (It is also this very idea of the multiplicity of interpretations that we as humanity need each other.[2]) The very life and action of the Word of God takes place in the actual lives of the readers, being invited to converse, and dialogue with how the authors’ experiences and description of God with ours. This way, we are engaging both the original authors and us, not overlooking one over the other. What is required is the transparency and authenticity of the readers. God seems content that we engage, not necessarily to find one right answer and arrive at one certain dictation for all humanity.

It is not about whether we read the Bible or not that is important. Rather it is how we read the Bible that is critical. We are to engage our life, more precisely our experiences of God in our life and the life and authors’ experiences as how they understood God in the events of their lives. However, this interpretative process is not neat but messy and complex and is what Christopher Smith describes the Bible as “exponentially multivocal, polysemic, and multivalent, [and] semantically indeterminate.” I love the Bible not because it is the most lucid instruction manual or the air-tight rule book that man has ever seen across all cultures and all times but because God seems to expect us to dialogue with the Bible from our personal experiences using our interpretative lens of life wherever and whenever we are. The very process of how the Bible came together (canonization) and how the Bible went through a series of edits (think 200,000 to 400,000 times according to Bart D. Ehrman) lend to the observation I am making above.

N.T. Wright imaginatively captures, “We are listening, not to a single voice, not even to a single choir in harmony, but to several choirs singing different songs with some protest groups jamming in the wings.”[3] The fact that there are differences alone does not and should not divide the people of God, regardless of religious and cultural background. It is the inability and stubbornness of insistence that there should not be differences that divide us. This inability and the refusal to recognize and celebrate the differences betrays the very reading and hermeneutical reflection of the Scripture.

Then what interpretative filter are we to use? My conviction is love. While it is true that love is both ethereal and substantial, for love to be love though, it must be grounded, contextual, and practical. Ramon Llull set the grand context of love, “We are born out of love.  We live in love.  We are destined for love.”[4] Llull speaks of where we come from, how we ought to live, and where we will go. This framework is parallel to God who is Love creating us in His image and the apostle John charging us to pursue being in union with God who is Love through Christ. We are already love, living in love, and pursuing perfect love. It is out of this context we interpret the Scriptures and have the Scriptures converse with our lives.

Religion and Poetry

Relatedly but in a slightly tangential line, Richard Rohr connects poetry and religion.

In most of human history, poetry and religion were almost the same thing. Poetry was the only language worthy of religion. Good poetry doesn’t try to define an experience as much as it tries to give us the experience itself, just as good liturgy should do. It seeks to awaken our own seeing, hearing, and knowing. It does not give us the conclusion as much as teach us a process whereby we can know for ourselves. It does not overexplain and destroy astonishment.[5] (italicized mine)

No human being is simple. Every person is riddled with complexity and resides in a land full of contradictions, conflict, and irony. On top of every human being, add cultural, geopolitical, and generational layers of human societies at every conceivable level, then what we have is profound complexity in the most unimaginable immense proportion. No wonder life is and feels complex! No one can force such an intricate web of complexity into a simple and predictable prescribed grid of knowing and understanding. There simply is no way I can make the statement that black and white. 

The fact of the matter is that I do not have to see far beyond myself to know how complex, weird, contradictory, and ironic the world is, as well as how amazingly beauty-ful, wonder-ful, and grace-ful the world is and I am. This is where poetry enters in to save, uplift, and tell me I am not alone in this human endeavor. I can choose to listen to poets of the past and now to draw parallels and sit at their feet. I can draw parallels because “what is most personal is what is most universal.” That is precisely what good poetry does, making the connection between what is personal experiential truth for me and what is universal perennial collective wisdom for all humanity. 

[1] Christopher Smith, The Bible Made Impossible: Why Biblicism is Not a Truly Evangelical Reading of Scripture.

[2] The existence of such a hermeneutical community needs to proliferate and multiply without the historically rooted pull toward standardization and propriety. To me, ASFM has been serving that purpose unflinchingly.

[3] N. Tom Wright, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God

[4] Ramon Llull, The Book of Lover and the Beloved

[5] Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality

THE GRAND HALLA MOUNTAIN

This week, I decided to insert our story of hiking Halla Mountain while on Jeju Island. Even after a few days, some parts of my legs continue to remind me of the grand adventure. I will continue with two more parts of my paper starting next week. As always, thanks for reading!

My wife exclaimed several times, “Look at the sky. Look at the clouds. Look at how the clouds are dancing and moving.” With more vociferous exclamations from me, our exclamations turned into a spontaneous chorus of worship, for several wordless minutes, we were fixated on what was above and what was all around us as we were near the top of the Halla Mountain, the tallest peak (that stands at 1,950 meters) in South Korea. It was as gently as if the blue sky was waving at us, “Come to me and play with me” and the clouds were beckoning, “Come and dance with us.” I thanked God that I had good enough sight to take in the impossibly panoramic sheet filled with colors and movements.

The climb was one of our most grueling hikes ever. I knew I had a second wind in me but did not know there were third and fourth wind in me. All in all, we climbed nearly 5,000 ft covering some 14.5 miles and burning nearly 4,000 calories. We chose Gwaneumsa trail to climb which was steeper but shorter (and more scenic) and then came down on Seongpanak trail which was supposedly more gradual and thus required a slightly longer travel time. But when one is climbing nearly 5,000 ft and descending the same elevation, nothing is gradual or easier! Climbing will test the muscles especially the bottom half of one’s body with endless stairs especially the second half of the ascent and descending will test all one’s jelloed legs and joints especially knees and ankles with trails paved with volcanic rocks of all different sizes and shapes. There are ropes for the most part of the hike. Without it, it would be not only dangerous but also extremely challenging. Even then, I saw a couple of older men who were seemingly floating and gliding around with bare feet. Being in awe, I almost knelt before them. Near the top, I began pulling the rope trying to save my legs. I thought we would save time coming down, but I was wrong, very wrong. By the time we fumbled down the never-ending trail, I did not want to see any more stairs or rocks for days.

We were a group of four including a couple from Singapore who were on the fast track of becoming close friends. Earlier this year in the Philippines, we found out we share the same anniversary date and the year. We visited them in Singapore where they generously hosted us. One dinner they treated opened my eyes wide every single time I put food in my mouth for my taste buds never knew them. My mind wandered to the appreciation and love of the fact that the communions of Jesus were the actual sharing of meals. Not in the spirit of reciprocity, we boasted about Yangpyeong stay and invited them to come to Korea this fall. They came and we were united. Though Yangpyeong experience did not happen since we could not get the same previous accommodation, we bounced around Seoul, Yangpyeong (for a day), Ilsan, and Jeju Island. One of the activities they wanted to do was to climb to the top of Halla Mountain. We had one problem: we were supposed to be at the conference where I was already committed. I wrote to the organizer and asked them if I could miss the opening day.  With the favor and understanding, we decided to join in the adventure. During the hike, I did wonder how my body would be the very next morning since I was due to present my paper. . .

Since there were volcanic rocks of all sizes and shapes, we had to pay attention to each step especially as we were descending. With one missed step, one can easily roll an ankle, fall, or even stumble down a slope resulting in serious injury. Rocks with timeless patience say, “Step on me to go where you need to go. I am a rock and am strong.” Rocks also say, “Be sure to pay attention and step on me at a right angle.” Looking down far into the horizon or even a downhill gaze would be an invitation to lose balance and fall. Trees say to us, “Trust us as we are here to nourish you and guide you.” Trees serve as generous escorts to the journey-ers with fresh oxygen and help our lungs expand and sustain our bodies. Wind says to us, “Feel me, feel you, and feel God.” Wind was supple and caressing our bodies, especially our faces reminding us we are alive and that we are part of God’s goodness. Leaves lying dead on the trail bed and the living trees all remind me that death and life coexist, always. Who am I to say that the leaves are dead when they provide life to be living? Who am I to say that the trees and the leaves are living when they too will pass away being food for others? Who am I to say that life is good apart from death? How dare I say that life is good and death is not?

The peak was somewhat anti-climactic since we stood in line for about an hour to take a picture of the stone epithet, legitimizing the climb to the peak. I regretted standing after about thirty minutes into it, but my ego persistently stepped in to persevere. While appreciating the photos, I still regretted it afterward. The weather was ideal for a hike with mostly 40s and 50s with scattered and fast-moving clouds. We packed plenty of water, lots of nuts, bananas, sweet potatoes, carrots, cucumbers, convenience store-bought cheap cheese sticks, chicken breast sausages (which would have been yucky under normal circumstances, but it tasted like a gourmet sausage), and smoked eggs. By the time we were done, we went through every single bottle of water and devoured all the food. We experienced a timely provision of picking up a random walking stick that someone must have dropped in the beginning stage of our ascent. Without it, my wife told me she would not have made the hike. We experienced the Korean hiking culture of hospitality where stranger-hikers shared their fruits and goodies. After the grand experience, with a first hearty meal reminiscing our unforgettable adventure and hot showers, we slept like babies that night still hearing the invitations from the sky, the clouds, the rocks, the leaves, the trees, and the wind. After popping a couple of ibuprofen for prevention against cramping, I must have slept with a face of grand contentment.

HUMAN AND SPIRITUAL JOURNEY AS SUBJECTIVE, PERSONAL, AND EXPERIENTIAL | PART 1

My wife and I are currently participating in the Asia Society for Frontier Mission in Jeju, Korea this week. This morning, I presented a paper titled above to a mixture of participants representing various countries and different religious traditions in Asia, all following Jesus. I have been part of this hermeneutical group since its inception as one of the original designers. I thought I would share my paper in 3 parts (the next two parts will be longer in length).

Introduction

Humanity was inaugurated and endowed with the original blessing, the divine blessing of humankind being created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27) that ended with God declaring, “It was very good” at the end of the sixth day (Genesis 1:31). The divine original blessing extends to all humanity and the single greatest pursuit of all life is to discover and live out the original blessing and design by being us which means accepting how God created each of us. Furthermore, the process of how each human being bears and stewards the blessing is to walk on a uniquely distinct path culminating in an incredible array of diversity of such expressions. All bear the image and likeness of God and what I do bear is also unrepeatably and uniquely mine. I do not lose sleep over such a mystery of universal and personal blessing, but I also grasp this to be true without knowing how.

What Jesus may have meant as living an “abundant life” (what I would like to interpret as simply my life) remains as the perennial but elusive invitation for all humanity regardless of religions, cultures, and systems. To be sure, there is not one uniform “abundant life” that prescribes and dictates to all. Rather, an abundant life assumes that we each live our unique life according to God’s original intention. Of course, we devote our entire life to discovering and living out the original intention.

Some of us have been using the language of insider approach, but in deeper analysis and on an existential level, it is essentially about permission to live one’s life as God imagined from the very beginning. God granted this freedom and permission from the beginning, but some others came along, claimed “permission” rights, and dictated certain way(s) to live life. This unfortunate development persisted for many centuries (as it is the human tendency to control and dominate) spanning many religious and cultural traditions. However, the original blessing and permission remain to be vigorously explored without distractions, distortions, and detractors. To me, this is both a missiological as well as theological endeavor as starters. In the end, this exploration will have to involve all of life and all the disciplines life has to offer. 

In this paper, I would like to try to piece together how we read and interpret the Scriptures as well as to read Scriptures as divine art (captured by earnest and fallible humans) in the context of discovering our life and the Creator’s imagination in each of us. This overarching narrative portrays how grand and expansive our God is and how freeing the freedom (which comes to us as grace) of God is. As such, this journey must be subjective, personal, and experiential. The Bible and how the Bible came together to paint this very picture of subjectivity, personalism, and experiences at work.

Words that Breathe

One of the gifts and perks of being human is that we get to express our ideas, imagination, thoughts, feelings, etc. through both spoken and written words. We can also express ourselves through various forms of art, always utilizing mediums that subjectively resonate with the creators. Whether using words or not, we are all artists, expressing and making “art” with our lives. Divine creativity that we inherited from the ultimate Creator must find its human expression. All human beings create something meaningful according to each of our historical and unique imaginations. We exist to create. Life happens to be the vast empty canvas where we get to go to work as artists. Life is a medium and arena where the art of being oneself expresses itself.

There was once a time when spoken words were the norm but in the 15th century Gutenberg singlehandedly (and once and for all) placed written words over spoken words in vast majority cultures around the world. Though all written words feature both intent and impact, the power of words lies in the impact circle of interpretation and meaning. No one reads without interpretation. No one lives life without interpretation. Thus, life is an endless series of interpretations based on subjectivity, and art expresses itself through life. Invariably, the author’s intent in the literature world remains elusive to pinpoint (not to mention the cultural distances) especially if the authors no longer exist to defend or explain.

“FIGHTING!”

I had never watched the Asian Games until the last two weeks as it ended today (Oct 8). Since our Airbnb features a TV of generous proportion, I have been immensely enjoying the Asian Games, from archery to badminton to high jump to table tennis to soccer, among other sports. Having grown up in Los Angeles, at this time of the year, I would be fixated on my Dodgers post-season run as they are poised to make a deep run again this year. I will also be following my Lakers as they get ready for their season opener. NFL and college football seasons are stimulating garnishes and time fillers that would keep me properly entertained.

These are the best Asian athletes competing in their sports except for a few big-name sports. What we see as casual observers are actual competing times anywhere from 10 seconds to 90 minutes. What we do not see are the long hard-working hours, often most of their life, dedication, craft, and improving team plays and chemistry if applicable. Most of these hours they spent are not under the spotlight, cheers, and significant encouragement. They represent the grinding hours of dedication, fighting often against oneself to push and push harder. Bruce Lee once said, “I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.” Additionally, it is not hard to imagine an endless cycle of failure upon failure and repeat ad infinitum. As such, any sport is a long hard battle of overcoming adversities of failures. I mean, in basketball, if you miss 6 out of 10 shots from three-point lines, you are a great shooter at any level. In baseball, if you miss or get outed 7 out of 10, you are a great hitter. It is a lonely, dogged fight against oneself to console, encourage, push, and most of all, not give up. Giving up will come soon enough for all athletes, but they often say, not now or not today.

I am an active person, perhaps a very casual athlete at best. Even as a casual athlete, I have had to face constantly nauseating inner battles to pick up my ball (basketball) and play again the next time especially when I was awful the last time I played. And learn what I can but forget what happened, embracing short memory and thick skin. Sure, a few times I have played well, I replay the plays in my mind to sleep with a smile on my face. But those times have been shrinking as I age. Granted that I remain incredibly thankful that I have had no major injuries. The most serious injury was a partial medial collateral ligament tear on my right knee that sidelined me for about 5 months in my 40s. Plus a couple of broken fingers including my right middle finger which made me sheepish any time I had to raise my hand to say hi or bye, and frequent ankle sprain injuries, too many to count. I know I could have folded playing basketball years ago, sighting my slow footedness and blaming a well-worn scenario that says—my mind is making all the right plays, but my body is woefully lagging. However, even now, the pleasure of playing outweighs the pain after playing or not playing at all. When the scale tips over to pain more than pleasure (and it will), then I know it is time to quit. I have brought my basketball shoes this time, hoping to play. But so far, I have not found any opportunity.

I have thought about what sport I would pick up when I “retire” from basketball. It is an exercise I have played in my mind repeatedly. I have not landed on anything, but I think I am going to see if I can push myself to continue to play basketball. While I can take on walking (and I have) as well as hiking, I know I am unusually drawn to any kind of “ball” play. My heart still flutters when I hear a ball pounding the gym floor or walk by a tempting display of the latest and vintage basketball shoe store. I must listen to my heart, I tell myself.

Earlier this year in the evening while in Singapore, I told my wife I was walking. In the middle of my walking, I began hearing the pounding of the ball far away. The sound hypnotized me and I instinctively followed the sound, almost sleepwalking toward the sound. I walked into the semi-outdoor court without thinking, still on autopilot. I played a few pickup games with complete strangers for a couple of hours, with my running shoes. My impromptu teammates comprised a Philippino in his 40s and an Indonesian in his 30s, both engineers working in Singapore, playing against the young and athletic Singaporeans. We appreciated each other’s craft and high-fived each other throughout, grinning with joy the whole time. While playing, it did dawn on me that my wife might be worried, but my spontaneous joy was too great. Thanks largely to the humidity, I came home soaked with my dome head like a leaky faucet. My wife took a look at me and smiled. Somehow, I knew that she knew what happened not only from my sweat but also from my big penitent grin.

Back to the Asian Games. What was a pleasant surprise for me was to witness many Korean athletes smiling, even during the competition. I have viscerally felt their ecstatic enjoyment as alluring and contagious. I was more used to seeing resolute and determinative faces, nothing wrong with that either, but beams and twinkles are more inspiring. On the contrary, I have frequently not felt the same from the sports broadcasters and commentators, especially in team events. Regrettably, the broadcasters and commentators (who are all former athletes) represent the honor and shame system as well as the general Korean high standard of failure-proof culture while the athletes are mainly competing against themselves to be the best in their sport. I am sure the athletes are incredibly honored to represent Korea, but I wonder if they are foremostly representing themselves and maybe their families.

I find myself saluting the athletes in the Asian Games and the “athletes” in us all, fighting and overcoming adversities of failures inwardly as well as the “resistant to failure” system outwardly, again and again. To that end, I would like to salute myself for keeping the “fighting” spirit!

MY MASTER

From time to time, I have meditated on the Scripture with an imaginative lens, focusing on the senses and affect. Inspired initially by Mary Oliver’s poem, The Poet Thinks about the Donkey, one Chuseok (Korean autumn harvest festival) holiday morning, sitting in a cafe overlooking the unusually large patch of green grass in front of me, I let my imagination run wild and below is my journal entry.

“Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it.” (Mark 11:2, NRSV)

I was young. Waiting and waiting for my turn to serve my master. Master would choose me. I was used to standing and waiting. As I am from a small and insignificant village away from the big town, idle waiting was the name of the game. I was not sure when my turn to serve would come.

Then one day, everything changed. I do not know how it happened but two strangers I have never seen before approached me and took me away, still not riding me. Just outside the main city, a man was patiently standing and waiting. I thought he was waiting for something else, but he was waiting for me. His time would not come until I showed up.

His upright posture was not that of impatience or even a remote sense of irritability as I realized that he and I share something in common, waiting. His gentle but resolute gaze told me he had been waiting for his time. Did I say his eyes? His eyes were deep, humble, and full of unrequited love. They were also filled with resolve and sadness. I was trained to look down all my life to see the road, but I lifted my eyes to look into his eyes. Looking into his eyes, my existence made sense for the first time. He did not have to utter any word for I understood that he was going to be my master.

I was somehow in the middle of his plan. I still do not know why he needed me because it was such a short distance, not the grinding journey I had heard about. I still do not know how he knew me and found me. Unknowing and security do not always mesh well, but I welcomed unknowing as part of knowing my master. I could have easily and willingly carried him to the end of the earth and back. He was an average man of height and weight, but I felt like I was carrying the light from heaven. Honestly, I only felt the worn and warm cloaks on me the whole time. Though I was bridled for the first time, I experienced an unbridled joy as a gift from heaven.

Never have I seen the size of a peaceful crowd I saw that day. Just as my master donned cloaks on me, the crowd also came prepared as they spread cloaks and the leafy branches on the road. I knew my master was the main attraction for the crowd, but for a fleeting moment, I too felt proud to be me and used by my master. The thought entered my mind to mimic a proud high-stepping horse returning from winning an epic war campaign, but I knew I was a donkey so simply decided to be me. Besides, my master was not a war victor but a humble servant. Through it all, I must have smiled from ear to ear though nobody noticed as their eyes were squarely on my humble and light master.

A couple of months later, I saw him again on the road. He had holes in his hands and his feet were light as ever, filled with purpose. I knew he saw me as our eyes locked again. Though he did not need to for his eyes said everything I needed to hear, he gave me a faint smile and I melted all over again.

Since then, others have ridden me over the years. Some ridiculed and even cursed me as they associated me with my master from long ago. I have also become somewhat famous for the same reason. All the while, I swear I have seen him from time to time, enough to remind me he is near and still walking around, ever humble and light.

________

I am older now, having lived my life and having done what I needed to do. I have become shrewd, knowing how to cut corners, conserve energy, and fake being sick in order to save myself. I was once young, wide-eyed with eagerness, and full of zeal. As I unknowingly waited for my one and only master to find me and ride on me, I must knowingly and expectantly discover once again to wait for my master to use me. I know he is around.

ENCHANTMENT OF LIFE

I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by
this adventure—your life—what would do for
you?

From Evidence, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

The enchantment of life does not have to be the most rapturous kind of life. To overlay another poem of Oliver, Praying, what captures our magical imagination does not have to be “the blue iris but weeds in a vacant lot.” The enchantment of life does not have to pertain to a predictable fairy tale narrative of someone who once was ragged and unassuming becoming beauty adorned in finery. Certainly, we do not need to diss what stands as accepted enchantment for it captures all our childhood imagination. We also know that our life consists of mundane, unspectacular facets, and wears and tears. Such life teaches us that life happens to us rather than we make life happen. This is far from being fatalistic but a warm and willing embrace of being aware of life as it unfolds in real-time.

To me, the most intimate and ultimate enchantment of life is the Christ incarnate. Therein lies the secret and invitation of true enchantment. God becoming and coming to us as humans—the most revolutionary kind precisely because he came to us so humbly—is the basis on which enchantment becomes “real” enchantment. Paradoxically, this kind of enchantment is certainly not the most visible and the most glamorous kind. It is down at the ditch level. The incarnation of Christ was so radical and revolutionary that the vast majority of people missed it while looking at him squarely in the face. In fact, some are still searching. Rather than God coming down from high commanding heavens and stars, God chose and would still choose to be born in the human form in the stable.

As part of the incarnation, Christ had to live his life, a very ordinary and human life. At least according to the gospels, Jesus’ life was so mundane that it is left to our imagination (especially the first 30 years of his life), both sweet and wild. Living our life at the speed of life, not surpassing or fast-forwarding life, is the very invitation. As Christ accepted to live his life, we are to accept the life that is given to us. I tell myself to remember, Teilhard de Chardin’s words, “My self is given to me far more than it is formed by me.” We are the small Christ incarnates in this world, fulfilling God’s subversive plan of filling this earth with the upside-down reality of the Kingdom of God. God’s plan will always be undermining the power and knowledge holders, not by another form of power, but by love, the self-emptying kind, and mystery.

Would we know where to sit without carpenters (including what Joseph and Jesus were and did)? Would we know comfort and security without the carpenters? (I cannot imagine Jesus was a shoddy carpenter or somehow, he did it for the lure of money.) Would we have learned to read without “alphabet makers?” Would we have traveled the world without the explorers and mapmakers? Would we have defeated the leprosy without the invention of drugs? Would we have enjoyed the coffee without the monks accidentally discovering the potent energy in the beans? Would we (I especially) have learned the joy of slurping noodles without farmers who grew wheat and cooks who discovered we did not have to eat dough all the time?

I would like to think that we are invited to discover enchantment in the most meek and unassertive arenas of life. The biggest reason is—that is where Christ is. The world—the rulers and the empires—does not and cannot see or agree. Rulers rule from on high whereas Christ resides in the ditches, shops, offices, kitchens, etc. Life is also not segmented into spiritual and natural or sacred and secular. We finally get to see everything belongs and that everything is spiritual. The segmented or divided life gets tiring and unauthentic rather quickly. The wholistic and integrated life stands as attractive, authentic, and should I say, enchanting.

The incarnation of Christ serves as a constant reminder and the existential model for me to live my enchanting life to the fullest, the undivided, and the most authentic and adventuresome. The struggle to walk this kind of life or this state of being cannot happen without crossing the frontier of seeing with wholism and hope of my being as well as all the others. Embracing to live my life this way is the most faithful way to say yes to Christ’s incarnation.

Somewhere between revelation and random, I close with a short section of another Oliver’s poem, Sometimes.

Instructions for living a life:
Pay Attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it. (Italicized are hers.)

How do we pay attention to the full and in earnest if our life remains segmented and divided?
How do we become enchanted without being astonished?
How do we invite the world to see the enchantment without us telling about it?

LIVING WITH AND IN GOD

Twice a month, my wife and I have been meeting/zooming with our intercessor. She as a seer and spiritual director has dedicated her valuable time and energy to intercede for me and my wife ever since I became a leader of my previous organization. With her deep listening and generous heart, she has been more than an intercessor but a loving friend and a kind guide. I told my intercessor this morning over Zoom that I am done living trying to start or initiate new things. Since our sabbatical which coincided with the start of the pandemic, my posture has been to wait and see what God does and follow God’s open doors. The unrehearsed and unfiltered remark saw the daylight as if it had been wanting to peek out all along.

It is not that I do not ever think about doing new things anymore. They come in waves, some more forceful than others, and I suppose I have learned enough to know how things generally will unfold even though the details may differ. My desire to follow through with pursuing new initiatives has significantly subsided. Honestly, it is not that fun and exciting anymore, not to say that I have done new things just for fun.

Speaking of excitement, I have learned that letting God take charge and lead my life is far more exciting and adventurous. If excitement and adventure are the only gauges, then I may have found the secret of how to pursue after those—by pursuing God, waiting for God’s time and open doors, and letting God take charge of my life. Surprises are new every morning as are God’s faithfulness and mercy. Treasures both big and small rain down as heaven’s droplets to nourish and further encourage me to open my eyes and see what is real. Challenges often force reorientation and check our spirit with new discerning eyes.

In some ways, I was not surprised by what got out of me this morning because I had been sitting on what I read from Thomas Merton (from Thoughts in Solitude, P. 117) several weeks ago.

Some people live for God, some live with God, some live in God.

Those who live for God, live with other people and live in the activities of their community. Their life is what they do.

Those who live with God also live for Him, but they do not live in what they do for Him, they live in what they are before Him. Their life is to reflect Him by their own simplicity and by the perfection of His being reflected in their poverty. 

Those who live in God do not live with other men or in themselves still less in what they do, for He does all things in them. (Italicized are his)

Obviously, I do not think that living for God is inherently bad or insufficient. It is that my desire to live with God and in God far exceeds my effort-driven life without (or having assumed) living with God and in God. (The distinctions are particularities of division in Merton’s mind since he was a semi-hermit, part of the Trappists’ order.) Thus, it is the stage in which living for God happens is what my life resonates—that living for God is a natural outflow from living with and in God.

Concurrently, I have been immensely enjoying Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver. I knew I liked Oliver’s poems, but my soul is in deep accordance with how she saw the world. Her love for the natural world and all living things without judgment mirrors the generous capacity of her soul. Below, I would like to highlight three poems (short sections) by Oliver.

Why do people keep asking to see
God’s identity papers
When the darkness opening into morning
Is more than enough?

(From I wake close to morning)

I have refused to live
Locked in the orderly house of
reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
Is wider than that. And anyway,
What’s wrong with Maybe?

           From The world I live in

Then she writes a few poems about her dog, Percy. She writes how she is trying to live “the examined life” because she has been taught that.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,
not to speak of the busy heart. How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not
thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

From Percy (nine)

It dawns on me this morning that nature including the sun, Percy, Remy (my daughter Elizabeth’s chihuahua), Luna (my daughter Hannah’s huskie), and Balto (Jeremiah, my son-in-law’s huskie) all do not try to live for God. They simply exist to live with God (how God created them to be) and in God. They do not toil, work, or even exist for God. They simply exist to be who God created them to be.

SOYANG CONCERT

It was almost as if I was back in Yangpyeong this past Saturday, with my soul at home. The setting was a cozy and vibrant church sitting right by the Soyang River near Chuncheon City in Gangwon Province. What was once an impressive hill of trash more than a generation ago is now a blissful walking and biking trail as well as an idyllic church. The church hosted my book concert through a pastor who has been tirelessly promoting my book. With the weather still being on the warm side with occasional cool breezes, they tastefully decorated and set up an outdoor venue with makeshift tents, enough shades, and plenty of cold drinks the church served throughout the concert.

We arrived earlier to soak in the vibe of the church and the surrounding environment. I had seen pictures of the church and the encompassing nature in four distinct seasons. I was looking forward to the concert, but I was just as drawn to the idea of an outdoor concert. Talking about my book was the icing on the cake and eating it. The host, an influential elder and a leader in the region had posted a couple of days earlier on his Facebook that he met a like-minded freedom brother after one short phone conversation with me. He had been reading my book and I suppose my conversation carved a glimpse of freedom in his mind. Funny, I told my wife I had sensed a similar sentiment after the phone call before seeing his post. The mutual admiration raised my expectations and carried my light spirit all the way to the church.

The elder greeted me and my wife with a big smile. If I let him, he would have given me a big bear hug, I felt. Elder Cho was a tall man, donning a narrow-brimmed straw fedora hat that was perfectly suited for the late summer. Since his voice was young and deep, I expected to meet a younger man which he was not. I found out that he had traveled extensively, studied law in the US, and semi-retired in Gangwon Province after decades of practicing law in Seoul. He also boasted of having several grandchildren as he bought three books of mine for his grandchildren. We went over the program and after I gave him two thumbs up, he invited us to the fellowship hall to get some cold drinks where we were joyously greeted by an army of dedicated women volunteers.

I was elated to find out that I was looking out to the river below and lush summer mountains both near and far as far as my eyes can see. Unfortunately, the audience was facing me and the wall of the church building with a large (I mean huge) book concert poster as a backdrop. In my opening comment, I told them I was sorry that I was enjoying the view while they were stuck seeing me and the wall the whole time as the audience was sitting in a semi-circle facing me. Occasionally, a few curious onlookers both on foot and on bikes have turned their heads and their eyes told me they were trying to size up quickly what the event was about. I was even secretly hoping some of them would stick around to listen in. . .

I also commented quite randomly and spontaneously (decided to trust my instinct) that I love the fact that Jesus was not from Jerusalem, but from Galilee. I guess I was hoping that they would be encouraged by not being in “Jerusalem” or Seoul, but in “Galilee” or Chuncheon. It did not escape my mind that the church was called Chuncheon Galilee Church. I initially thought about saying further that I am a marginal person (as I describe in the introduction of the book) but decided not to pursue the line of thinking. . .

During the only phone conversation, I told the elder that I intended to interact and converse with the audience. The elder was a bit skeptical about how the audience would interact with me as Koreans are generally taught to listen and not ask questions. I perfectly understood his point of view. I told him I understood and that I would pivot if I needed to, but my previous experiences had been quite positive. One key lesson had been that I just need to be patient and comfortable with silence. I decided to engage the crowd right away by asking them to think and share about “pilgrim” first with people next to them they do not know and share with the larger audience. I was not surprised how people were so alive and engaged. During the next hour and a half, people asked from their hearts with transparency and vulnerability and interacted with me. There are no wrong or dumb questions if they flow out of our hearts. That is how God treats us and so should we.

Two themes emerged largely based on the questions and comments from the audience during our time together: freedom and the need for a safe community. The lead pastor and his wife had just returned, the day of, from their sabbatical month, traveling all over Italy, and having visited the very place (The Dolomites Mountain range in northeastern Italy) of my book cover. The pastor shared that all his trips in the past had been guided tours/trips, but this was the first time they decided to travel “freely.” With his eyes twinkling in a gentle but convincing tone, he shared how freeing it was and though he got lost multiple times, he learned from his failures and learned to enjoy travel and life as it happened. His unprompted sharing provided real-life food for thought and I felt as if I needed to seize a God-given opportunity. In the end, I did not need to for people already captured God’s invitation.

I felt alive during the entire concert. I could have gone on for another two hours with adrenaline quietly pumping and flowing. The view of the audience and the picturesque backdrop of mountains and greens have buoyed my spirit and have appropriately been etched in my memory as a big gratitude moment. With my expanded heart, I uttered to God I am ready for more.

DESOLATION & LOSSES

Words that start with the letter “d” feature some of the most dreaded words in life, another “d” word. Think death, disease, debt, divorce, depression, just to name a few and our hearts sink deep in dread. Then there are words that begin with “dis” or “de,” certainly not to say that all words that begin with dis- or de- are all dread but you get my point.

One word I feel today, being honest with myself, is desolation. What I am supposed to feel are consolation and even exhilaration. We are in Korea yet again for the 7th time since 2021. My schedule is packed which I interpret as God’s affirmations that we are moving in the right direction and speed. We feel connected with a number of groups and are engaged in deeper and more meaningful ways. My book is supposedly doing just fine as it went into the second print run less than two months after the initial release according to my publisher. There are graceful favors and open doors everywhere, it seems. My head tells me to feel consolation, but my heart today feels desolation.  

This morning after sitting with my desolation for a day, I discovered one of the culprits of my desolation as if I needed a scapegoat to blame—we are not in Yangpyeong this time. Rather than waking up to the rising of birds and cool crisp early fall air, we are awakened by the numbing clamor of traffic and the bustling city life, and less impressive air than in Yangpyeong, for sure. Rather than being surrounded by late summer’s vibrant nature, we are surrounded by concrete jungle and makeshift or smaller patches of nature that simply do not compare. Nature that is not natural violates the essence of nature. I knew this coming in. We had made a decision not to go back to the place where we stayed since the house got sold. The new owner corresponded in ways that needed risky blind trust on our part. In the end, I politely bowed out by not burning the bridge for possible later use. Though I believe it still was the right decision, I find myself second-guessing the decision mainly arising out of my desolation.

These days, I have also found that I desire stability especially when it comes to home of our own space more than I care to admit. This has been a surprise finding as I have thrived in the past and perhaps even romanticized the notion of a bohemian lifestyle, living like the wind. I tell myself today that I do not need to arrive at a solution but just sit with it—acknowledge and accept.

Another revelation that is not a surprise is my desire to be surrounded by nature and to lead a quiet and contemplative life. And to extend the contemplative space to others as gift and be a channel of healing and restoration. . . The more expansive my soul becomes, the more generous and hospitable space I can offer to others. Nature teaches such expansiveness and embodies life as it is and as it happens. This is the teacher I miss.

Going beyond the immediacy of Yangpyeong that is not, there has been incredible gain when it comes to our future, where and what God is calling us, open doors, unmerited favors, and timely provisions. Coming out of our sabbatical in 2020, God has held our hands and led us every step of the way with intimacy and care. As much as gains, there have been significant losses as well. Simply because there has been so much gain, losses dwarfed in comparison. As such, losses have not received enough timely attention. However, as the losses have been mounting up, I have been acknowledging and naming each loss so I can properly bring closure.

Certainly, not being in Yangpyeong is the most recent loss. Leaving an organization and the people whom I served for 35 years was a significant loss even though God clearly led us out. In my present life, there are more funerals to attend than the weddings. Being present and saying earthly goodbyes to people I have known are losses that I can never change. Then there are those who are battling significant illnesses and facing serious health challenges, signaling to me more losses may just be on the way. As ecstatic as I am, the wedding of my son, Michael, and Gloria is some ways a loss since Michael moved out from our home. Donating and discarding our furniture and belongings so we can downsize and get ready for our overseas “assignment” early next year is yet another loss, albeit mundane and necessary. Our friends and the family moved out of the community, on the day we departed to Korea, which we called home for decades is another loss, not to mention other families and neighbors who moved out from the community last year.

Today, I give myself permission to express and own my sense of desolation, not what I should feel. In this space of desolation, I feel both helpless and hopeful. Helpless because I feel stuck as I realize there is plainly not much I can do to change any of the losses. Hopeful because I am not in charge and because I cannot see everything clearly. And that’s a good and hopeful thing. On a more primal level, I feel hopeful because losses are not really losses but gains eventually and in God’s timing. My desolation is met with a loving gaze of God’s grace and thus is a consolation. As nature teaches so well, death is not death but the beginning of new life. The vibrancy and flourishing of life in spring always arrives after every dead or “lifeless” winter.

INSPIRATION & BOOKS

By the time you read this, my wife and I will have arrived in Korea for another two months stint. I have multiple book related events and will also be leading/participating in a few conferences. Unlike the spring itinerary, the fall’s itinerary will be packed as we will be on the road quite a bit.

Good books according to my working definition whether fiction or non-fiction allow and invite me to read my life. This reading of my life is uncoerced as I parallelly imagine my life in the lives and thoughts of characters and/or authors. They allow me to find and discover my life as it is unfolding, as well as to question, find answers, and raise other questions. They are like kind and patient guides that probe my life like no other. I dictate the speed and intricacy of the surgery of my heart and mind. Even the books that seem to be forcefully adamant about their opinions and views, I get to discern and choose. The fact of the matter is that it is ultimately my life and I know what speaks to me and what does not at different times of my life. I often underline or make notes on the side when I am inspired and when my soul’s experiences are congruent with what I may be reading at the time. My life experiences resonate with authors’ experiences, imaginative or real, and as a result, create a sense of common bond across times and cultures. By reading these books, I am invited to read my life.

When I know I am “inspired,” it lands on me as a confirmation of what was already being awakened and formed in me. The apex of inspiration is the meeting place between the existing (but slightly lacking in assurance) internal leanings and the Kairos external stimuli. The stimuli generate a deep sense of confirmation of what we already knew and knew to be true. These moments of inspiration certainly extend beyond just good books but rather to the multiplicity of art mediums. I find it difficult and disingenuous to induce such inspiration. For inspiration to be genuine and lasting, inspiration almost always bears a surprising quality and unpredictable nature. As such, it is almost impossible to arrive at the point of inspiration through some logical and methodical processes.

I have experienced multiple inspirational moments through books over the years. Though they vary with impact, three experiences top the list. For each of those three moments, I vividly remember where I read it, what I was reading, and how I felt at the time. It was like time stood still and everything was moving in slow motion. Two of those times, I wept uncontrollably. One I was dumbfounded for a long time and lost looking vacantly at the distant San Gabriel mountains, half dazed. One of those times, I wept uncontrollably was while I was reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s Chapter 5 (The Ride of the Rohirrim) of The Return of the King. Below is a rather long quote toward the end of the chapter.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect.  Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before,

Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

With that he seized a great horn from Guthlaf his banner-bearer and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder.  And straightway all horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away.  Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it.  After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them.  Eomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first eored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Theoden could not be outpaced.  Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young.  His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed.  For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them.  And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City. (Italicized mine)

This remains one of my favorite literary texts of all time. “And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them,” Tolkien writes. I remember reading this passage more than 25 years ago at Starbucks in Gangnam Korea. This was where I lost it completely. A middle-aged man weeping in the middle of Starbucks must have been a scene! But I could care less. . . because I was standing on holy ground. I might have knelt in submission if I really did not care what others thought of me. The conjured-up image was God’s glory reigning in the company of “men,” singing and experiencing joy amid battle. The “battle” was none other than life to me at the time as life is a great battle for everyone. Thus at the heart of it has been the overarching desire to experience the “joy of life (joie de vivre).” My heart told me that day I would love to be in this kind of company. Who will God send our way to “sing as we slay” alongside us and do life with?

Decades later and the years in between, I find myself in the middle of such a company and have received countless courage from this company of men and women. It is not unlike Eowyn whispering to the ear of Merry, a Hobbit, before the charge, “Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends.” What came to me as an inspiration became my prayer and my prayer is being answered.

For those who are inclined to watch Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the scene above, below is the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8yOdAqBFcQ

A MISSIONAL REFLECTION | PART 2

It is not hard to ask and do “the right things.” The WHAT of missions produced the thought and action generating out of a question, “What is the right thing to do?” I would like to think that the question needs to shift to “What is the most loving thing to do?” Though the “right things” may be right in our cultures, the “right things” may or may not be right in receiving cultures. In fact, the “right things” may not be the most loving thing. It is a form of judgment that Jesus warned us not to do. I quote from my book, From a Pilgrim to a Pilgrim (순례자가 순례자에게 published by Joy Books in Korean).

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

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

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

The biblical faith can only exist as translated into a culture. One of the foundational problems in missions is that we make others love God as we do, believe as we do, and behave as we do. Thus, the missional application of this passage is immensely important. Asking and listening, most of the time, are the right and loving things. More than that, the most loving thing always translates into the “right thing.” The asking of what the most loving thing to do is the very heart of HOW of missions, the very incarnational spirit of Jesus. We must go into the world bearing in mind how Jesus came to us.

The prophets of the Old Testament and Jesus confronted the dominant empire mentality harshly. The Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God do not and cannot mix with the empire-building and saving. In other words, we must continue to recognize and dismantle our empire mentality, however impressive it is in our own cultures, as we go out into the world. The history of Christianity shows that the gospel usually flows from the bottom, and not from the top. The gospel flows from the periphery, and not from the center. Being at the top and in the center is not wrong and sometimes it requires us to be at the top and at the center, but it certainly requires greater discernment and sacrifice of not holding on.

If we believe the gospel is not limited to the gospel of the cross that saves us from damnation but has the power to transform and continue to save us in our sanctification journey, then the invitation is that we live out the gospel through our lives. There is a difference between preaching the gospel toward salvation and living out the gospel toward transformation. Jesus’ teachings on the Kingdom of God emphasized the latter which requires our lifetime.

Here is an appropriate place to mention a couple of the challenges and thus homework the Korean missions movement will most likely need to pursue. First of all, I submit that Matthew’s Great Commission needs to be understood in light of the Kingdom of God (or Heaven, to use Matthew’s language) that Jesus taught, embodied, and died for. As such, the gospel cannot be understood without the Kingdom of God. When the Korean missions movement embodies more of the Kingdom container and the message over the local church-centric message and the container, its impact will be greater and far-reaching. The bigger and more generous the gospel (which is the Kingdom) is, the more powerful and revolutionary the message will be.

The thought of the late Dr. Ralph Winter’s The Two Structures of God’s Redemptive Mission paper presentation exactly 50 years ago, here in Korea, did not escape me. (I do not need to rehash the concept here. The late Andrew Walls has a wonderful small related book titled, Missionary Societies and The Fortunate Subversion of the Church.) Under the vast and generous Kingdom reign, I believe there are multiple expressions (not just two) of how God’s people organize and operate to expand the Kingdom. Thus, it is natural to have various and unique expressions that read and interpret the signs of the times we are in. Personally, as an outsider, I would be keenly interested in seeing “new wineskins” from and for Korea’s different pockets of missional engagers, be they full-time missionaries and/or “선교인“ (as Chang Nam Son articulated well). One container whatever it is does not and should not fit all. To me, this is an extension of the well-known four-self movement toward self-missiologizing. Self-missiologizing functions as a natural extension of the self-theologizing effort.

On a final note, living out the gospel of the Kingdom through our lives does not mean perfect godly living. Rather it means embracing and living by grace day to day. In this sense, we are on the same journey as pilgrims and as God’s image bearers, not as the ones we are trying to reach. This solidarity levels the ground as all of us are traveling companions toward the union with God. That to me can only be done by “not my might or power” but by the very incarnational “spirit” of Jesus.