BLAZING FRIDAY AND BEING STILL

At least once a week, usually starting on Friday late afternoon, a group of three families gather for the rhythmic celebration of what is called “Blazing Friday” (or TGIF or 불금 in Korean). True to our age, the only blazing thing about it is the warmth and the longing energy with which we come together. Having zoomed bi-monthly for more than a year during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, intimacy through vulnerability and acceptance blossomed. At that time, two couples resided in the US, including us, while the other was located in Malaysia. We could not have known that we would all end up in Malaysia by the summer of 2024. Ludicrous and impossible were the thoughts at the time. We would not have come to Malaysia without the long-time residing family here. Having been here for more than two decades, they provided an anchor to our souls and practical help for a smooth transition to KL. In their mid-40s, they have three beautiful daughters, the oldest just leaving for college across the strait to Singapore. I did not ask but I am sure the father shed some tears after dropping her off. . . Two other younger siblings are right behind the first. I do not envy the father who will have to marry off three times. . .

They came to Band Barnabas’ Core training back in 2008 for a year in Pasadena, California after attending a weeklong seminar I led. Not knowing clearly what struck a chord with the husband, he dragged his young family to Pasadena against all odds, immigration control-wise. After a year with us, they shared with us that their lives had been so fundamentally shifted that they could not go back to Malaysia and live the same way. After having innumerable business trials, and failures, and accruing valuable lessons, they as husband and wife team run “business as missions.” Missions is not a task anymore, but incarnated life naturally oozes out of their lives. Remarkably and providentially, they are now settled and have entered the proper orbit of the export and import business world between Malaysia and Korea. The husband also successfully went through the School of Spiritual Direction recommended by my wife.

The other family (the husband, a Korean American) is still with my previous organization. For a considerable stretch of his time, he reported to me. In the brutal and over-the-top world of ministry and organizational mission, goals, and objectives, he was a safe harbor where I could be me and someone I could share with openly. I say brutal because, in the name of goals and objectives, people can become means to an end with an end being the organizational “success” which is man-made, to begin with. I have driven and drilled the same narrative and lived under the same. We dreamt and journeyed together as one, envisioning the same destination and path. Years ago, as my wife formed a guinea pig group to share what she was learning from the School of Spiritual Direction, he was a willing member. His wife, a prayer warrior and prophet, has prayed for me numerous times, especially during the trying season of my leadership. God gave them a son, a miracle child, five years ago. In their late 40s, they are willing and loving parents to their energetic son.

Our weekly pattern is simple, get together, eat, check-in, and get caught up. In a lightning fashion, the last family from the US found their rented home and settled in with all the modern amenities and necessities to do life. Celebration and amazement were our theme when they hosted us at their new house over the weekend. After enjoying Korean BBQ near their new home at a fraction of the cost and after clearing high security with a QR code and submitting ID, (I mean Malaysia already feels very secure and safe, to begin with) the gate finally lifted, and we entered a private community that completely resembled cookie cutter and meticulously manicured Irvine in Southern California. With my eyes betraying my senses minus humidity, I had to remind myself I was in the middle of KL.

The two families have begun to work and are trying to have us extend our stay in KL beyond next year as they see themselves here long-term. As we sense our stay in Malaysia as transient and our eyes are set on our next destination, Korea, preferably Yangpyeong, we remain curious and hopeful. The elusive question hangs as to when that time may be. In this liminal season of certainty and fluidity, questions, answers, and more questions, and hope and waiting hang our lives. Trying to be faithful to today and the future, without losing sight of one or the other, guides the current trajectory of our life. All in all, I am reminded that my particular season of liminality is couched under the big liminality that is my life here on this earth. It is like “a dream within a dream” akin to the movie Inception except in this case, it is a reality within a reality, perfectly orchestrated by loving God.

As we spent time in a group spiritual guidance session with friends back home, I sensed God speaking to me, “He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day and stamp you with approval at high noon.” (Psalm 37:5, The Message) I know we would not be where we are now unless we felt the stamp of approval from God. At the same time, the invitation, perennial at that, in the meantime is to “quiet down before God” or “be still before the Lord.” I replied with a big yes to God.

TRADITIONAL CHINESE MEDICINE

Since my right lower back has been giving me spotty problems, oscillating between discomfort and pain recently when I walk, work out, and do other mundane chores which are not many, I knew it was time to consider a chiropractor visit. The pain or discomfort has been there for years which I conveniently ignored. Not a big fan of the cracking sound of my bones, I was a bit hesitant. Then I began noticing Virtue TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) outfit right between our everyday grocery market and our apartment unit. After getting over my initial curiosity and constantly peeking into the shop when walking by, I looked at the reviews on Google and they were perfect 5.0 with less than 100 reviews. “Oh, they could be all the family and friends,” I thought. But I was getting irritable enough that I needed to do something. The thought of “why not give it a try” won it out. After making an appointment, I showed up the next day.

A young Chinese man who was barely 35 years old greeted me, he was there when I made an appointment in person the day before. He was built like Ben Grimm, one of the original Fantastic Four Marvel characters, bushy bowl haircut with no parting, square-faced with matching square wire glasses, taller than me even without shoes on (he walks around the clinic barefoot), and densely built with disproportionate big hands. He was wearing a white gown, smiling baring his white straight teeth, which put me at ease. He genuinely looked happy to see me. Maybe he doubted I would show up. I smiled back but gave up the vibes that this was all new to me. We then moved into a small room through a curtain door. I explained to him why I came. He nodded as his smile never leaving him. As soon as I was done, he turned around, grabbed the Human Lumbar Spine Model from his desk, and explained what was going on. He also told me my lower back was stiff and it needed to be more flexible. With a short and clear explanation, I was sold. “Ok, do what you must do,” I told him.

For the next 90 minutes, he worked on my body unlike any other treatments (not many to compare with) I received. The first thing he told me was that in TCM, we don’t crack bones. “Good,” I thought and gave my thumbs up while lying down on my face. Instead, he communicated, “We work from the skin to muscles to bones, but never crack crack.” The vast majority of the time was spent working on my muscles. He possessed a combination of thick Chinese and Southeast Asian accent. But “no crack crack,” I understood. He must have rolled me over dozens of times on the chiropractic bed, with my legs and arms in a specific arrangement, side to side, and worked his way up from my toes to calves to thighs, and eventually my whole body. At one point, I felt a sharp but faint sting on my leg, thanks to the acupuncture he administered, one on each leg. I blurted out to him what for? “I’m resetting your leg muscles into their original state.” Ok, I don’t know what that means, but it sounds ok and is kind of too late, I thought. My mind quickly accessed positive acupuncture memories, trying to comfort, from two other times when I received the treatments: one due to a severe headache during high school days where I counted more than 20 needles into my head which scared the wits out of me and the other with a severe ankle sprain. Both times, my pain miraculously subsided. Needless to say, I am still alive.

Apart from the sting, after 90 minutes of rather undramatic treatment, I was asked to stand. As soon as I stood up, I noticed my body felt lighter and loose. One of my backbones once protruding slightly was gone. I suppose I did not have high expectations of TCM. Now I was converted. Smile never left my therapist, Jason, and sure enough, he was all smiles and happy for me. He then relayed to me that I should not cross my legs or do one of those “yangban” (or lotus-style) sitting postures which is hard for me anyway. “Your body is like a wet cement,” he told me. “Try to maintain good posture especially when you are sitting down for the next two weeks,” he continued. The imagery stayed with me, and it’s been a week so far. My pain remains gone. Since then, I enthusiastically shared with Grace. Now Grace is sold and will go for a visit in addition to a few of my friends here in KL.

Virtue TCM texted me a few days after my visit asking me how I was doing. Impressed with their follow-up, I told them great. The other day I was walking to a market, Jason spotted me from inside the shop, walked out, and asked me how I was doing, still smiling. I told him I could not be happier. I warned him there would be a few other visitors including my wife. I thank God that Jason’s big patient hands and his smiles cured me.

HAPPY ALONG THE WAY

Just the other blissfully ordinary day, we had a coffee date with a young couple through a mutual friend’s introduction. The wife is a childhood friend of a 3rd generation Korean Japanese woman who came to stay with us a few weeks ago. She found out that the couple lives next to our apartment building in Kuala Lumpur. Since we all received the news as a special coincidence and providence, she, her husband, and we were eager to meet each other.

We met at an outdoor Indonesian café on a breezy and bearable afternoon, thanks to the army of ceiling fans above. The wife works for a Japanese company in Kuala Lumpur and the husband joined her recently, also working for a Japanese company in Penang, Malaysia. Even though he was wearing a loose T-shirt, his solid chiseled upper body underneath the shirt was undeniable, and I could easily imagine him as a gym rat. Sure enough, the wife told us that his criteria for choosing an apartment in Mont Kiara squarely depended on what kind of fitness gym they had. They seemed content to be a weekend couple. But they seemed happier, living in Malaysia. They don’t see themselves going back to Japan anytime soon. We shared our pleasurable weeklong experience back in March in Tokyo, Japan while noticing their proud smile.

Incidentally, the wife studied for one year during her high school in Michigan, as the only Asian in the entire school. Serendipitously, she played high school basketball during the year. My eyes lit up as my brain made a few jumps and my quick mouth followed with a question, “Do you know any place I can play basketball around here?” Surprised by my sudden burst of energy, she met me with a grin. She quickly followed by telling me, “Oh there is a group that plays every week.” I was happy as a clam when she told me she would introduce me to the group.

Since they are our “elders” living in Kuala Lumpur and especially in Mont Kiara, we peppered them with all kinds of questions from their experience of quality of life in Malaysia to highly recommended restaurants in Mont Kiara. Satisfied with their experiences similarly matched with ours and even more satisfied with their recommendations, we said goodbye, until next time.

For a good month in June, we were given a brand-new car to use with all the plastics still covering the seats not unlike opening a brand-new laptop for the first time. A family who was to arrive in KL bought their car and it arrived well ahead of time. They graciously allowed us to use their car without us asking. After having thought twice about the offer, I decided to accept. After having driven on the right side of the car a few times before in addition to the growing familiarity with KL traffic and its flow, I was ready.

With me at the helm of the driver seat, one of the joy-filled excursions involved hitting Bib Gourmand restaurants in KL. I quickly discovered there were a total of 66 restaurants in KL that received either Michelin star(s) or Bib Gourmand selections. If you are not familiar, Bib Gourmand's selection means while the restaurants are not serving “boundary-pushing, unique” cuisines, they are still the best in offering “comforting favorites.” After “circling” the Bib Gourmand restaurants, often with one dollar sign (two at the most) attached to them, within a 10-mile radius, we were in exploration mode donning my fav KÜHL shorts with two side pockets and a pair of flip-flops. With my wife happily obliged by my side, this was a small luxury and a big fun which was not on my joy radar earlier. By now, we must have visited about 7 so far. Mostly very happy with the experience and even happier with the price of our meals.

Apart from the Bib Gourmand excursions, we also found an outstanding sushi place (which by the way was the first restaurant our new friend mentioned) within a short walking distance from our place which we frequent every time our stomach calls for sushi. Their nigiri sushi, and our favorite Chirashi Sushi, is as good as what we had from some of the best in the US and Japan. Their lunch special nigiri sushi is comparable with the price of the McDonald’s Big Mac sandwich in the US! Just yesterday, we had the best Thai food we have ever had in a mall we frequent. After noticing that the restaurant was always crowded, we decided to check it out ourselves. We ordered temptingly spicey Mango Salad, Seafood Pad Thai, what they call Drunken Seafood Master (gotta love the name) which is assorted seafood stew soup, and Claypot Rice mixed with minced pork, eggplants, and sambal (plus a pandan drink). After my first bite of everything, my entire face approved, and I was giddy with joie de vivre—I would have made Phil Rosenthal as in Somebody Feed Phil proud. Even better, we walked out with the bill that would make our friends in the US, Korea, and Singapore upset. I ate so much that we walked the entire length of the mall back and forth to digest.  

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This portion will read more like an afterthought, but it does tie things together. . . So if you have the patience, keep reading.

I have always liked John O’Donohue’s work and drank deeply from the well of his writings over the years. His Celtic spiritual heritage and imagination with his love for rugged and pristine nature and freedom rang true with mine. While I grieve his untimely death (he would be only 68 years old today), I have discovered his long-standing friendship with another Irish poet and author, David Whyte. Over time, I have come to appreciate Whyte’s works. Ok, that was a long-winded intro to what I wanted to share below by David Whyte, aptly called, We Are Here.

We are here essentially, to risk ourselves in the world. We are a form of invitation to others and to otherness, we are meant to hazard ourselves for the right thing, for the right woman or the right man, for a son or a daughter, for the right work or for a gift given against all the odds. And in all this continual risking the most profound courage may be found in the greatest risk and the greatest vulnerability, and perhaps, the greatest prize of all, the simple willingness to allow ourselves to be happy along the way …

First of all and very briefly, it is not lost on me that Whyte included “otherness”—his generous inclusion of all creation. Now to the main point: It does not escape our mind that we are here, in Asia, to risk and to risk continually. The reminder to allow ourselves to be happy along the way, perhaps the greatest prize of all, amid the greatest risk and vulnerability, cannot come at a better time. To risk is not merely to suffer for the sake of the goal or the prize. Since to hope is to risk, with frustrations and heartaches, not risking is giving up on hope. To risk means to touch the ground, smell the ground, and open and enjoy the gifts of happiness (and even to feel the goodness in our mouths).

THE MAN WHO HAS QUESTIONS

I think about aging often. The thought, especially the creative thought, I held firm in my hand evaporates without warning. The recovery time is taking longer too. Then there is already little hair left on my dome further helplessly disappears, and what is left is turning grey, with my goatee sporting more saltiness than pepperiness.

Malaysia is a young country having gained independence from the British in 1957. Currently constructed Malaysia minus Singapore came in 1963, the year of my birth. Malaysia is also a young country based on demographics. One can easily witness a sizable number of children running around the air-conditioned malls whereas countries like Korea and Japan are fighting against the historically lowest childbirth rates. In Korea, I have seen strollers carry more designer dogs than children.

The year of my birth, 1963, represents the Baby Boomer generation's last year (depending on the source). Since people are living longer, an unprecedented number of the Boomer generation is retiring at a record-setting pace, globally. The developed world is getting older. As the youngest of the Boomer gen, I have vicariously observed many who have gone before me, giving me real-time lessons about what to do and what not to do in aging well.

I confess patience and impatience coexist ironically. I have become more patient in waiting, and less patient in what I would consider rude behaviors, whether intentional or unintentional. I have become far (read FAR) less patient in snobbery, and more patient in holding compassion. But the one that irks me the most is related to people or systems who (or that) think have the answers for everything. I have become impatient with a forced prescribed way of life from those in power and privilege.

There is a growing resolve in me not to embody such a parochial and restrictive mindset, lest I hate myself. Over the recent years, I have learned to embrace tentative vocabulary like “perhaps,” “may,” or “wonder” when in conversation with others, especially the younger folks. Sometimes, my tentative posture drives them unsatisfied or even frustratingly mad. Rather than giving in to expectations, I am banking on their future selves to appreciate the free and empty space I have tried to create for them.

That was what I needed when I was younger:
Questions, not answers. . .
Wide open meadow or ocean to
wander and explore rather than
the narrow one-way straight trail to follow. . .
I wish I had been given the indescript expansive horizon, not
the clear peak of a mountain.

My wife has reminded me often that my presence cannot be ignored when in groups whether online or offline. At first, I did not know what she meant. While I am not trying to downplay my presence intentionally, I am generally more content to sit back and remain in the background.

Mary Oliver is far more gracious than I am in her poem, The Man Who Has Many Answers.

The man who has many answers
is often found
in the theaters of information
where he offers, graciously,
his deep findings.

While the man who has only questions,
to comfort himself, makes music.

The “deep” findings are deep only when one discovers them. Someone else’s deep findings may take root once we have enough of our “processed” experiences. One challenge is that many of our life’s experiences have not been processed or evaluated so they remain raw and irrelevant. Thus, one of the roles of an elder is to help others process and give words to life’s experiences. However, this process still feels linear, sequential, and logical in all these exchanges. There is nothing wrong with such, but they tend to reside in the left hemisphere of the brain functions.

Questions and music (broadly speaking, all art) open and light up the right hemisphere of our brain, allowing us to be more creative, emotional, and multi-dimensional. Images and imaginaries provide common ground for collective human experiences and invite us to join in the chorus of humanity. Incidentally, I like the notion of “comforting oneself” as the main motivation for making music. In the previous stanza, the man who has answered is often found in theaters to “offer,” albeit graciously, his deep findings. The focus of the man who has many answers lies in offering his deep findings to others whereas the focus of the man who has questions lies in comforting oneself. Perhaps thereby helping others along the way. . .

Thomas Merton’s words are so fitting and resonating, yet again.

You cannot be a man of faith unless you know how to doubt. You cannot believe in God unless you are capable of questioning the authority of prejudice, even though that prejudice may seem to be religious. Faith is not a blind conformity to a prejudice—a “pre-judgment.” It is a decision, a judgment that is fully and deliberately taken in the light of a truth that cannot be proven. It is not merely the acceptance of a decision that has been made by somebody else.

To doubt is to question, even the authorities. I would add, especially the authorities. Questioning is the beginning of faith. Faith is a subjective decision, not merely a decision (objective if I can insert that word here) made by somebody else, according to Merton.

While someone else’s deep findings may or may not inspire us, song or art often strike a chord in our souls in unguarded moments. I have lived most of my life as a man who thought he had answers (not that I am condemning myself for it) and that was good enough because that was mostly what I knew. As I age, I cannot help but see myself (or want to see myself) as one who has questions, mainly to comfort myself, and to make my own music.

INTEGRITY

This morning, I must start with snippets from Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation (from the Integrity chapter). As I finish my Poetry Studio course (really my first poetry in anything), I sense serendipity and synchronicity in reading Merton’s reflection on being a poet or a saint. I am neither though I would like to believe that I am in the making. . . We all are. . . In the fullness of time, it is not about being a poet or a saint, but about being yourself, how God made you, and what God intended.

Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives.

Hurry ruins saints as well as artists.

Humility consists in being precisely the person you actually are before God.

How do you expect to arrive at the end of your own journey if you take the road to another man’s city?

And so it takes heroic humility to be yourself and to be nobody but the man, or the artist, that God intended you to be.

These are lifetime-filled wisdom and words with “integrity.” The particularity of who we each are based on our unique life circumstances is what makes us, us. And that humility is about acceptance of who we each are. And can I add confidence and even celebration without arrogance? The world’s judging eyes mess up and muddle the process, big time, because the world says to compare and compete. The question of the fine imagery, “How do you expect to arrive at the end of your journey if you take the road to another man’s city?” packs integrity and wisdom, and is worth pondering over a lifetime.

I am finding that writing poetry is more than writing, it includes the soulful preparation of emptying hurry and urgency from my system, both known and unknown. This entire process of preparing and “being in a zone” is worth the gold. And I am learning to live with what comes out without judgment and much filtering. Often, I am surprised by what gets articulated and voiced. I want to think that I am giving God in me a voice to say what God wants to say, through me as a vehicle. And I am also at the recipients’ end along with everyone else.

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I wrote this poem below a few days ago with twelve minutes of restraint. I have not learned how to edit or if I should. As of now, I am content to let it sit, having captured it in its virginal form. Should there be a background, for some odd reason, I was reminded of my Yangpyeong days when I witnessed magnificent and intimate natural surroundings, feasting my eyes and my lungs. To my dismay, I also saw multiple eyesore carvings of the hillside to make room for building fancy homes. Though my poem does not capture it, I also was imagining the Treebeard and the Ents in the movie, The Lord of the Rings. The poem is not about making a social statement though it can be read that way. And I do not know what “stewarding nothing as useful and needy” means to me. The least I can do is to notice and appreciate. . .

When nothing is something

Oh, it’s an empty lot, barren field,
dormant hill, even an idle mountain
There is nothing, the saying goes
permission to plow
design to develop
to make something
useful and needy.

What happens when nothing is
something to begin with?
What happens when nothing really is
brimming with magnificence and wonder
which amounts to far more than our something?

Faced with somersaulting of perception and reality,
confronted with when something is nothing.
Perhaps the pinnacle of civilization arrives with the
realization of what nothing is:
To steward nothing
as useful and needy.

As an active person who is always thinking ahead type, I am contemplating organizing a group of “poets” in Asia to meet regularly to explore the depth of the particularities of our journeys, to make sure that we do not take the road to another man’s city. As the plot thickens, there definitely will be more stories from this journey.

EYE CONTACT

“Eye contacts” or to translate literally, “eye light,” was the last sentence shared by one of the guests last week. As we went down to the lobby to catch a taxi, she packed so much meaning in that one phrase. Her eyes said so, and we all felt the weight. We had all gone around and shared what one thing stood out the most during their visit. She did not have a chance to say her final words until we were together in the fast-moving elevator. Running out of time, she could not unpack what she meant but we all agreed by nodding and resonating “Hmmm.” We quickly loaded the suitcases into the taxi trunk, gave each other warm hugs, and they were on their way to the airport. Only to leave a trail of afterglow. . .

The whole trip got organized as a spur-of-the-moment decision. Back in Korea on the first day of June, we met with a missions organization director and her two staff. They were supposed to visit us while we were in Gapyeong but the trip did not materialize. Thus, the makeup plan was to have dinner before we were to fly back to Malaysia. During our coffee, I floated the idea of them visiting us in Malaysia as a fun spontaneous way to “remedy” Gapyeong. Surprisingly, the director responded enthusiastically, reshuffled their respective schedules, and they bought the tickets the next day. Less than two weeks later, we were walking the streets of Kuala Lumpur. All of us were in big-eyed disbelief at how quickly this trip came together. What spontaneous joy to host them! This was right up in my alley of spontaneity and excitement. Carpe diem was full-on display.

As part of hosting them, I had three job descriptions: driver, guide, and bodyguard as they were all women in a first-time foreign land. Later, I added one more, photographer. Two staff were my daughters’ age: 32 and 28 respectively. The older one has been married for three years. She is a third-generation Korean Japanese in charge of Christian book publishing in Japanese. She is reserved and deep, clear, and calmly assuring of her actions and words. Along with the director, we exchanged ideas for translating my book into Japanese. “That would be a riot,” I thought, with potentially unexpected open doors and opportunities in Japan. The youngest is full full-blooded vivacious Korean, newly engaged. She is a “newbie” in the missions world but a growing pro in wanting to discover her true self. Both are rail thin and wide-eyed with curiosity. Deep spiritual conversations were one of their top desires for their coming to Malaysia.

Both responded to my message and teaching with open arms and hearts when we were in Japan back in March. My wife and I have been eager to extend our conversation with them as they remind us of our daughters.

The director is a widow who lost her husband to health complications several years ago. She is one of the few women visionary founders of mission organizations in Korea. In a male-dominated world, she represents a model for “breaking the box.” So, when she asked me to serve as an advisor, I did not hesitate. Additionally, she was asking for help in the areas of soul care, the discovery of true self, and global partnership. Essentially, how imago dei meets mission dei and vice versa. . .

We roamed the streets of Kuala Lumpur from the modern fancy and opulent to the historic and gritty sides. Foods we enjoyed ranged from inexpensive local street favorites to world-class (still inexpensive) level of delicacies, from the warm night markets to the freezing malls. We went on a road trip to Malacca, the historic port city with rich colonial history and heritage. We graced the wall of hilltop St. Paul’s Church in Malacca where Francis Xavier was laid to rest for a short period before his body was transported to Goa, India. As a co-founder of the Society of Jesus, Francis Xavier was considered an “Apostle of the Far East” and an “Apostle of the Indies” in the 16th century. All the while wondering what it would have been like to be God’s ambassador at that time . . .

We plunged into the rooftop pool, tracked the neighborhood in the mornings, journaled, and hit cafés. The most meaningful, at least for me, was the nightcap routine of doing the “God Hunt” exercise where we discerned how God was with us in specific moments during the day. The sharing revolved around discovering the sacred in the ordinary and natural and extraordinary and unexpected touches of God. We engaged in Lectio Divina and offered our earnest prayers through Scripture.

After saying goodbye, my wife and I walked back to the elevator with her arm around my waist and my arm around her shoulder, empty in words but full of thanksgiving.

MORE ON POETRY

One of the tangible benefits of the online poetry studio has been the ability to pay attention. During the last two weeks, one of the prompts was to look at a scene or an image and see what arises in you. The prompt is not merely to describe in detail but to describe and project what is being evoked in you. You are to pay attention and see what floats in your mind’s and heart’s imagination.

As you are paying attention, you are to let it flow out of you without filtering and self-critiquing thoughts. I discovered that I do not often know where I am going when I begin writing. I find this fascinating and exhilarating. It is almost like I am learning to excavate beyond the known self and explore deep into the hidden and subliminal self. I do not have lots of data with me yet. But often I am invariably surprised by what is coming out of me. At the same time, some of my deepest-held values (I would like to think they are congruous with God’s characters) are finding their poetic imagination and voices.

To use Richard Rohr’s often quoted sayings with a bit of a twist, “How I see anything is how I see everything.” (Rohr says, “How I do anything is how I do everything.”) Paying attention is the beginning of devotion, I am learning. If I see one thing with loving and compassionate eyes long enough, I can see Reality as God intended. I am closer to seeing what is being seen, not what I want to see. Seeing what is being seen requires an absence of comparisons and judgment.

God sees us what is being seen, full of mercy and acceptance, regardless of the state that we are in. That level of seeing moves us closer to God and God’s unconditional seeing. God’s eyes are full of compassion always and forever.

Devotion comprises an honest poetic portrayal of our heart, even against God. The angriest Psalm (Psalm 44) does not come across as being rebellious unto God, but exactly the opposite, faithful. (I love that the Bible includes such a “blasphemous” and rebellious Psalm!) Psalm 44’s faithful rendition is based on the Israelites’ experiences of God’s faithfulness in the past and the perceived lack or absence in the present. God is that generous to our honesty and devotion if I can call it that. God calls us to pay attention to our hearts and be truthful. Which translates into devotion. And the devotion can even be called worship.

By paying attention, the illusion loses its grip and vigor. Attention penetrates and dissolves illusions like mists in the early morning. I cannot pay attention unless I slow down. Paying attention is directly proportional to slowing down. The speed of life particularly in Malaysia after recent busy travels gifts me with a slower pace, and thus ample room for paying attention. I know this may be a passing season, so I am learning to revel in it. This poetry studio could not have come in at a better time.

One more processing thought. So far, writing poetry has been a string of multiple internal fights against doubt. I often find myself doubting and questioning. I have had to remind myself, “Trust yourself. Trust the process.” I am also drawn to poetry of nature more than any category. As a city boy all my life, the first Yangpyeong one-month stay back in 2022 has significantly opened my eyes, imagination, and appreciation for nature. I find myself yearning for more.

Poetry as a discipline slows me down and invites me to pay attention to a world I happen to be inhibiting and where the interior self meets the external reality. I do not know where this stage of life will take me, but for now, I am full of vibrant engagement with an open-handed posture.

POETRY STUDIO

After earnest inner debate, I signed up for an online poetry class, offered by CenterQuest School of Spiritual Direction’s Lifelong Learning Community. I debated because it is one thing to like, bordering love, poetry, it would be a completely different matter to write poetry. The discovery of poetry as something I love came from a startling exploration during COVID-19.

Unlike other more direct, logical, and binary writing genres, poetry holds generous and free space for contradictions, mystery, and wonder without needing conclusions. (If conclusion, one would have to wonder “whose” and “why” conclusion.) The vast space allows for questions and self-discovery and a sacred meeting ground between what is universal and personal. Poetry does not plunder mystery with concepts. Poetry questions and invites us to ponder and search deep within and look for connections both intra-personally and universally. Poetry is a way of seeing and knowing beyond my immediate self which paradoxically includes me. Poetry because of its bountiful silence could pass as a language of God.

My biggest cheerleader has been my wife, nudging me ever so gently to take a stab at writing poetry. Perhaps she saw something in me that I had not seen. All in all, I semi-hypnotize myself as if this is just one class. So, I am not making a big deal out of this. Which by the way comes in handy so I can conveniently save myself from making a fool of myself if needed. At the same time, it is a step, a deliberate one. One thing is for sure: I know I am curious more than anything. Years ago, for fun, we along with another couple decided to enter a pitch-dark cavernous passage in Cappadocia Turkey with no lights on, Moving what was less than 20 yards seemed like an eternity. We were on our fours, crawling and groping in darkness. This poetry studio feels like that.

I have tried to write and poke at poetry before, but looking back, I tried too hard to be perfect and precise. It did not feel natural. I was too serious, and not having fun. During our first online session, the instructor gave the participants prompts to write on two separate occasions. The first was to write an acrostic poem, using my first name, C-H-O-N-G. She gave us 10 minutes. Later, she read a poem and told us to use the poem as a launching pad to go in whichever direction we wanted to go. This time within 12 minutes. Since there were time limits, I had to let it fly without much filtering and “perfecting” (as if I could do so). I let my hands do the work and lines flowed out based on my recent life experiences. Surprisingly, the time restriction was more helpful than I initially feared.

This class was attractive because it was combined with spiritual direction principles. We are not critiquing each other’s works (I am not sure if I can survive such a class), but essentially holding space for all to access inner reality and be faithful in the moment. No room and effort is made to judge and comment on each other’s works. We are to merely notice and share responses based on our own life experiences. As the course is aptly named, “Ordinary Words, Extraordinary Grace: Writing from the Heart,” I experienced the sacred in our ordinary and the moment.

During the week, I was given another assignment to write a poem, describing a scene I was in, again with a time limit of 12 minutes. No filtering and editing. The poem was not merely to narrate but to project an image that was being evoked in me and to express energy and meaning. I had known that poetry is sacred and intimate before and I am scratching the surface of vulnerability. More than anything, this opportunity permits me to plumb the depths of my interiority and perhaps even alternate consciousness I do not yet know I possess and have words.

For a day, my wife and I decided to act like tourists in Kuala Lumpur. To start our venture for the day, I found a café converted from a 100-year-old heritage home where the old and new collide. After a few sips of cappuccino, I put the timer on. And this. I later titled it, “Bliss and Birds.”

Date with my sweetness,
surrounded in the vertical world of grey and red blocks, trees and
sky. With my head tilted, my eyes climb up and down.

Inside an old building turned into a modern chic café,
cages hang vertically from the tall ceiling,
without birds,
the main attraction.

Wondered why at first, then relieved of their emptiness.

I welcome the emptiness of planning, blank stares
toward efficiency. I welcome freedom of imagination of the vertical world of
how high I can go. What can I see from above?
Those who have learned to
let go and emptied. At last, it is a
free world of bliss and birds.

BRAVE ARTISTS

Today came with a gift of surprise and deepening and widening friendship. Lee Kyunghwa, a bakery chef, who we had befriended serendipitously a couple of years ago invited us to attend Lee Eunkyung’s art exhibit right in the heart of Chungdamdong, a posh neighborhood in Gangnam, Seoul. We had circled the date and looked forward with unarticulated anticipation. A year ago, at Kwak Jiwon Bakery, we ran into an art exhibit hosted by Chef Lee Kyunghwa. The artist was Lee Eun Kyung. My wife and I held intimate personal conversations with the artist who was a stranger at the time. (I wrote about my first encounter with her and her works in my blog on May 30, 2023.) Last fall, she got hold of my book and read cover to cover. Soon after, she came to my book concert at the bakery. (Kwak Jiwon Bakery has become a magical place of connection and solidarity where we can hold spiritual conversation based on human experiences without using religious jargon and churchy language.) At the time, she coyly showed me the sentences she underlined and even drew sketches on the book's margins as if she did not want to lose her inner prompt. I was honored and humbled at the time.

So, when Chef Lee invited us to the Artist Lee’s exhibit, we did not hesitate. Gallery Doo was a small gallery in the basement with only about 600 sq. ft, understandable given the prime location. The four walls were covered tastefully and chronologically with the original paintings which showed the progression of the artist’s works. The theme of the exhibit can be translated as “Inner Light: The Journey.” Even from my ignorant eyes, I could see the drastic change in her style from the 2023 exhibit to now. We arrived half an hour late from the agreed time, thanks to the unpredictable nature of Seoul traffic.

Immediately after we entered and had a chance to scan the room, the Artist Lee almost ran toward us and wore a big smile on her face. My wife gave her a warm hug and I shook her hands with joy and admiration. Before we could say anything meaningful, she said that this entire exhibit was a direct inspiration from my book. She thanked me repeatedly for coming and for my book. Others would ask her what significant change was all about and she would show and read portions of my book as the source of her inspiration. For a few seconds, gratefulness and honor swallowed any spoken words out of my mouth. She “studied” and meditated through my book and was affirmed, what was already in her, with an understanding that she has the Light in her that makes her seek after God, the Supreme Being. And that nature is the decisive linkage and the teacher for the desired connection—thus, the journey. The journey is possible because they are all one to begin with. And yet, a journey must take place for us to experience the oneness. The destination is far less important than the journey itself. What matters is journeying amid all the messiness, hardship, and difficulties (in the present tense).

Once others arrived later, as we sat around a small table in the middle of the room, she read the introductory paragraph to her exhibit and walked around the room to share with us what she intended to capture. I share her intro paragraph (loosely translated) from Korean to English below.

The deepest contemplation we must make in our lives is to look to our own inner light.
My paintings depict
nature and faith that I encountered on my journey to find my inner light.
And expressed with extreme simplicity.

When I look at nature, the light it gives me connects me to the light of life.
Through it, I found my inner light.

It was a time of growth.
Nature repeats the same cycle of spring, summer, fall, and winter, and when flowers and trees come to life and die, flowers and trees find life in another place.
But we get used to the repetitive flow of nature and take it for granted.
It becomes a meeting place between God and humans, and it is also a source of realizing the truth of life.

Nature, where God and man meet
To feel the ultimate connection in simplicity
heart or expression
were abandoned over and over again.

Abandonment was emptying.
Emptying was fullness.
Fullness led to finding the light within.
and that light was love.

I hope that those of you who stand before my paintings will take time to contemplate deeply to see that love in each of your inner beings.

Another artist named Kim Jose was at the event. He and I crossed paths previously as he did a live drawing event a few weeks before my book concert at Yeonnamdong, Seoul last fall. Chef Lee who hosted both events told me earlier about the live drawing show with a professional modern dancer, music, and artist Kim who spontaneously painted following the flow and mood of the dance, music, and audience. I have seen the large, impressive painting in the bakery. Chef Lee introduced me and my wife to Artist Kim who could with no trouble pass as one of the K-pop idols, tall, slender, and handsome with plenty of hair and fair skin. Two hours later, at the prompt of Chef Lee, we migrated over to artist Kim’s exhibit which happened to be only five minutes away in the same neighborhood. Artist Kim is a gifted 32-year-old who studied in France for five years while trying to make ends meet. Following an unconventional route that can easily be looked down upon, especially in Korea, he openly shared many bumps, wounds, and detours in life, all expressed in his art.

For the first time, I attended two art exhibits in one day and interacted with the artists. I shared with Artist Kim that I admire both his and artist Lee’s bravery in embracing everything in life, especially the desolation, without filtering, rejecting, or judging. Artist Kim said, “I initially started drawing to access my inner life and landscape in all honesty and vulnerability, now I realize my art can be a gift to others.”

That so sounds like “wounded healer,” the Gospel. Artists Lee and Kim gave me the gift of courage and determination to continue to live my life, uncharted and still not yet traveled. I remind myself that heaven is not merely a destination, but a journey itself.

Before we said goodbye, we all circled another date, the last day of October, when all of us would get together with other artists, musicians, bakers, authors, etc in Yangpyeong. I cannot wait for what October 31st may bring.

Inner Light: The Journey by Lee Eun Kyung

Inner Light: The Journey by Lee Eun Kyung

Kim Jose

Kim Jose

Kim Jose

LOVE IS A MIRROR

Last week, I was invited to give an all-day lecture at a missionary training center in Seoul. The director whom I have had a few opportunities to sit down and hold conversation in recent years agreed rather enthusiastically on the topic I suggested: my life journey and lessons learned. Encouraged by the director’s response, I looked forward to what God had in store for us. I left the house well before 6 in the morning and arrived close to 8. After fully waking myself up with Starbucks Americano and breakfast sandwiches (as most cafes do not open until 10 or 11 am), I was ready for the full day.

After a short but embarrassingly auspicious introduction, I was given the “mic” to lecture until 4:30 pm. Before I shared my life’s journey in less than twenty short minutes, I invited them to pay attention to my story not as a window merely looking into my life to learn what they need to learn, but as a mirror to “read” and reflect on their journeys. A few days ago, I requested the director to create a seating arrangement in one big circle. There were roughly 20 people, half were brand-new recruits and the other half were experienced workers. After painting a broad sketch of my life journey in words, I facilitated the next two hours going through a series of questions for them to examine their lives from past to present and to project into the future. They were given time to reflect individually and to share in pairs and large groups.

From my vantage point, they were wide-eyed, lively, and engaged. Lively and engaged because it involved their own stories. Using the familiar and yet unfamiliar concepts of “imago dei” and loving oneself as introductory foundations, generous permissive space was created for them to own and explore the depths of their beings. While it was not the first time for them to “review” their lives, I projected that missions most likely flowed out of denying or even “hating” oneself rather than both loving the world and loving oneself. Or at least, that was the case for me. The concept of denying oneself in the Bible has more to do with denying false desires and pursuit of false selves rather than loving one’s true self. We all are part of the world God loves. Nobody sits outside of the world God loves as if one does not need God’s love. Thus, there is ample room for loving the world and loving ourselves. We do not and must not pick one over the other.

There were also eyes of honest and curious skepticism, I sensed. Questions were raised about the relationship between pursuing the desires of one’s heart and the important role of a community whether it is a church or other faith community one belongs to. In so many words, I tried to encourage and give permission, as if I could, for the people to put a heavier emphasis on focusing on one’s vocation stemming from the heart. The natural tendency in Korea is to put more weight on the community to the detriment of individuals’ pursuit of discovering authentic selves. The downside of the collectivistic mindset nulls and numbs people into faceless and un-unique beings. Conformity and love can never coexist. Conformity imprisons while love frees. Conformity builds and protects while love gives and empties. Conformity is a powerful shaping tool in the hands of a tyrant or even an ignorant wannabe saint. Love is a powerful creative energy in and by the One who is nothing but love.

Ultimately, we cannot and should not divide the pursuit of our true selves apart from the community. I exist because the community does. The community exists because I do. The relationship between “I” and “we” (however we define it), is not a matter of balance, but integration. I rely on Thomas Merton yet again. To Merton, “community” is as expansive as humanity. I am not only a member of the community I belong to, but an integral and indispensable member of the entire world community. I find this concept mysteriously generous and viscerally enticing. Carl Rogers’ dictum of “What is most personal is most universal” rings true. I do not have to try to connect with the world. I already am since I am a human being.

I MUST look for my identity, somehow, not only to God but in other men. I will never be able to find myself if I isolate myself from the rest of mankind as if I were a different kind of being.

UNION AS CONSENT AND CONNECTION

I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us,[f] so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. (John 17:20-23, NRSV)

While nature simply exists as she consents to God in her true imprint and inviolate embodiment of God’s infinite wisdom, humanity is fundamentally different in its existence. Thomas Merton observed, “God leaves us free to be whatever we like.” This existential freedom makes and breaks people. No one gets it right as we are all born with false self; over time, our false self disguises itself as real or true self. The freedom God granted becomes a stumbling block, which is not God’s fault (God is that loving, neither to control nor impose). After enough and constant failures of the false self exerting its freedom (really un-freedom) of isolation and disconnectedness, trying desperately to save oneself, we come to our senses and realize that there is a deeper and timeless yearning for our true self, for connection. The same fundamental freedom peels off of one’s false self and aids in discovering one’s pure virginal self.

The act of consent is less about passive or the reluctant kind. Instead, it is more about the active form of consent enabling us to trust that God is a God of perfector through every situation in life. God is not the author of every thing that happens in life, especially ill wills, harm, and clear evil in this world, but God is the perfector of our faith. The consent includes different life stages and unique circumstances unfolding before us. All in all, the greatest and primary consent revolves around how God created each of us to be. The undeniable best use of our freedom from God is the freedom to consent to God’s original design of our lives. A big yes to how God created each one of us is a BIG YES to God the Creator. Ultimately, we use the freedom God gives us to consent and receive freedom to live each of our lives which drives us back to God.

The vision of our sanctification Jesus prayed for does not end with our consent. It moves us toward profound realization and consciousness of connection. Christ in God, God in Christ, I in God, God in me, I in Christ, Christ in me, Christ in all, all in Christ, God in all, all in God, I in all, all in me. The connection Jesus prayed for is the seeing, believing, and living that God, Christ, the world, and I are one. I do not know how this is possible except to say “Amen” to Jesus’ prayer. Words fail me to describe, but I tantalizingly and fleetingly know, experientially, this to be true.

As part of our Gapyeong hospitality, depending on the group, I sometimes facilitate certain portions of our time going through different exercises. We had three women friends in their early 40s who have known each other since college and their husbands come over for the weekend (including two preteenagers and a teenager). After breakfast, we huddled around an outdoor table adjacent to the house. I had them do three quick exercises in less than ten minutes: listen to the sound of nature, gaze into the sky, and fix their eyes on one nature scene (as big as a distant mountain or a small shrub on the ground). All three exercises were done while keeping silent. As it is hauntingly quiet here, one can hear the sound of nature as pristine as one can listen to: all kinds of birds, wind, occasional chicken cooing, stream flowing, and even insects sans cars. (Speaking of which, the deafening sound of the frogs as soon as the sun skips over the mountain is both numbing and therapeutic.) The sky was gorgeous with fast morphing cumulous clouds both near and far. Some observed the far mountain while others observed seemingly insignificant plants or shrubs around the house.

We spent the next two hours sharing what we heard and saw. I did not instruct them to search their hearts as they engaged in the exercises. I asked them to listen and see. What an amazing connection they effortlessly made between nature and our souls! By paying attention to nature, we each received distilled grace-filled messages from within which means to say from God. As I participated in the exercises, one invitation floated to the surface: live a life of un-striving. As I listened and watched the sky and a vulnerable weed flower, I realized that their existence was striving free. They existed as what God created them to be. In those two brief hours of observing, sharing, and holding space for one another, we experienced oneness with nature, our true self, and God.

Thus, our sanctification moves from consenting to God what God has willed long before our presence here on earth in discovering our true self to seeing our distinct true self connected to everything else God created (all humanity, nature, and then the cosmos) and foremostly God including the Triune God. Thus, my sanctification is not all about me in my relationship with God only but benefits EVERYTHING because I am part of ALL.

It is appropriate that I end with Richard Rohr who expounds on the connection well.

“To be a person of faith means we see things—people, animals, plants, the earth—as inherently connected to God, connected to ourselves, and therefore, absolutely worthy of love and dignity. That’s what Jesus is praying for: that we could see things in their unity, in their connectedness.”

“I will go so far as to say that the more we can connect, the more of a saint we are, The less we can connect, the less transformed we are. If we can’t connect with people of other religions, classes, or races, with our “enemies” or with those who are suffering, we’re not very converted. Truly transformed individuals are capable of a universal recognition. They see that everything is one.”

I DON'T WANT TO LIVE A SMALL LIFE

I don’t want to live a small life. Open your eyes,
open your hands. I have just come
from the berry fields, the sun

kissing me with its golden mouth all the way
(open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds
following along thinking perhaps I might

feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes
only to you. Look how many small
but so sweet and maybe the last gift

I will bring to anyone in this
world of hope and risk, so do
Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.

Mary Oliver

The first line of the poem got me this morning. I have uttered something similar before. However, what I spoke before primarily centered around what I could do by pursuing what I thought was God-given and God-sized missions. To be more precise, not living a small life revolved around self-prescribed missions by bringing God into my life’s pursuit. I would dare admit and say it was about me, but at the same time, I thought I knew God and how God worked.

Here on the outskirts of Gapyeong, it is hard to be small, surrounded by nature with the sound and sight of water, fields, mountains, and the sky, not to mention the smell of cows nearby. I notice my heart expanding proportionately to what I can see and hear.

I am also reminded of T.S. Elliot’s more forceful sentence “We shall not cease from exploration . . . ”

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”[1]

Unceasing exploration and not wanting to live a small life are at least closely related if not congruous. Oliver’s imaginary remedy of how not to live a small life is laid out throughout the poem, beginning with the following sentence“Open your eyes, open your hands.” The “small” life is a closed life, the opposite of an open life. A closed life is living with answers, self-prescribed and self-protected answers. A closed life is unbendable, thus rigid, and tediously planned and managed without seeking input or receiving help. A closed life lacks exploration and dare. A closed life has not learned to let go and thus hold things tight. Could it be that we close our eyes and close our hands because we think we have figured things out?

Then, Oliver uses the same word, small, offering how not to live a small life—by opening our hands and offering “small,” sweet “berries,” and perhaps the last gift in this world of hope and risk. Oliver brilliantly uses the same word and issues the adamant declaration and offers a shy solution. One way to live an un-small life is to present our small gifts by opening our hands. And it doesn’t have to be the enormous and heroic feat of doing the impossible of feeding the wind-winged clouds.

A few days ago, I had an awkward opportunity, riddled with risk, to give a small gift to the “world.” We were driving to the nearby town of Yangpyeong to visit Kwakjiwon Bakery. We stopped to buy some gimbap at a restaurant we visited and liked last year. After we ordered the gimbap, we were told to wait a few minutes. While waiting, our eyes were aimlessly looking around the tastefully decorated but empty restaurant as it was early for lunch. Our eyes naturally followed the collection of books on the shelf right above the sitting tables. I was attracted to the titles of the books. This was no ordinary gimbap restaurant, so I thought. As we picked up the food, I asked, “Who owns all these books?” The woman who handed me the gimbap said, “It’s me” with a tint of shyness. I told her I liked the titles she collected. She responded even more shyly that she read most of the books in the store. The thought of gifting my book to the owner entered and hovered in the background and the hesitant second-guessing thought fought in my head.

As I was walking out, I knew I would regret not offering my book. After half overcoming my abashment, I riskily asked the owner if she would like to receive the book I wrote. She surprisingly replied so enthusiastically that my embarrassment was quickly replaced with hope and curiosity. I promptly got the book out of the car, autographed it, and handed it to her. As she waited for my autograph, she told a story that she had just lost her dear grandfather last night. While still grieving in the morning. she received my book as a surprise gift from heaven. She teared up as she shared. As we walked toward the car, my wife patted my shoulder approvingly and told me, “I’m glad you followed your inner prompt.”

Living a life of small generosity and a small desire to be of help is a way of open life and open hands, connecting myself to the world and vice versa. The un-small life is a simply generous, present, available life. The un-small life brings to the world what we can, even if they are small, from our open hands. The open life I seek lets me say boldly “I shall not cease from exploration. . . ”

[1] T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Gardners Books; Main edition, April 30, 2001) Originally published 1943.”

GAPYEONG HOSPITALITY

On April 5, I wrote these two paragraphs while in Malaysia.

This morning, I catch myself daydreaming about spring, a spring that never is from where we are. When we were in Japan in mid-February, we were told that we would miss the burst and bloom of the Cherry Blossom trees by only a few days. Except for a few trees that did not get the memo and teased us about what was to come, most trees were dormant like dead winter. I realize I now have the capacity to daydream because I spent the last three Springs in Korea except this year. By the time we return to Korea in late April, cherry blossoms would be long gone but the brighter and assorted Royal azaleas would be getting ready to full bloom. I suppose if one lived through a doldrum grey and occasional white of winter, spring unfurls one’s eyes in the full spectrum of colors. The feasting of festive soft pastel colors readjusts our eyes and awakens our souls to new possibilities. Even without the array of colors, the newly budding fluorescent green leaves rival the flowers’ beauty. Another round of life, at least the visible, begins again.

We live in a land of perennial summer, tropical summer of deep greens as opposed to the pastel kind. There is not a stretch of time when we cannot rely on air conditioners, day and night. I know some sleep at night without the air conditioner. I am not there yet. And I am not volunteering to make that a goal of mine to accomplish that feat. I am far from complaining because we would take the summer over cold winter, any time. Besides, one does not need much clothing in summer—I can live simpler.

A few days ago, we arrived at an Airbnb in Gapyeong, north of Yangpyeong, in Korea. What I imagined while in Malaysia is in full display from our windows looking out into the rice fields, vineyards, greenhouses, and near and far mountains. I discovered that there is Mt. Unak right nearby and it boasts of being known as one of the most beautiful mountains in Gyunggi Province. I tell myself I will climb to the top one of these days. . . Depending on how the wind blows, we are reminded that cows are nearby as Gapyeong is known by cattle and dairy farms. The rice farmers are busily preparing the fields now by having them flooded with water to plant rice stocks. Soon, the rice fields will look like well-manicured lakes, reflecting the mountains and the sky. The most dominant feature of this place involves how utterly quiet it is. We can practically whisper to each other from across the room and still can hear. Last night, as the water filled up the rice fields, frogs came to life, making a chorus loud enough to pass as a blaring alarm.

May in Gapyeong boasts amazing weather, low 50s at night and mid-70s during the days. In May, we will host people during the weekends and a few weekdays here at our Airbnb. When I ran a book club last fall, I shared I would run several “Pilgrim retreats” based on my book, From a Pilgrim to a Pilgrim. Our weekends are booked solid, and we look forward to hosting people.

———————————

I began re-reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation a few days ago. I first read it more than 10 years ago, and it changed my life. While I am curious to find out what I underlined and what I wrote on the margins then, I am just as curious as to what I will be drawn to now, many years later. The words below caught my heart this time.

Contemplation, on the contrary, is the experiential grasp of reality as subjective, not so much “mine” (which would signify “belonging to the external self”) but “myself” in existential mystery. Contemplation does not arrive at reality after a process of deduction, but by an intuitive awakening in which our free and personal reality becomes fully alive to its own existential depths, which open out into the mystery of God.

Some of my often-used words are in this small paragraph: experiential, subjective, mystery, free, and fully alive. The retreat would merely be a space where we can be free to explore the depths of our fully aliveness which can only be subjective and ushers in the meeting place between our existential mystery with the mystery of God.

MOONS SHINING OVER ME

“They are the moons shining over me” was the last sentence I finished today from Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of the Bees: A Novel. Two worlds and times collided when I was reading the novel by Kidd in Malaysia. Here I was entrenched in the thick tropics of Southeast Asia city life In 2024, I was transported back to the deep south small town of America in 1964, the year of the Civil Rights Act and the pinnacle of racial tensions. The only thing that was common with something I could easily identify would be the unbearable humid heat during summer. Since I had never lived outside of California in the US, I relied on images and scenes from random movies and historical footage from that era while reading the novel.

The novel is not the kind of novel I would naturally pick. But when we were packing to come to Asia, Kidd’s book came into the line of my view multiple times for me to notice my noticings. I know it was the unusual title that captivated my curiosity. I had admired Kidd’s writings before, so I placed the book in our large suitcase without registering it as a novel. Besides, both Kidd and I have been deeply impacted by Thomas Merton’s writings. Though the main storyline is riveting with multiple sub-themes, it is slow, filled with glorious and unforgettable tedious details without the kinds of fast-paced, page-turning storyline and action I usually look for in novels, no guns blazing, no swashbuckling, no battles, etc. The protagonists are all women, a teenage white girl, and a host of “colorful” colored women. Even then, from the first page, I found myself drawn to underline the masterfully detailed descriptive words and phrases. More than once, I forgot I was reading a novel. I thought I was reading Kidd’s biography. I felt like I was watching a well-directed movie the whole time. Out of my reverence, I must have told myself and my wife that I would love to write like her. Every single word means and contributes to the overall character development and the storyline: no wasted movements (or in this case, words) like a highly skillful surgeon.

Written, spoken, and sung have incredible power, especially those that provoke imagination and imagery. In the imaginative space, our own evoked stories merge and hold conversations with other stories without anyone forcing prescribed answers from outside. (There may be “answers” from outside, but when one starts with answers from outside, we are robbed of the opportunity of the freedom to discover from within and own our authentic stories.) In the imaginative space, we feel safe to ponder our stories in relationship to the fictional but “real” (often more real than real) stories from the books. I dare to say “real” and authentic because the novels often contain universal truths. Authenticity assumes and arrives after slow simmering and sometimes necessary meandering self-discovery. Our journeys start with unique and personal truths and arrive at perennial and universal truths, thus making us feel like we are a small part of a much bigger humanity. I find it hard to accept that we would start from universal knowing somehow landing it as personal knowing. Thus, we build compassion and solidarity with universal knowing only when we are capable of arriving at personal and unique knowing based on our stories. Otherwise, the universal knowing remains as wooden head knowledge or information, functioning opposite of free and hospitable space but imprisonment for oneself and others.

A part of my current life trajectory identifies with Kidd’s novel, especially the last line. The last line contains a universal truth in that there are “moons” shining over us, whoever and wherever we are. When the moon appears, it is never as bright or harsh as the sun. The moon's light is so subtle that it is hardly noticeable in some cases depending on the shades of the moon. The gradient of light far exceeds that of the sun. Moon embraces darkness, different shades, as its own and does not reject the darkness. As life is filled with far more grey than simple black and white, people who have embraced the “grey” well can hold the space of “grey” in others. They are gentle and compassionate in that they would not shine harsh black and white sunlight in a judgmental tone. They infuse grace because they have experienced grace in the midst of different shades of light and darkness. Self-compassion, exercised as com-passion for multiplicity and various shades of oneself, always comes before com-passion, I came across this quote by Pema Chödrön, an American Tibetan-Buddhist nun. “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”

I too have “moons” shining over me, those who simply hold the space of both light and darkness and all the complex shades of being human in between. This spirituality of the moon—nonbinary thinking and posture—has catapulted me to God’s expansive and unconditional grace over and over again. I would also love to be a moon for some God puts in my life’s path and story.

RITUAL OF LEAVING AND ARRIVING

There should have been a warning, a fair warning for deep spiritual and emotional encounters, to come with a stash of tissues. As part of the Closing Residency of CenterQuest Asia Pilot School of Spiritual Direction, “Ritual of Leaving” was slotted toward the end of the Closing Residency program. As a guest for both the Opening Residency last January and the Closing Residency (CR) last week, I had the privilege of attending the bookend retreats without the rumored rigorous work for 16 months in between. As one of only three guests during the “Ritual of Leaving,” I was invited to participate in the ritual if I felt led. I knew immediately I was to participate and join in the ritual, whatever the form. While I did not share the depth of intimacy and solidarity among the cohort and the mentors, I have developed meaningful friendships with a handful of trainees and mentors including two Korean brothers.

The warm ambient lighting and calm and expectant presence of the people enveloped the large empty room enough for some 60 people. The chairs were placed in one large circle since the first day of the CR when each person placed a symbol that encapsulates their experiences of the entire training. On the first day, the symbols were presented by each person and put in the middle of the room by groups forming a big circle with six spokes, like a wagon wheel which is the CenterQuest’s symbol. In the middle of the circle was the big candle with three wicks, representing the embodying Presence of the Trinity. The symbols remained in the middle of the room throughout the week reminding all that transpired during the training.

We sat in a big circle with no empty chairs in between, waiting for instructions for the ritual. The instructions were straightforward to follow. We were to go around in two layers of circles, essentially being face to face with everyone twice, once for “giving” and the other for “receiving.” As one approaches the other face to face, the one who approaches gazes into the other’s eyes for a few seconds and bows down with hands folded across one’s chest (heart), gesturing more than a simple respectful bow. Then the recipient was to do the same. No words. No hugs. But with plenty of eye contact showering each other with honor, appreciation, and love. The holy hush cascaded down, the unknowable yet knowable divine hijacked the simple human form of gaze and bow.

This was not the first time I had engaged in such practice. But never with these many people. By this time, I have spoken to most of them, and have engaged in deep and honest conversations.

Some eyes were shy, warm eyes, eyes that were gentle and tender, eyes that were compassionate. They were loving eyes because of being loved and graceful because of being graced. They were the very eyes of Jesus because they were little Jesus-es. Christ in me saw and witnessed the Christ in others. Christs were everywhere, overwhelmingly, yet elusively, representing divine shyness. They peered into my soul and I into them. I felt like my soul was naked and bare before the others, not the fearful or the shaming kind but the loving kind that transported me back to the “Garden” before the Fall in the generous bosom of my God.

Some bowed 90 degrees and held their heads low longer than any other time I was bowed to. Some less so. But all were thoughtful and intentional. Gazing took longer and longer. Less than five minutes into the ritual, tears flowed and flowed freely. Collective sniffling followed like a chorus of heavenly choir. My heart became so full that I had to take deep breaths between each person. As I bowed, I began to notice the feet of others. In a few instances, I felt compelled to touch and bless the feet. They were utterly human, the “bottom” part of a human or humanity. Because they were utterly human, beauty took hold of tangible human form, and I felt they needed to be honored.

Then my wife came and stood in front of me. Our years together, with all the highs and the lows, in wisdom and foolishness, and courage and cowardice, flashed before me in a few seconds. In a few seconds, we held years’ worth of intimate conversations. For a few seconds, we stood “naked” and innocent, and we were joyfully lost dancing in the “Garden.” In a few seconds, I must have thanked God a thousand times and more that she is my wife. That we are to live this life TOGETHER.

“The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” Meister Eckhart, a mystic and a saint, observed. The eye through which I saw others is the same eye through which others saw me. During the ritual, my eye and others’ eyes were one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love. Additionally, God saw us through our eyes. God’s eye and our eye became one, culminating in one seeing, one knowing, and one love. In the end, the ritual of leaving turned into the ritual of arriving in one love.

“BECAUSE WE LOVED”

We are on the road again. Willie Nelson’s old and familiar jingle “On the Road Again” plays faintly in the back of my mind. This time, back to the Philippines for the Closing Residency of CenterQuest Asia’s Pilot Cohort. We scheduled for a Grab taxi at an ungodly hour in the morning. The speedometer was hitting close to 94 miles per hour as I was still half asleep. In my slumber, I found myself trying hard to ascertain a flat muffled song from his radio. I really did not have to or want to. Perhaps I was trying to keep my mind occupied with something else than a flying taxi. After a full minute, I realize it is “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. The driver got us in record time which will never be broken at Kuala Lumpur International Airport. I was thankful he got us to the airport “Uber” fast and in one piece. After a brief hesitation, I gave the driver five stars on the Grab app.

I attended the Opening Residency last January which coincided with my 60th birthday. Right after the participants sang the birthday song for me which landed on me as an unmerited favor, I was given time to say something to the group of people who were strangers only days earlier. After a week of fellowship and sharing as “Grace’s husband,” I uttered an unrehearsed statement saying, “Thank you. I came because I wanted to support my wife. You were Grace’s community. But after a week, I feel like you have become my community.” I was surprised by what came out of me. My mouth beat my intuition to the punch. Though people clapped for acceptance and encouragement, the sound of clapping got drowned by what I was trying to process my utterance.

Afterward, I have been in touch with a few participants until now. I am still participating as a guest, but my hope and anticipation in hearing their journeys firsthand are several notches higher this time. This coming week represents an opportunity and invitation to develop newer friendships. Seeds got planted last year. This week will be a time to water and nourish the plants.

On my flight, the duet song by Choi Jung Hoon of Jannabi and Kang Minkyung called “Because We Loved” is on a loop mode for close to two hours. This is not uncommon for me as one particular song or music will grab me, and I would be stuck with it, ad infinitum. The lyric is a poignant story of lovers’ shared past, but the strong melody sans lyric is what captivated my heart. The harmonious melody provided the empty canvas for my mind to wander into reflecting and celebrating all the friendships in my life.

Some have been forged well over four decades while some are newer, journeying in the same direction. As we get older, new relationships are just as precious mainly because our ways are more refined and defined by who we are becoming. Thus, we naturally look for and resonate with people who tend to be walking on the same narrow path. Some are much older and richer with life experiences than me while some are decades younger and more energetic. Age is not a barrier but a doorway into expansive vicarious wisdom. When I was younger, I, without knowing, used to categorize and compartmentalize my friends, i.e. ministry, college, church, basketball, etc. I kissed the categorization goodbye.

Friendship represents comfort and security like well-worn gloves. Friendship embraces anticipation and surprises of the unknowns through each other’s stories unfolding. Friendship acts as a mirror to one’s own soul’s discovery and becoming. Friendship is like a spring well that continually gifts courage to live one’s authentic life. Friendship is a sanctuary of rest and a haven of bliss for one’s weary and tired soul. Friendship accrues memory bank deposits full of tears despair and hilarity, sweat from exhaustion and exhilaration, breakthroughs and miracles that are both unique and universal. Friendship celebrates differences over uniformity. Truly, no man is and ought to be an island. Being the oldest tale since the time of the plurality of humans, friendship bonds disparate and isolated souls. After all, Nelson’s song’s third line captures, “The life I love is makin' music with my friends.”

While I am responsible for living my life, friendship offers wider and deeper seeing, knowing, and coloring that ultimately aids my journey. While it is true that the authenticity of others’ journeys has a deep impact on my own, I first must be true to my becoming. That is the only and the best thing I can offer as a friend to others.

Friendship wears a badge of honor, celebrating the long tradition of what is good in humanity. Friendship is a living proof of grace at work. Ultimately, friendship is an embodiment of love, love that is not perfect but love that is learning to be perfect and whole, shaping us to be love and do love. Thus, drawing us all closer to God and to be in union with God, who is nothing but Love.

BREAKFAST IS READY

My feet are always on fire as in F-I-R-E. Apart from walking and working out, I have no need or want for closed-toe shoes. Predictably, I resort to my fav flip-flop not only in my neighborhood but in and around Southeast Asia. My signature airport fashion outfit is a pair of cheap brown or black flip-flops. Including the freedom of my toes, I like the slapping sound it generates rhythmically. What I cannot figure out is why my feet get hot. The other day, I had to look it up online to see if something was wrong with me. I tried putting my feet in a bucket of ice water.  Except for a few respite minutes of “Aahs” and “Oohs” in the water and soon after my feet are out, my feet roar back to being on fire. We need to turn on the air conditioner at night while sleeping, otherwise, the room gets too damp and warm. While my body is under cover, my feet are happily outside the cover.

While my hot feet remain a mystery, my wife and I have been getting ready to host a family from Korea. It would be their longest international trip as a family. The husband and their five-year-old daughter had to get their visas renewed. The wife is taking a belatedly deserved maternity leave from her work. Having been part of the rat race of Korean work culture for the last couple of decades, they are seeking how to live and live well in the second half of their lives. Naturally, we invited them to come out of the “system” albeit briefly to see the world from a different perspective and discern. As our first long-term guests, they will be with us for about sixteen days. However, in the middle of their stay, we will be in the Philippines for ten days. We all knew that was the plan and gladly accepted the arrangement. We feel comfortable enough with them that they can make our home their home.

When we traveled throughout Asia, we received thoughtful and generous hospitality from people. Then there were the unexpected that surprised us with overflowing goodness and grace. Not in the spirit of reciprocity but out of channeling what we have received, we are gearing up to welcome the family. At the center of our hospitality will be food. Many stories from the gospel accounts revolve around eating and drinking. As eating and drinking are two of the most human things to do, God does not overlook humanness and merely tries to elevate us to the heavenly. Besides, one of the critical issues in the early Church as Gentiles were coming to faith had to do with the differences in dietary laws and restrictions between the Jews and the Gentiles. The issue was not a matter of who was right and wrong. “Putting others first” when considering the class distinctions and dietary laws in the Jewish and Gentile cultures was essentially the heart of one of Paul’s major teachings to the early Church.

Staying on the topic of food, the most significant conversation that Apostle Peter had with Jesus took place after eating breakfast at the Sea of Galilee. This was Peter’s first encounter with the resurrected Jesus after his infamous denying and betraying of Jesus before the crucifixion. Like the zealous Peter we have learned, he unsurprisingly dove into the sea after finding out it was Jesus standing on the shore. The decisive action tells me that as soon as he laid his eyes on Jesus from afar, he knew from his heart that forgiveness was already granted. Jesus’ presence was grace itself. Soon after, I imagine Jesus warmly smiling and welcoming the disciples including Peter by inviting them, “Breakfast is ready.” I conjecture that Peter treasured the unforgettable breakfast on the seashore in his heart for the rest of his life. After eating breakfast, the intimate conversation between Jesus and Peter took center stage as John meticulously recalls the interaction, decades later. Thanks to John, that conversation presents as the perennial invitation for all Christ’s followers to “feed and shepherd Jesus’ lambs and sheep.” Along with the host of others, I take the invitation to heart and say “Yes, Lord” literally and figuratively. I would love to say, “Breakfast is ready.”

HOLY

The last few days in Kuala Lumpur were a real scorcher. I did not bother to check the daytime high. Along with the potent humidity, anything above 90 degrees would make anyone’s sweat glands unlatched and sweat profusely. I walked out of the air-conditioned mall only to be welcomed with everything high: temperature, humidity, and UV. The top of my hatless clean-shaven dome was sizzling, and I knew I had to get to a café as soon as possible from an unforgiving sun. Heaven knows how hot and unbearable it can get here so it brings thunder and lightning show followed by sky faucet opening almost every day. I came to love this kind of weather either to watch the spectacular sound, light, and water show from inside or just to be showered upon.

Temperature-wise, the best time of the day is the balmy mid-70s mornings. Almost every morning, I roll out of bed, gulp down a cup of cold water like a parched cactus, and hit the street right behind our apartment. The street behind us is not only wider than others but also a dead-end street so there are ample walkers mixed with occasional runners every morning. As soon as I get out and press my Apple watch’s “outdoor walk” workout button, I spring into action from my half-asleep mode. It is as if my habitual body awakens into action much quicker than my brain.

We are right in the middle of Ramadan, so I don’t see any Muslims walking these days as many of them would lay low from active movements to conserve their energy until they break their fast right at sundown. Even if there are, the non-Muslim walkers and runners dominate the streets. Back in the US, I am used to recognizing other walkers by waving or saying, “Good morning.” Here, it is rare that people would make eye contact with you and say hi. So rather than pushing my “Americanness” in Malaysia, I decided to blend in lest I scare people away. One of the men I see almost every day is an older white man. My best guess is that he is in his early 70s and his hairstyle or lack thereof is the same as mine. Naturally, I feel the connection. His pace is unusually brisk for his age, probably clipping at around 14:30 minutes per mile, with short and tight strides. One of his arms is swinging bigger than the other and his face wears grimaces as he walks. When we lived here in this area for a month last year, I noticed his peculiar walk right away.

My wife and I joined our good friends for dinner last night at a gourmet pizza joint inside our building. We ordered two pizzas: quattro formaggi and frutti di mare for a mere $13! As we walked into the restaurant, we noticed most of the tables being reserved. As we did not make a reservation earlier, we were led to a corner table not reserved. As we were enjoying our pizzas, the reserved tables began to be filled with Muslims who were about to break their fast. Yesterday, the fast would break right at 7:22 pm and the restaurant would coordinate their dinner so that they can eat right at the end of their fast. As the Muslims have been fasting since sunrise, every minute or second counts until they put food into their mouths.

This week is undoubtedly the most “holy” week of the year as Christians all over the world are celebrating the Passion or the Holy Week and Muslims are still in the middle of their Ramadan. In broad terms, it is a grand reminder that we find meaning in life by seeking after God, however, and whatever God means to us. Our visible and earthly life is connected and enjoined by the invisible and heavenly Grand Reality. Our tangible life is somehow made meaningful by the intangible Source of Life. Our material life is somehow infused with holy meditations through the immaterial Force of Life. The mundaneness combined with the free-flowing movements of life filled with changing weather, exercises, meditations, and enjoying food and friendship is somehow all governed and directed by God who Loves and Cares. God is a god who loves extraordinarily and with the ultimate sacrifice known to man. God is also a god who loves from the ordinary. God is not only “holy” because of the meaning and impact of the Passion Week, but also holy, rubbing shoulder to shoulder, with the ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, holiness can be defined by how close we feel God is to us.

GROOMING CURIOSITY

During our time in Asia, I have been pursuing curiosity trails to my great satisfaction. During my leadership years, pursuing curiosities was a luxury much less paying attention to them. One, you don’t have time. Two, you neither have the mental space nor physical stamina to pursue them. And three, having curiosities meant acknowledgment of “I do not know.” I couldn’t not know as a leader. I operated with the mindset that I should know and even if I did not know, I still had to work with what I knew and made decisions.

When my children were adorably little and innocent, their appetite for curiosities seemed never-ending like waves hitting the shore. Their voracious appetite benefitted me as a parent, when I was not too tired, to reexamine what I knew or what I thought I knew. I saw my curious and innocent self in them through my interaction with them. In many ways, we learn and get ushered into adulthood by pursuing curiosities. However, it is ironic that once we hit “adulthood,” we tend not to pay attention to curiosities. Rather we are conditioned to shut them down. Having curiosities is a combination of acknowledgment of what I do not know and a loud clue to what I may be passionate about. Unfortunately, as we grow old and supposedly become more mature, we lose the childlike sense of curiosity and wonder.

As a freedom seeker of my heart, I am relearning to make space and time to pay attention and pursue curiosities as they come. What helps, of course, is the fact that we are now living and traveling in Asia. This new life environment and pattern with less oversight and responsibilities opens up my sense of curiosity and wonders to another level. Sometimes I feel like a restless kindergartener in the body of a 60-year-old man.

About a year ago, I said “yes” to speaking at a church for her 18th anniversary in the Philippines. What prompted my decisive decision was that a woman who gave me prophetic words more than a year ago in the Philippines invited me and my wife as honored speakers. I was curious to find out what God had in store for us. I knew nothing about the church leading up to the 18th anniversary and I chose not to concern myself with trying to find out about the church through what is available online. I also knew she as a founder and leader (along with her husband) of the church with satellite house fellowships spread over the Philippines did not know about me either. She was exercising faith in inviting a pseudo-stranger. She knew my wife as she and my wife both serve as mentors for CenterQuest Asia School of Spiritual Direction. I was known to her as Grace’s husband and it felt right.

We landed in the Philippines a few days ago. My wife led a leadership retreat last Saturday at a beautiful retreat venue near Taal Lake and the volcano in Tagaytay. The next day, I gave a sermon to a large live audience as well as through a live feed. Hours before the anniversary service on Sunday, the pastor found out through my brief bio that I had been with Frontier Ventures (formerly known as the U.S. Center for World Mission) for decades. She teared up and shared that they had been praying for our founders and one of their own who worked for the Center. I knew the Filipino staff well. I unlatched a gasping sound and we both let out laughter of surprise. If my memory serves me well, my first sermon was delivered in the Philippines in 1986 during my short-term trip. After the sermon, I gave an altar call. That memory still embarrasses me as it was one of those things NOT to do during the short term! After the sermon this past Sunday, without pre-planning, I was led to give an altar call, asking people to kneel, stand, and take a step forward as the actions served as symbolic postures of our hearts based on my sermon. It felt right this time to kneel and step forward.

The same night, the pastor asked me whether I could help by teaching the charismatic church to engage in missions out of contemplation. She shared that she and the church are tired of pushing themselves hard to “finish the task” like there is no tomorrow. The charismatic church is well on the way to embracing contemplative spirituality to bring shalom to the nations. She asked me earnestly with a hint of urgency whether I could help. I shared with her that I had been thinking a lot about the topic and that I would be willing to help.

Being in Japan was also a pursuit of my curiosity. Except for the founder and director, I knew little about the organization I decided to serve as their advisor. After being with them for a week leading their retreat, Japan opened up our hearts to the people including the workers who have been serving there, some as newbies and some for decades.

I love the wide canvas imagery of Diane Ackerman’s The Great Affair. With very little effort, I can immerse myself as part of the epic imagery.

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

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

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

Diane Ackerman

While there are many angles to read and ponder this poem, curiosity is the key that unlocks the discovery of “savage and beautiful country lies in between.” We are invited to groom our curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, to climb and gallop over the vast open green field that is before us. Ackerman is right in that riding one’s curiosity is risky. Our life is from mystery to mystery—none of us know or can predict how our life will turn out. In acceptance of mystery, the only way to access the unknowns and the discovery of the savage and beautiful is through acting on curiosity.

Thus, pursuing curiosities can be an act of faith because it is an acknowledgment of unknowing or being in mystery. I do not and cannot ever clearly see the outcome. I trust the process and the outcome once triggered by curiosity about what God will do. Being in Asia is like riding a high-spirited thoroughbred through the thick, sun-struck hills every day, only to discover what is over the hills—the magnificent geography.

SOBA

Having vehemently complained to my wife about three different people kept bumping into me while in line at the Incheon airport, being in Japan has effectively cured my irritability. Japan is a nation of politeness. (On the contrary, people from other parts of Japan have told me that Tokyo with its typical city hardness feels not as considerate.) Even so, coming from Korea, it did not take long to notice the contrast. I do not know what drives them to be well-mannered other than stemming from an honor and shame worldview. Later, I was told that the education system trains the Japanese in consideration and harmony from early on. In the busiest section of the entire Tokyo, Shibuya, (the only other comparable scene would be the New York Times Square) I have had multiple instances where a few people bumped into me accidentally and they would turn around, bow, and utter some words—probably some variation of “excuse me” in Japanese. Not being used to such politeness, I would also bow and crack a strained smile back.

A dear friend of ours from the US was in Tokyo at the same time we were. We knew of each other’s serendipitous plan months earlier and organized for a daylong happy collision. After a series of gastronomic extravaganza all day primarily focusing on frying kinds, (In Forest Gump movie, Bubba explains to Gump about ways to cook shrimp: you can boil it, broil it, sauté it, barbeque it, and bake it. But Bubba forgot about the frying part!) our friend chose an old Soba noodle joint for our first dinner. When we were about to enter, an older white man courteously slid the door open for us to enter though he was several steps ahead of us. Since we were wet and cold, we obliged and thanked him as we entered. The restaurant featured two different kinds of seating: western style where you don’t have to take off one’s shoes and Japanese style of cushioning Tatami mat made of rice straw. After wandering around all day like three jolly kids going bonkers at an amusement park (ok, two of us excluding my wife), our feet led the charge of our bodies to choose the Tatami mat. Plus, the mat was just lying there and invited us to lie down except we couldn’t. As I awkwardly sat and after the noodle dishes arrived, I noticed the white man who opened the door. He was by himself and sat diagonal from me facing away. He was kneeling the whole time he was eating seemingly out of reverence and cleaned out his bowl. As he exited, he bowed to each cook and server and thanked them. Comparatively, my troubled sitting posture accompanied by barbaric slurping became more pronounced.

The cooks and the servers were all elderly, seasoned, and soft-spoken, I noticed. They looked to me like they had been doing their craft for decades. Their movements were not elaborate in seeking one’s attention, rather, their movements were airy and graced. To exaggerate, I thought they were floating around the whole time. In a typical Japanese style, each fish cake was impeccably placed in my soba noodle bowl like some art piece. Even the plate the bowl was placed on featured perfectly angled chopsticks and one fukusai (side dish). The simple soba had imbued a quality of reverence. While I was in my usual gulping-down mode, the reverence all around me did not escape my mind.

Incidentally, the topic of my teaching in Japan was hospitality—the creation of a free, safe, and empty space for people to be themselves, to sing their own songs, and to dance their dances. We must, first, gift this space to ourselves because we often are the harshest critics of ourselves. As we become more sensitized and protective of this space for ourselves, we then are more capable of creating space for others, extending the circle of freedom and safety. What is often felt and experienced by the guests of this space includes an invitation to courage (courage to be and do), empowerment, and authenticity. I am encouraged to have witnessed this hospitable space at work during the retreat in Japan, further convicting me of the need.

While the message was on hospitality, I attempted to model how to create the vast empty, and free space. The medium was also a message. It is within this space we realize that we are capable of discerning how God is at work in our lives and arriving at decisions and steps from our deep. Answers rise from within. God is a safe, free, and hospitable God. In the same space, God in us recognizes God in others. A holy momentary highway toward union among followers opens resulting in unrestrained worship and union with God.

The world is in dire need of deep connection with others as there is a global epidemic of loneliness. I remain convinced to do my bit to create a hospitable space through my existence, song, and dance.