THE SOUL OF NATURE

Nature, in wild and pastoral, exudes radiance and vitality,
In life and death, and death and life,
forever and over and over again speaks to anyone who would listen
and pay attention,
to learn and imitate the divine within.

A heaven’s mid-August sound and light show ensues in the land of Malaysia,
all of a sudden, I am the smallest kid in the entire world,
looking up and wide in utter awe and wonder
lightening, a showier spouse of shy thunder, showcasing its unmatched brilliance,
painting the vast sky as if the sky is the size of a small boy’s notebook,
thunder growls boisterously as if the sky is a tiny recording room,
showering the offspring of rain, one direction, from heaven to earth,
an adamant reminder of where we come from.

Great heron defies and defines elegance beyond words,
to grace the earth so effortlessly and perched on top of the trees to look far and wide,
that grace is generosity
hummingbirds’ ultra busyness while being angel light,
proving busyness is not the problem but heaviness and seriousness are,
butterfly embodies transformation and transcendence,
that beauty is formed in darkness and solitude,
stream sings of its eternal quality of spring while demonstrating humility,
that eternity and humility are inseparable,
trees as majestic and mystical mass stand grounded and rooted for many ages,
      teaching sustenance of majesty comes from being grounded and rooted and connected

My soul yearns for connection and searches for courage, simply to be.
What is more real? What I think of myself? Or what others think of me? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. Perhaps “think” is the wrong word.
How does God communicate what is real me?

The soul of nature reflects its beauty and wildness, undistorted and unfiltered,
declaring to anyone who would listen and pay attention
that we too are to reflect the divine within back to the Divine and to the world.

CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER

Anticipation is killing me, not literally but figuratively tenderly. This is the most anticipated event of the year. Our adult children and their spouses (all six of them) will be raining down in Kuala Lumpur in less than four days. I will be pinching myself the whole time leading up to the very moment of seeing their actual faces with my eyes. My memory takes me back to when Hannah served in Indonesia for a season and Michael taught English in Korea after college. We decided to converge and spend time in Thailand for a few days after having flown in from three different countries. I vividly remember when Elizabeth and Hannah (my two princesses) met for the first time in months in the arrival terminal at the airport in Bangkok. They spotted each other from afar, ran towards each other while screaming and jumping up and down with no care of the world around them, and finally embraced each other. The sheer ecstasy of the shared joy was forever seared in my heart. One more thing: Hannah was in Japan with YWAM for months after high school. I had a ministry trip planned in Korea, so I decided to swing by to see Hannah. After having spent a glorious couple of days with Hannah in Tokyo, I remember the hard and tearful goodbye.

When you love, you learn to wait. Waiting is not a duty, but a hope-filled tangible expression of love. The ability to wait arises from deep longing which shares the same deep and ancient well of love. Loving is longing even when someone(s) is right in front of you. Love believes and hopes to create more longing for intimacy. Love holds the generous space for becoming, both for the loving and the loved.

I have been studying, “taking notes,” and imagining what to do and where to take our family. All of my culinary excursions are about to culminate when all eight of us roam the streets of KL, from the hole-in-the-wall to Michelin-star restaurants. We will explore the world cuisine represented in KL from the Malay, Indian Muslim, Hindu, Japanese, Chinese (various regions), Korean, Syrian, etc. We have rented an Airbnb, which is big enough for privacy and group play. I hope they get to experience a few of my favorites, to witness a lightning and thunder show with an awe-inducing downpour spectacle. I hope they get to see the charm of the city and the kindness of diverse peoples in this land. I hope they get to see firsthand how Mom and Dad are doing, still discerning and traveling on the pilgrim journey with all the joys and challenges.

We are planning to drive up to Penang Island, another foodie heaven with its regional touch and flare, not to mention the UNESCO heritage section of the city center in George Town and the National Park beaches swarming with turtles and monkeys. Not terribly excited to see the monkeys but turtles, yes. This will be the first time where all eight of us will be in the same car, traveling together. The three-to-four-hour drive will bond us even further, I am sure. It was here in Penang last year where I had five intermittent dishes (I’ve done some intermittent fasting and I have also done many intermittent feasting), all starting after 3 pm! My wife was in shock and disbelief at the time and still is. I have proof, a picture of my wife watching me devour one after another while crossing her arms, expressionless.

Since we won’t be home in the US for Christmas, we decided to celebrate Christmas in October. We have drawn Secret Santa gift exchange names. Since we will be spending eight nights, we decided to celebrate each of our birthdays every day or night. Every day, there will be a celebration for each person and the family together. Joy is a heavenly gift emotion when someone is simply happy to be with you. I earnestly pray that we will experience heaven’s gift of joy. And because joy is a shared emotion, joy further believes, hopes, and ushers in strength, creating an ever-expanding ripple of joy to others. Joy builds strength and interior muscles to believe and hope for more, touching others around us. I yearn for that to be more of a reality. Joy is not meant to be a crumb or an afterthought. Joy is felt and shared when we realize God is happy to be with us.

QUANTUM MECHANICS & INTERCONNECTEDNESS

This week, I would like to share another section of my upcoming paper. I hope you can get the gist of what I am trying to communicate. If you are interested in reading the whole thing, let me know.

In this section, I will attempt, with the risk of sounding amateurish, to ambitiously synthesize Carlo Rovelli’s phenomenal little book, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics into the preceding idea of incarnation and of being interconnected. Some portions of the book read more like poetry than a science book. First, I see God as the author and perfecter of unitive consciousness, the foundation of all connectedness. Secondly, Rovelli claims, “The very foundation of science is to keep the door open to doubt.” This statement gives me confidence and respect.

Quantum mechanics and experiments with particles have taught us that the world is a continuous, restless swarming of things, a continuous coming to light and disappearance of ephemeral entities. A set of vibrations, as in the switched-on hippie world of the 1960s. A world of happenings, not of things. [1]

A tree is not a thing, as is a rock, it is a happening. From a close to 14 billion years perspective, nothing can be seen as a thing, but a happening.

We are made up of the same atoms and the same light signals as are exchanged between pine trees in the mountains and stars in the galaxies.[2]

We are made of the same stardust of which all things are made, and when we are immersed in suffering or when we are experiencing intense joy we are being nothing other than what we can’t help but be: a part of our world.[3]

I find the above claim simply breathtaking and mind-numbing. Incarnation relates to quantum mechanics theory as all things are connected. How they are connected and how they interact remains a profound mystery. As humble subjects, we recognize God as the origin and designer of all incarnations. Listen to Rovelli below.

I believe that this example demonstrates how great science and great poetry are both visionary, and may even arrive at the same intuitions. Our culture is foolish to keep science and poetry separated: they are two tools to open our eyes to the complexity and beauty of the world.[4]

I was not prepared to read the above statements. What it reminded me of was a section I read recently from Mary Oliver’s[5] Upstream.

I would say that there exist a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves—we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other’s destiny.[6]

Rovelli and Oliver, as scientists and poets, have attempted to describe reality utilizing their trained intuitive lens and finite human language. Additionally, they know not to or dare to “close the list.” Beware of ourselves or anyone else for that matter in being the authority of choosing the list. From my personal, subjective, and experiential lens[7], my intuition concurs with that of Oliver’s and Rovelli’s and my soul knows the vision of a “sustainable world together” to be true. Before leaving this section, I must include Rovelli’s “conclusion” in his book, “It is part of our nature to love and to be honest.”[8]

It is worth bringing Ilia Delio, who has been mentioned earlier, as a Franciscan sister, theologian, and scientist (and an expert on Pierre Teilhard de Chardin), to validate the above assertion.

Christ invests himself organically within all creation, immersing himself in things, in the heart of matter, and thus unifying the world. The universe is physically impregnated to the very core of its matter by the influence of his superhuman nature. Everything is physically “christified,” gathered up by the incarnate Word as nourishment that assimilates, transforms, and divinizes.[9]

Richard Rohr was the first one who enlightened me with the differentiated concepts of pantheism and panentheism. Pantheism is defined as “God is everything.” Panentheism says, “God is in everything.” God is the least common denominator in the entire universe. Suddenly God being at the center, there is mysterious “Christified” order within disorder, unknown (and perhaps unknowable) certainty within uncertainty. I would like to close this paper with the idea of “unifying the world.”

[1] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 32-33.
[2] Ibid, 64.
[3] Ibid, 77-78.
[4] Carlo Rovelli, Reality Is Not What It Seems: The Journey to Quantum Gravity, New York: Penguin Press, 2014, 88.
[5] Oliver, lover of nature, was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
[6] Mary Oliver, Upstream: Select Essays, New York: Penguin Press, 2016, 154
[7] This phrase is based on my 2023 ASFM paper titled Human and Spiritual Journey as Subjective, Personal, and Experiential.
[8] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 78.
[9] Ilia Delio, The Unbearable Wholeness of Being: God, Evolution, and the Power of Love, Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books: 2013, 79.

FEAR OF THE LORD

As I am working on my paper for the upcoming Asia Society for Frontier Mission’s annual gathering in Bali (which I won’t be able to attend in person), I have decided to highlight a section of my paper. This year’s theme centers around the concept of imago dei, mutuality, the dignity of humanity, etc as they relate to the frontiers in mission. This year’s gathering is a continuation of last year’s focus.

Here, I would like to weave the well-known verse, “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” How to live well or wisely with others has been a timeless biblical tradition and focus. Fear of God does not equate with the well-accepted but short-sighted notion that we will somehow get punished if we fail to do good. Thus, the narrative of we’d better “fear” God and its consequences of what God will do to punish us out of God’s perfect justice. The five “wisdom” literature in the Scripture, in my opinion, points to the notion that wisdom is knowledge deepened or seasoned in love. Wisdom has nothing to do with how modern people would equate to intellectual knowledge. Rather it is how to live well with others by orienting our hearts in fear of the Lord. Thus, wisdom can be summarized as how to love God, myself, and others well.

Rolheiser’s words are worth pondering with our missiological lens especially as we consider the topics of “imago dei,” “mutuality,” or just being human beings as fellow poiema (God’s magnificent poetry in motion). I quote him heavily below as they are packed with highly relevant insight into today’s world. And I will try to deduce my reflecting summary.

G. K. Chesterton once suggested that “the greatest of all illusions is the illusion of familiarity.” Familiarity is also the death of respect, wonder, and awe. When our minds, hearts, and imaginations are no longer poised for surprise and astonishment, then we no longer have a healthy fear of God or indeed of each other, which means living in such a way that nothing becomes too familiar to us.

By extension, to live in fear of God means that we live before God and the rest of reality in such a way that there is never contempt within us. We take nothing for granted, everything as a gift. We have respect. We are always poised for surprise before the mystery of God, others, and ourselves.

To fear God is also, as Michael Buckley puts it, to let God “contradict the programs and expectations of human beings in order to fulfill human desires and human freedom at a much deeper level than subjectivity would have measured out in its projections.” To fear God means to set aside our own expectations, needs, and imaginings and let God set the agenda and define the limits. 

A healthy fear of God brings with it a sense that must flow over into our actions, that our freedom is not unconditional but conscienced. When we fear God, we fear misusing our freedom, not because we fear God’s punishment if we do wrong, but because we fear hurting others, being idolatrous, or feeling self-righteous.

To live in holy fear of God means bringing one’s freedom under the Lordship of God. One lives in holy fear of God when one is aware that freedom is a gift given us for love and that, outside its continual genuflection before a God beyond itself, freedom very quickly becomes a god unto itself and leaves in its wake a trail of violation, idolatry, and self-inflation.

Lastly, a healthy fear of God means living in genuine humility.

The humblest person you know is not the person who lives a timid life but the person who lives a life that constantly acknowledges its interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character.

(All italicized are mine.)

I wish I could unpack all of my reflections based on Rolheiser’s reflection. A few things to highlight are as follows.

Fear of God requires a two-pronged posture: letting God be God and deep concern for others. And that there is no separation between the two. The first has to do with our penchant for control and certainty, undesirous of surprises and mystery. Upon further and honest reflection, we know having a sense of control and certainty is an illusion because reality is full of surprises and mystery. In this vein, it is worth examining whether the current missions effort has been operating out of the fear of God, allowing ample room for surprises and mystery and being honest with our control and certainty.

The second concerns our sinful human ability and capacity to compare and judge. Fear of God forces us to show respect and believe in all humanity's dignity. How do we live and behave in such a way that there is never contempt toward others but respect, awe, and “everything (and everyone) as a gift?” Many human atrocities throughout history have to do with how people loved themselves so wrongly (and twistedly) to the point they had to either get rid of others or subject others under them. This disease is exactly the opposite of Jesus’ teaching of “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Fear of God in essence relates to our use of freedom. Our freedom has its designed limit and boundary: “Freedom is a gift given us for love.” Apostle Paul’s warning and teaching to use our freedom to serve others is consistent with the idea that freedom’s goal is to love. In short, we are to use our freedom to love others well which is congruous to the Great Commandment of loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Lastly, the idea of “interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character” has deep and far-reaching implications in this year’s ASFM and beyond. Which leads me to the next section. . .

DANANG SUNRISE

In early August, my wife and I spent several days in Danang, Vietnam, a quick getaway for a required visa run. All my life, I was associated with the west or “left” coast. Even in Korea, having been born and grown up in Seoul, we were much closer to the West Sea than the East Sea. As the East Coast remained elusive, witnessing sunrise has been a rare occurrence.

I did not write this poem during the dawn of the day, but days later. As the sunrise scene got seared in my mind, I stayed with it and let it percolate. Then one morning in Kuala Lumpur, I had the urge to capture what I was processing. As often is the case, I do not know how the poem will end until I get there. This was no exception.

Having grown up near the west coast, the Pacific Ocean,
I have taken sunsets for granted for I have witnessed many
with my growing photo library to prove my point
Disproportionately, dawn is another matter, elusive at that,
location and weather and assiduity are required.
When in Danang, Vietnam recently on a visa run,
I quickly learned that we were facing the east ocean.
From the comfort of our hotel room, I could observe the sunrise,
too early for my liking at 5 in the morning

Not knowing what came over me, I set my alarm to witness the dawn one morning at 4:50
the daily spectacle and silent wonder over the vast horizon, as if to say
silence and wonder are perfect partners
it is the nature’s best performance of the day, the ribbon-cutting ceremony,
the sun glows faint light grey and yellow on the horizon,
changing its crimson hue in the mid-course to light-infused orange to wow us all,
to make us wordless in awe, even the busiest mouth,
to teach our chatty minds to relax, to linger
then the final bright and overbearing red glow that announces to the world,
I am here, ready to start the day, and so can you.

The non-discriminating light blankets everything in sight,
providing warmth, dry, and nourishment in non-judgmental kindness,
the rest of nature simply bows, obeys, and takes its cues from the rising sun,
the tall manmade buildings, as impressive as they are, face the ocean as if to
worship the rising sun
are simply no match in elegance and majesty.
Dawn is a miracle, not a chance,
reminding the world that we each are a miracle too.
And that there is the miracle Giver.

PAY ATTENTION

I am finishing up a 6-week course called, Basic Intro Trilogy, as a final pre-requisite class before the grand start of the upcoming School of Spiritual Direction in December. This “trilogy” class covers the basics of Christian spirituality, spiritual formation, and spiritual disciplines. I would like to share one of the short reflection essays I submitted, with a bit of embellishment.

---

The key dynamics of a contemplative lifestyle, to me, can be summarized by the intentional and disciplined effort of paying attention. The practices of STOP, LOOK, and LISTEN are finer and more detailed components of our practiced ability, and the need to slow down and pay attention. (STOP embodies the discipline of pausing promoting stillness. LOOK brings the discipline of seeing gifting awareness. LISTEN ushers in the discipline of hearing resulting in attentiveness.) Here, I echo the wisdom of Mary Oliver’s words in her poem, Praying.

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

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

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

The acts of paying attention whether they are blue iris, weeds, or a few small stones, and patching a few words together so that they become a doorway into a silence where God can speak are effortlessly inviting. Rather than being the doorway, praying had become a contest and a prize to pursue over the years, rather than silence and stillness, verbosity and mindless hustles often filled the days. I remind myself that silence creates an empty space for God to speak. While it is true that God can speak through both a peal of thunder and whispering silence, I as the recipient may or may not hear unless I am silent.

However, the truth is that I have viewed stopping as a luxury for the vast duration of my life. The tyranny of the urgent (and I would add the important) drove me into endless actions like some action hero. If one is a full-time Christian worker, one is expected to burn out. Being burned out is often viewed as a badge of honor to detriment. Because I have not fully learned to stop, look, and listen even if they happen, they have been shallow. I say this with compassion for myself. As I have learned to stop, thanks to my one-year-long sabbatical which coincided with the Pandemic and thus became an elongated sabbatical, I have the capacity and acquired the necessary tools to know how and when to stop, look, and listen.

Writing from my heart, especially as it relates to paying attention to my feelings, as opposed to from my head helped enormously. At the risk of sounding obvious, experiencing that I am more than what I think or can think has been a revelation over time. I began to see myself differently. And I began to see God differently. (And should I say that I began to see how stuck we are as a low institutional cookie-cutter religion. . . ?) Questions such as Who am I? and Who is God? dramatically altered. Self-compassion flowed naturally and compassion for others followed. As I learn to stop, look, listen, and value them, I realize the importance of such a vast and free space of hospitality for others.

If and when I can help others enter the graced space of stop, look, and listen, that would be my best gift to my fellow humanity. Surely, as they learn to pay attention, they will invariably notice exquisite blue irises, uncared-for and unintended weeds, and a few random stones, sometimes benign and sometimes annoying, along the way. Simply letting go of our life as a maddening “contest,” however we may have defined it, would be a great feat.

A FAIRY TALE

“Baseball is writing its script to a perfect fairy tale ending” is a fitting phrase to describe the latest feat of Shohei Otani. The baseball god was smiling if there was ever one. Otani dinged 40 homers while nabbing 40 stolen bases in a Major League season to join five other, all hall-of-fame and hall-of-fame-bound players. He did it with a grand style by hitting a walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and scores tied. His flair is his signature smile, waving his hands like a kid while running around the bases. Joining the 40/40 club is an amazing accomplishment; it requires a rare combination of power and speed. It is a fairy tale because, before superstardom, Otani was once a wide-eyed kid with big aspirations.

As incredible as Otani’s record-setting accomplishment was, Otani’s feat was overshadowed by a high school baseball team across the Pacific Ocean in Japan, only hours earlier. Kyoto International School was founded in 1947 as Kyoto Chosen Junior High School to educate Koreans living in Japan. The school’s baseball team was installed in 1999 as it tried to navigate through its low student enrollment. Additionally, the school enlarged its enrollment net by accepting non-Koreans by the early 2000s, thus changing the name to Kyoto International School. Currently, out of 138 high school student body, about 60 are in the baseball program. However, in its founding years, the program was a laugher after accepting baseball players who were rejected or unwanted by other baseball teams in Kyoto (which was not a powerhouse city to begin with). Against all odds, several years ago (2021), they not only made it to the tournament but they reached all the way to the semi-final game.

I have read that the school is beyond any reasonable bus or train ride. Even after the nearest bus station, students must walk about 30 minutes uphill to the school. The baseball field is a joke as the entire field is the size of an infield. Naturally, they can only practice infield defense interspersed with lots of running. Their faces are as dark as any dark-skinned athletes I see on TV. At one point, they were playing with a ragged baseball all busted at its seams only to be taped several times over. A professional baseball team in Korea heard about the news and donated 1,000 baseballs to the program. As poor and inadequate as the conditions are, the program persisted. Their recruiting strategy mainly was to recruit players with character, endurance, and dedication over talent.

Out of 60 players, only 3 have Korean roots. Even with the name change, the school decidedly and unapologetically boasts its Korean heritage by requiring all students to take Korean history, culture, etc. The school’s anthem is in Korean. Embedded in the anthem is the phrase, crossing “Donghae” as opposed to The Sea of Japan.

The setting of the tournament is Koshien stadium, celebrating its 100th anniversary, considered to be hallowed grounds by the Japanese and also home to “Summer Koshien” welcoming 49 teams having their respective regions/areas out of approximately 3,700 teams all over Japan. As the Koshien is one of Japan's most-watched sporting events, simply making it to the annual Koshien tournament would bring the highest honor to any high school. On August 23, the perennial underdog, Kyoto International School, won the whole thing by knocking out powerhouses one after another. The championship game brimmed with its nail-biting moments as it went into the extra inning. Ultimately the Kyoto International team survived the score of 2 to 1 after prolific pitching and outstanding defense from both teams. After winning each tournament game, one of the grand traditions is to play the school’s anthem, broadcasting the event to the entire Japan.

Aside from any history-charged cultural and political takes, I found myself glued to my iPhone, following the championship game score and cheering for the underdog. The underdog in me was cheering for the underdog in them. The accomplishment was nothing short of a provincial sandlot team winning against a much more talented and sophisticated baseball team from the big city. On a side but related note, it turned out that Otani also played in the Koshien tournament while flashing his 100-mph fastball as a prodigious high school kid.

The baseball god was cheering for the drama and the lives represented on both teams, capturing the hearts and imaginations of many in Japan and beyond.

God is cheering for the underdog, the rejects but full of unrealized potential in all of us.

God also is cheering for the character, endurance, and dedication in all of us.

A FREEDOM DAY

The day we arrived in Singapore last Friday was Singapore’s National Day celebrating 59 years of breakage from the Federation of Malaysia in 1965 due to multiple disagreements. Understandably, there was a huge commotion on the streets, on TV, and in the hotel where we stayed promoting several National Day packages. When we rode a Grab taxi to our hotel from the airport, a song commemorating National Day, “We Are Singapore,” was being played on the radio. “What a patriotic Grab driver,” was my initial thought, which quickly subsided after learning about National Day.

We are back in Malaysia and Malaysia is gearing up for its National Day celebration on August 31 from Britain in 1957, the so-called “Merdeka Day.” Though the day is still two weeks out, more Malaysian flags are proudly dotted everywhere every day, reminding all of the momentous declaration of independence. Undoubtedly, there will be huge spectacles and celebrations.

Then, of course, today (August 15) here in Malaysia, we are celebrating Korea Independence Day called “Gwangbokjeol,” in 1945 after having been under the Japanese colonial occupation for 35 years. While the “independence” movements are not new historically, these modern-day “freedom” movements are unlike the world has seen from 1945 to 1970 with more than 90 percent of the world gaining independence from respective colonial rule. The only “non-Western” country to have never been occupied would be Thailand (which conveniently translates into the land of the free man) due mainly to the fact that two powerful colonizing countries (Britain and France) agreed to leave Thailand as a buffer nation lest they get into unnecessary squabble.

An inordinate amount of blood and sweat has been spilled seeking and fighting for political, ethnic, social, and religious freedom movements as they are part and parcel of humanity’s desire to be themselves which is synonymous with God’s original design to flourish. Soon after I married Grace, I found that her maternal great-grandfather, Byung Jo Song, was one of the key freedom fighters against Japanese rule. This freedom gene is coursing through her veins which is doubled by marrying a wild Mustang freedom advocate. Being free is to be human. God is obsessively adamant and affirmative about freedom even if it means humanity would rebel against God, employing the very freedom God grants. Many if not all freedom heroes and heroines would rather die fighting for freedom than live passively under bondage. I cannot think of any other human endeavor more endearing, enduring, and significant than the collective freedom urge and movements. Far more than human DNA, the movements speak more of God and how God upholds freedom, almost to the point that God looks reckless and even foolish.

Jesus unrolled the scroll of the prophet Isaiah in his first synagogue speech and read this portion in Luke 4:18-19.

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
        to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
        to let the oppressed go free,
   to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

“The poor, the captives, the blind, and the oppressed” were at the very heart of Jesus’ ministry (which is consistent with the “beatitude” multitude) and the remarkable hope-filled message of freedom was the mission of Jesus. From this lens, as I consider the current and dire global and regional conflicts that are too many to count and follow, some are trying to maintain their despotic control while others are desperately trying to be set free. For “self” (however we may define what self represents from national self to factional self to elite self to even tyrannical self) interests and entitlements on the surface aside, the more existential struggle for all humanity is to gain and live out freedom. It is just that some have to maintain the control or status quo while others have to rise and disenthrall. In his annual message to Congress in 1862, Abraham Lincoln gave these moving concluding remarks. “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.”  

It is too trite to say, “Believe in Jesus and He will set you free.” While it may be true at the experiential and personal level, the systems and powers that sometimes unknowingly but also knowingly take people captive must be dealt with. Jesus fought against such existing and powerful systems, ultimately giving His life. Of course, as important as the message of freedom, the way to freedom and the way of Jesus never condone violence and always seek creative solutions to rebel and upset the status quo. The process of gaining freedom is far more important than the result. How many times have we witnessed the harrowing oppressed after achieving freedom morph into imperious oppressors? Could it be that we are being set free in the process of pursuing and struggling toward liberation?

Then there are freedom struggles on an individual level. 5 years ago on this day, I announced to my former organization that I intend to step down from all of my leadership roles. After having worn many hats of roles and responsibilities over decades, I considered it a day of freedom. I knew it as it was happening and felt the unfamiliar quiet, exhilarating sensation. Leading up to this decision, however, was a long arduous process of agony of letting go while trying desperately to find my identity without roles and responsibilities. The invitation from God was to “leave” after living my entire adult life of “go.” As life is a series of goings and leavings, I was to leave to discover another go. How I experienced freedom was by way of leaving at the time. We are in the thick of another go, struggling to hold a steady gaze of “setting the captives free” for myself and others.

WHAT IS PRAYER?

“Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

It is nearly impossible for me to define or make sense of prayer anymore. During my younger days, I was sure I knew what prayer was. For a long time, prayer was me asking God what I wanted or needed for me and others as God-centric as possible. What amounted to prayer as supplication and petition was viewed as a lifeline to sustain life and make life abundant. Then, prayer was about joining God in God’s work in seeking God’s glory. I treated prayer as a spiritual weapon to engage in spiritual warfare against the darkness and usher in God’s light-filled kingdom on this earth. This form of prayer paired especially well with my missions engagement. In broad stroke, prayer evolved from “man” focused to God-focused over the years.

While I still value, hold merit to both (as the Bible encourages and commands us), and practice both, prayer for me foundationally has become all about listening and seeing—the act of paying attention. The objects of attention are multipronged: self, God, others, and the world that is both near and far. The attention is almost always present-focused. While reflecting on the past and ruminating about the future are helpful, they tend to be more of a mental exercise or even chatter, not necessarily grounding. As such, it is never a neat endeavor, impossible to come to clear-cut conclusions every single time. In the very process of paying attention, I am sensitized and changed by having to discern what God may be doing. The word may is key because I hold my discernment loosely as it forces me to continue seeking.

Emerson’s rumination of prayer is avuncular and attractive. Contemplation is a way of seeing—“a long loving look at the Real.” It mirrors how God would see us and the world, lovingly and long-ly. What is Real is the present of what is happening now, not in my mind’s quarters as helpful and insightful as they may be. The “facts of life” contain everything: my and others’ needs, the world’s hunger and sufferings, healing and restoration, hope and vigor, as well as warfare and battles. Life is all of these things, irresistibly sweet and unbelievably difficult. Then the last phrase, “from the highest point of view,” exhorts us to detach ourselves from human and earthly fixations, preoccupations, and controls and puts us squarely in the realm of the heavenly as how God would see it. We are to see how God would see, thus joining God in our prayers and actions. The detachment is not an aloof disengagement but a loving engagement from on high.

Consider Mary Oliver's words regarding Emerson's impact on her life.

This[1] is the crux of Emerson, who does not advance straight ahead but wanders to all sides of an issue; who delivers suggestions with a kindly gesture—who opens doors and tells us to look at things for ourselves. The one thing he is adamant about is that we should look—we must look—for that is the liquor of life, that brooding upon issues, that attention to thought even as we weed the garden or milk the cow.

Tangentially speaking, milking the cow takes anywhere from 5 to 7 minutes (if by machine) or 20 to 30 minutes (if by hand) two or three times a day. The majority of a cow’s daily life is filled with grazing, meandering, regurgitating, and simply standing around and seemingly doing nothing. The “purpose” of dairy cows is to produce milk. The truth of the matter is that a cow needs all day and night to produce, not only during the actual milking but during all other non-milking activities and “non-activities.” One cannot accuse the cows to stop standing around and start producing milk. Therein lies the perennial truth of not needing or seeking straight answers, instead suggesting the very need for “wandering.”

According to Oliver, Emerson’s adamance of looking (should and must) is a gem of truth as uncomfortable as the adamance is. This looking, what Emerson calls the liquor of life (I love that expression), is identical to a “long loving look” and of what contemplation is about. One other thing: the encouragement to look at things for ourselves (neither from someone else’s perspective nor with someone else’s convictions) is a stunning insight.

Over the weekend, we took a short flight to Singapore. Along with a few deepening fellowships over meals, we were asked to speak to a group of 10 Singaporean couples (right around our age bracket) who have known each other for more than two decades. This was the first time where I was asked to speak and interact with earnest and devout Catholics. After a sumptuous home-cooked potluck meal, my wife and I shared our life and faith journey with them, painting in broad strokes how we got to where we are. We were quickly reminded that as life has both personal and universal features, a few universal nuggets of our stories connected with them. Then during the second half of our time, I facilitated the time of “looking, wandering, brooding, and paying attention” and sharing regarding what is Real using a series of questions. During Q & A time afterward, one of the participants proposed whether we would be willing to come back and lead a longer (two nights and three days) retreat, going through similar but deeper reflections with more generous time. My quick Enneagram type 7 mouth responded, “I am already there” while peeking at my wife causing the group to laugh out loud. After our interaction time, we were served local delicacies for dessert and some fine wine recommended by the host husband. The wine and the company as the liquor of life sealed my memory of the evening. What fine contemplation!

This process of contemplation (or prayer if you like) ultimately is not about us (though we are included thankfully), but for the sake of others and the world. This is where contemplation always triggers necessary and thoughtful action and through action and engagement, more necessary contemplation until we breathe our last breath. Thus, action and contemplation or contemplation and action go together. One does not and cannot exist without the other. Jesus is the standard bearer and the perfect embodiment of prayer and action.

[1] According to earlier sentences, she speaks of Emerson’s keen gift of exhortation of not “bending toward the narrow and the absolute but to the extravagant and the possible.” That answers are no part of it.

THE GLORY OF GOD

“Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40)

We are in the middle of our visa run to Vietnam. As short-term tourists in Malaysia, we cannot stay for more than 3 months at a time. Thus, in need of a visa run, Vietnam appeared on my radar especially since we struck out the first time more than a year ago. On that fateful day, we obliviously arrived at the KL airport having bought the air tickets and booked the hotel in Danang, Vietnam only to be turned away at the airport. No visa, no Vietnam, we were told. I tried frantically to redeem the trip, trying to secure a last-minute visa. But to no avail since there was no such thing as a last-minute visa to Vietnam.

So, this was a redemption trip. A month ago, when we knew we would go to Vietnam, I discovered that we could apply for E-visa online. Easy enough. Both of us put in the application. While Grace’s visa came through without drama, my visa application got rejected twice, forcing me to relive the rejection, really my unawareness, a year ago. First was my passport photo, not sure why they rejected my application. Later, my best guess was the size of the passport photo. I reformatted the photo and sent it in. The second rejection involved not putting down the hotel address in Hoi An, Vietnam. I asked Grace and she did not put down the address, yet her application got approved. I quickly became snarky. But dutifully, I did what they asked me to do. I told myself if they rejected my application again, Vietnam would be no more, not this time or ever. Two days later, my visa came through subsiding my conspiracy theory that they really did not like who they saw on the passport photo. Maybe that theory still has some merit, I do not know. However, I quickly pivoted to purchase air tickets and confirm the hotel reservation.

Vietnam in July and August is hot and unbelievably humid. It is what I call “double 90s,” low 90s in temperature with more unbearable and unpleasant 90 percent humidity. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I took four showers in a day. Most hotels rent out free bicycles and ours was no exception. I took advantage of renting a nostalgia-inducing antique but functional bike in a baby blue color with a convenient basket in front of the bike. The most ideal time though it is still hot and humid is to ride in the early mornings. For the last two mornings, I rode once to the beach and the other to the farmland where no tourists go. Both mornings, I came back drenched in sweat. Two days earlier, as we approached the Danang airport from the sky, what caught my eyes was the vast green farmland naturally divided by many gentle meandering rivers like veins coursing through the body. Looking from above, the dominating vibe of the landscape possessed the irenic and gentle spirit of Vietnam countryside.

The second morning after the bike ride, my sense was confirmed after a few interactions. I could not remember the last time I rode a bicycle, so my riding was wobbly. Especially when I was trying to shoot a video to share with my children back home, I almost fell while riding on the country road by the river. As I barely survived not falling, the motorbike man saw what was happening and stopped to offer hands in case I fell. Out of his gentle and kind spirit, his concerned face asked me in Vietnamese if I was OK, I nodded I was OK half-smiling out of relief and half-abashed. After thanking him in the only Vietnamese I know, I continued to ride. Only this time, I was done shooting a video. The two most iconic images I witnessed when I was riding were one: a young girl tossing and drying her hair in the back of the motorbike after having been at the beach in the morning. The other was an expressionless tiny older woman riding a motorbike with a non la, ubiquitous Vietnamese conical hat, with an unlit cigarette hanging sideways from her mouth, cool as a cucumber. She looked as if she could be an action figure in a Tarantino movie. I will throw in one more image. Right after I was done riding in one morning, I saw another older lady, riding a bike with one hand while holding and guiding another bike, not unlike riding a horse while holding another horse’ reins. She was effortlessly gliding on the street with no wasted movements.

Yesterday, after I sent my video footage and a few photos to our children, the girls replied with one of their activity photos of making bead accessories along with the verse I highlighted above. Immediately, it got hold of me and I have been thinking about the verse and the passage (The Story of Lazarus). “The glory of God” Jesus referred to, at first, was about the impending miraculous resurrection of Lazarus. In other words, “believe that I could do the miracle of bringing him from the dead and you will see the glory of God.” That would be the rightful context to interpret that way. Upon further meditation, I am reminded of Jesus’ earlier words in verse 4, “It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.” (The Message) God’s glory is tied to glorifying God’s Son, who in Person was ever so present right in front of everyone to see—to witness the event showcasing the glory of God, the resurrection of Lazarus. Today, I revisit what I jotted down in my journal two days ago, “Dare I lose sight of Christ who is the ultimate glory of God in the miraculous immediacy of Lazarus coming back to life.” My focus must be on the Healer, not only the healing. No wonder Jesus said, “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” (verse 25) The Christ, who is the indwelling glory of God, performed a miracle of showing God’s glory, reminding all that He is Resurrection and Life.

Jesus firmly reassured and promised to all that he would be with us until the end of the age. The Christ, the revealed indwelling glory of God, is with me every day and moment in all the mundane and extraordinary, upsetting, downcast, and the highs and lows of all emotions right in the middle of my now life. That’s a marvelous reminder.

“Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40)

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.