love as we know it

I am convinced that the core of the human heart contains an inherent desire to be known. This need is independent of culture, class, wealth, religion and race. The entire basis of social interaction rests upon this compulsion and every relationship exists in its pursuit. To strangers, we express ourselves with what we wear, what we drive, where we are seen. To acquaintances, we express ourselves with shared interests, favorite books and movies, with knowledge. As friends, we share inside jokes, experiences, and struggles. As spouses, we share everything. The more intimate the relationship, the more we allow ourselves to be known. The more we allow ourselves to be known, the more potentially satisfying the relationship.

Love as we know it balances between being known and being accepted. We are ever gauging whether or not we will be accepted for what we reveal. As imperfect and sometimes ugly people, there is always a fear that we will lose the acceptance of our friends, family, coworkers, etc. Our past, our flaws, our weirdness, are sources of shame to be hidden from the world. We hide behind attractive masks so no one else would know how we really look. Yet what resides in the dark recesses of our hearts yearns to be brought into light. The pinnacle of human relationship is one in which sinful people fully understand and fully accept each other in all their ugliness.

Still, there are physical limits to crawling inside the skin of another. Only in a divine relationship can we be fully known inside and out. Only in a divine relationship can we be fully loved under the light of our faults. But only in a divine relationship do we have to relate from opposite sides of heaven. Anyone who has wrestled with God understands both the potential satisfaction and terrible difficulty in being loved by Him.

“I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.”
Isaiah 6:5

well that turned into a rant rather quickly

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.


Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.


Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.


Judge not the lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.


His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.


Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

-William Cowper, “Light Shining out of Darkness”

The man who wrote these words lived a tragic life. His mother died when he was six. He was in love with his cousin at a young age but was barred from marrying her by her father. Neither ever married. He suffered from severe depression his entire life, attempting suicide multiple times. During some of his breakdowns, he was convinced that he was damned to hell for eternity and believed that God was asking him to take his own life as a sacrifice. He died as he lived, hopeless and despairing.

But out of this tragic figure flowed poetry which has lifted souls to soaring heights for centuries. This hymn has reduced me to tears on more than one occasion.  What a fascinating human being.  His writing is made all the more beautiful by knowing his background.  People are drawn to this kind of person.  One of his closest friends was pastor and reformed slave trader John Newton, who penned “Amazing Grace.”  John Piper, when preparing a lecture on him, wrote:

“I devoted about three days from waking till sleeping to William Cowper, besides leisurely reading of his poetry up till that time. Those three days I was almost entirely outside myself as it were. Now and then I "came to" and became aware that I had been absorbed wholly in the life of another. But most of the time I was not self-conscious. I was not thinking about me at all.”

So often are beautiful lives carved out of unfortunate circumstances. Out of struggle, and longsuffering, and pain. As Christians, there is often pressure to be cheerful and rejoicing at all times. “Smile, Jesus loves you!” Well, sometimes, I don’t freaking feel like it. Is that okay? Sometimes the futility of life and the weight of the world take its toll. Sometimes it is hard to feel the way we are "supposed" to feel. Sometimes what we know in our heads refuses to travel the twelve inches down to our hearts. Some people are able to ignore those doubts or, even better, bear them with some otherworldly display of grace. I am not one of those people.

Is it beneficial to hide how we feel? I mean, it is not realistic to respond to every "How are you?" with "Oh God the world is eating my face," but some people are so practiced at faking happiness that they convince even themselves of it. Maybe that is where happiness comes from to begin with. But how much weight does that brand of happiness carry?  The Jesus I picture is a burdened, heavy hearted individual, aware of the weight of his responsibility. I find that quality to greatly magnify the beauty of his existence.

I wonder if William Cowper or any number of artists would trade away their suffering if it meant the loss of their art. If it meant living carefree but trivial lives. Sometimes I wonder if I purposely dwell on the darker facets of existence in an attempt to imbue some kind of deeper meaning into what I do. So far I have only discovered that I cannot force myself to be an optimist, or an extrovert. What end will come from who I am I do not yet know.

good friday

God is dead.

That’s how it feels sometimes. On this night some two thousand years ago, God died. Mocked, beaten, killed. As the sun set over that hill in Jerusalem, God’s fragile body hung limp and lifeless against the knurled bark he was bound to. For those who knew him and followed him, who loved him, this was the end. The man they believed was their savior, their king, their only hope, was gone. Everything they knew for the last three years, everything they were so sure of, died on that tree. What could they do now? Where would they go? How could they follow him to heaven if he was dead? Maybe he was misleading them. Maybe he was just wrong, like so many others who claimed to have answers to life’s mysteries. Their sleep must have been fitful that night, if they got to sleep at all.

The morning arrives. No voice booming from above, no caverns of fire opening up from below. Just the regular morning busyness out in the street. Birds chirp, children play, men prepare for the day. The previous day’s events seem like a dream, like they couldn’t have happened. Like they didn’t happen. Except that for the last three years, every morning, the disciples knew there would be a plan for that day. Somewhere to go, something to do, someone to follow. Now there was no one. No direction, no guidance. No purpose. No hope.

The only consolation left to them was each other. No one else could understand the loss they felt. Eleven souls adrift in murky, uncertain seas. Being together was their only, but significant, comfort. Each one encouraged the others to be stronger than they felt themselves. Some cried. They told stories of the last three years. Some were funny and they forced a weak smile. Mostly though, they felt betrayed. He often talked about his death, but none of them imagined it like this. At least, not so soon. With so many promises unfulfilled. With no final instructions.

But the miracles which opened their minds and the words which scorched their hearts flashed in memory. They could all but dismiss what they experienced as genuine and true. But what could they do now? He was the source of it all. They were just observers. Witnesses. They couldn’t continue his work themselves. Unsure of their future and of their faith, the disciples discussed their options. They had to go on. What did they do before all of this started?

People say that the disciples’ return to fishing was a result of their lack of faith. Symbolic of their failure to continue as disciples. Upon experiencing loss, we tend to return to the familiar, seeking some kind of anchor to regain a semblance of bearing. I do not fault them for this. The alternative would have been to give up altogether. I can only imagine the amount of courage and strength it took to even leave the house. They were failures and fools in the eyes of the entire city. Their savior, crucified like a criminal. The combined pain of shame and purposelessness must have been crippling. It is the kind of pain that rends the most vital of men numb and bedridden. But they continued the best that they were able, with torn hearts and clouded minds.

There are periods when all earnest followers of Jesus are introduced to this situation. When God feels distant, silent, or dead. Personal tragedy, bad church experiences, failed relationships, loneliness. The world is filled with circumstances that make us feel like God has forgotten us. We remember how he had set fire to our lives in the past, but that past feels disconnected. Like it belongs to someone else. We feel hopeless and purposeless, like the disciples without Jesus. Unsure of our future and our faith.

How can we continue? We must, because the alternative is not an option. We cannot deny the muffled screams from the part of our souls that knows there is no going back. Our experiences with God, however muted, has changed us forever. We must do our jobs, serve at our churches, and seek out fellow lost souls. We must not stop. There are others who feel abandoned by God, others who are waiting for him to return. As long as there are others, it is possible to go on.

Those three days between Friday and Sunday must have felt like an eternity to the disciples, but it came. They did not know when it would come, or if it would come, but it came. They did their best to pray to a God who had died before their eyes. Those could only have been confused, angry prayers. No more than cries out to the darkness. But it was enough. These eleven broken men were redeemed and their impact continues to be felt two thousand years later.

As we go through stages in our lives between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, we must remember what happened to those who experienced it first. God had to die in order to be raised. He leaves us in order to return to us in the most glorious of ways. At least, I hope so. Until then I guess.

moving parts

In a couple days, I will be moving in with a friend who just bought a condo. For one year and six months, I have been living by myself. These are my reflections.

I don't like living by myself. At first, after sharing an apartment with four other guys, it was a breath of fresh air to be on my own. So much easier to keep the kitchen and bathroom clean. And I could finally set up all my music gear and do some decorating. And no more falling asleep to the sounds of Smash Brothers in the living room. It felt great to move beyond college life.

However, it was an exceedingly difficult transition. Not only was I forced to reevaluate the more important aspects of life, I had to do it stone cold alone. All the structure that sustained my previous life had crumbled. It was like a bridge that had lost its main supports. The roadway still functioned, but it was without strength. For a while, the trains kept chugging across and the bridge was suspended by my sheer force of will. I could not hold out forever though, and through the months, good habits deteriorated into bad habits.

Most noticeably, my inner life has suffered and I find myself less frequently intellectually and emotionally stimulated. External distractions have taken over. Instead of reading, or exercising, or writing, I pop in a DVD and numb myself in endless entertainment. I fear the ease of becoming awash in a sea of empty commercialism and consumerism is the greatest temptation of this generation.

I am looking forward to flipping past the last pages of this chapter of my life. It has been 18 months of limbo, a period which, though not altogether pleasant, nor altogether over, had to happen the way that it has. I have always admired and emulated the Lone Ranger mentality, yet again finding that it works best on the silver screen. We cannot function as islands indefinitely. Discipline runs thin without guidance, will weakens without direction, and freedom loses meaning without boundaries.

I am still searching for somewhere that feels like home. I am hopeful that this next step is a few miles closer than the last one.

"I wish'd to live without committing any fault at any time; I would conquer all that either natural inclination, custom, or company might lead me into. As I knew, or thought I knew, what was right and wrong, I did not see why I might not always do the one and avoid the other. But I soon found that I had undertaken a task of more difficulty than I had imagined. While my care was employ'd in guarding against one fault, I was often surprised by another; habit took the advantage of inattention; inclination was sometimes too strong for reason. I concluded, at length, that the mere speculative conviction that it was our interest to be completely virtuous, was not sufficient to prevent our slipping."
-Benjamin Franklin, The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin

the kids aren't alright

His parents loved to argue. Well, maybe they didn't love to, but they sure had gotten a lot of practice at it. He must have learned a lot about arguing from them. When he was little, he would join in, just so they wouldn't be alone in the company of yelling and tears. He would scream until his little voice went hoarse and cry until his little eyes refused to release tears. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. Sometimes they would stop fighting for a while and tell him that it wasn't his fault, that he was more important than whatever they were disagreeing upon. Sometimes they wouldn't. The two big voices and one little voice screaming in unison was quite a cacophony to behold. Once in a while, a smashed glass or a hole in the wall would bring a night's exertion to a close. He wondered what the neighbors thought, or if they cared at all. As he grew older, he learned to retreat when the voices rose, like his younger brother had always done. Sometimes, he thought that his brother learned things faster than him. Closed doors and television muffled most of the noise, but he would still cry to himself until silence blanketed the night. Stay together for the kids, they deserve a normal childhood.

It was different during college. Better, maybe. Being a little further away helped. His parents seemed to get along better. Maybe they had more space to figure things out. Teenagers around the house are stressful after all. Still, empty nest syndrome led to many phone calls and frequent weekend visits. Once every few months, though, he would open the door to a tension so thick that he could suffocate in it. They would pretend that everything was fine. They would go out to lunch and ask how classes were going, about dorm life. Smile, with honey in their voices. But their stiff interaction and dead eyes gave them away as plain as day. It wasn't fine. He wanted to scream. Sometimes he did. "Stop pretending!" It was worse than the yelling and crying. At least that stuff was real. Now they were just camouflaging their wounds with mud. Smile for the kids, they aren't home that much anymore.

He doesn't want to hide anymore. He never did. He still prefers to stand in the middle of the highway until traffic dies down or crushes him. On the worst days, he thinks he'd rather be crushed. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the tornado just around the bend, waiting to tear things apart. But anything is better than pretending. Pretending is building a castle in the sand. Pretending is putting on a thicker jacket and thinking you are bulletproof. No one wants to pretend, but dodging bullets is tiring. It's easier to close the door, turn on the television, and pretend that all is right with the world. He still curls up and cries silently to himself until silence blankets the night. Pull it together for the kids, you're the grown up now.

what already?

I caught myself trying to write something profound yesterday while I really wanted to be engrossed in prayer. Fail. Here's what came out:

I am sitting in the food court at the mall on a Sunday afternoon. It is nearing that golden hour when the sun streaming in though the skylit ceiling mixes with the artificial lamps in a way that it is difficult to tell which is which. Justin Beiber is singing on the multiple overhead flat screen TVs. The catchy pop complements the din of fast food cooking and shoppers shopping.

Who am I?

I was pondering identity and what it means to find your identity in Christ. I think we can only discover our own character against the backdrop of His. It is a fool's errand to search for an identity apart from God. We have no worth, no value, no significance, in and of ourselves. Even the terrifying creatures of heaven, much more than mere flesh and blood like us, cower before His throne.

Whenever the living creatures give glory, honor and thanks to him who sits on the throne and who lives for ever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall down before him who sits on the throne, and worship him who lives for ever and ever. They lay their crowns before the throne and say:
"You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they were created to have their being."
Revelations 4:9-11

an overdue update

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry old friend, I have been neglecting you. You see, life has been somewhat busy yet somewhat uneventful at the same time and rather than bore you with the details, I have chosen to remain silent. However, there are a couple things that might peak your interest as of late. I was able to spend some quality time with Car last weekend and bandaged up his recent injury as best as I could. Please see the enclosed Photograph of his progress. I hope to work with him again soon to make sure he's alright for his future travels.

The test results from Doctor came back and he wants to order another Test. Furthermore, he called me yesterday to tell me they do not take my Insurance any longer, and that I must be redirected to another Doctor for the Test. This is one of those situations which is mostly out of my control, which require mostly just Trust and Patience. I am sorry to report, however, that Patience is wearing a bit thin.

I have been long awaiting the opportunity to return to my beloved Guitar. As it is, I manage to steal only a few minutes with her here and there. I am eagerly awaiting the arrival of Inspiration to to bless our holy union.

Send my warmest regards to your Followers, and keep in touch my friend.

Sincerely,
Nate

legacies and the internet

Not sure who might appreciate this, but I find it to be a beautiful piece of writing from an unexpected source. A unique reflection on our technological dependence and the fragility of life. Read it here. I warn you, it won't make sense at first. Just keep reading. Apologies for the pretentiousness.

Here's an excerpt:

The Cloud is just the internet. And the internet is just a bunch of hard drives.

The internet is really good at replicating discrete bits of self-contained data. There are probably a few million copies of any given Loretta Lynn song out on all the hard drives of the world, because lots of people care about Loretta Lynn.

But my photos on Flickr only live on a few hard drives in the world. The hard drives in the database servers. The hard drives in the networked-attached storage devices that are used to backup the database servers. A few of the pictures are on my friends' hard drives, but not most of them, and certainly not the complete collection.

When I die my Flickr Pro account will expire and a large percentage of my photos—girlfriends, family, vacations, my dog—will disappear from public view. They'll sit on Flickr's hard drives until Flickr goes out of business or loses the data.

Someone might send Flickr my death certificate, prove that I'm gone. Flickr might even give them access to those photos, should one of my friends even think to gain it. But more likely no one will even think to look. Part of my trivial legacy will go dark, sleeping quietly on a handful of hard drives.

-Joel Johnson, Gizmodo

[via]

degree of difficulty

I have somehow gotten it into my head that only things that are difficult are worth doing. That any endeavor which rides the hard road is superior to one which cruises the easy road. That self-denial and sacrifice are badges of honor and holiness. My actions and decisions have reflected that philosophy and, for the most part, I think that I am better for it.

It is true that life inevitably brings difficultly and that persevering through it breeds true depth of character. I would go so far to say that we should pursue lives of purpose and adversity as opposed to lives of comfort and complacency. However, saying that everything MUST be difficult to be valuable is fallacy. Following that is to fall into a strange variation of works based salvation, where blessing is bought with suffering.

I admit that I have bought into this big time. I may have fooled myself into thinking that only the hard road leads to heaven. Easy roads are too easy to be good. This is a mistake. If I am being offered a wonderful gift, I do not want to refuse it because I haven't done anything to deserve it. To do so is to deny the Cross. Ours is not to judge the roughness of the road, ours is but to follow the compass in faith.

splinters

Altogether, I think we ought to read only books that bite and sting us. If the book we are reading doesn't shake us awake like a blow to the skull, why bother reading it in the first place? So that it can make us happy, as you put it? Good God, we'd be just as happy if we had no books at all; books that make us happy we could, in a pinch, also write ourselves. What we need are books that hit us like a most painful misfortune, like the death of someone we loved more than we love ourselves, that make use feel as though we had been banished to the woods, far from any human presence, like suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is what I believe.
-Franz Kafka

The pastor referred to this quote in church today. His point was not as gloomy as the quote.

Lately, I have been thinking about how easy it is for us to self-medicate our aches instead of exploring them. Retail therapy, television, and Facebook are always an arm's length away. We are a generation which has grown accustomed to distracting ourselves from pain. As if not thinking about our loneliness or our lack of spiritual fulfillment or our frustrating jobs will magic it away.

What if these wounds are splinters instead of cuts? We bandage ourselves where it hurts and it helps for a while. But with every movement, though covered over at the surface, we feel the sharp fragments prodding the flesh underneath. It is a deep ebbing pain that makes plastering on a smile impossible when no one's looking.

The only way to be truly free of these splinters involves sharp instruments. To remove the bandages and cut away at good flesh to find and dig out the foreign objects that have buried themselves so deep over the years. This is a painful process, but it is the only way to freedom. We are only lucky enough not to cut blindly, but with the steady hand of a skilled Surgeon guiding each stroke of the knife.

For those who are struggling with difficult situations, I believe that there has to be some value in hanging on with every last breath. There is no circumstance without some shred of redemptive value. You are not alone. Just don't give up.

faith and works

For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father's glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what he has done.
Matthew 16:27

If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames.
1 Corinthians 3:14-15

Watch out that you do not lose what you have worked for, but that you may be rewarded fully.
2 John 1:8

If we have been saved by grace, not by works, how can there exist a concept of heavenly rewards according to earthly deeds? Why does scripture repeatedly refer to a rewards system based on what we do on earth? What is so reprehensible about barely escaping through the flames if the ultimate reward in heaven is God Himself? I thought that the worker who is hired at the end of the day is paid the same as the one hired in the morning.

My only concrete understanding of heaven is eternal fellowship with God, where worship exists without corruption nor fatigue nor apathy. And everyone in heaven participates, whether they entered by an inch or a mile. So why a rewards system? Will we stare jealously at our neighbor's house which is gilded with gold from our own which is gilded with silver? I cannot believe that heaven will contain such human fallacies. I believe our attentions will be so captivated by Glory that we will hardly notice ourselves, much less our surroundings.

Faith without deeds is dead, that much is understandable. Could these rewards be a motivator for the less initiated? The idea of a heavenly reward can and does drive many people to labor for God, even if it doesn't make any difference. But I can't believe that God would be so...manipulative. It's not consistent with His personality to create vestigial motivators. If good works do not come out of a desire for God, they are but dirty rags.

How can such a paradox, if not an outright contradiction, exist within scripture which is supposed to be infallible? The only way I can rationalize it is by arguing that life is paradoxical. We are walking contradictions. Shine a red light on a yellow scrap of paper and it will look red. Shine a green light on that same scrap and it will look green. (I think.) Only white light reveals true colors. It is important not to shelve our doubts, but to wrestle over them. God could have called his people whatever He wanted to, but he chose the name "Israel," which means "wrestles with God."

Please share your thoughts. Maybe our different colored flashlights will combine into something resembling white light.

dust and discipleship

To the Jews who had believed him, Jesus said, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
-John 8:31-32

Christian discipleship is a relationship of imitation and reproduction. To be a Christian is to be a “Little Christ.” We are ultimately disciples of Jesus, but, since the Twelve, we follow by proxy. Discipleship is to follow someone as they follow Christ. And there are as many ways to follow God as there are ways to interpret Scripture. A thousand people will express love a thousand different ways, none better or worse than another. We were created so uniquely for good reason.

To imitate any man so closely is to imitate their weaknesses as well as their strengths. To emulate their world view, their approach to devotion, their perspectives on doctrine, their lifestyle and their heart. By necessity, grace blankets men’s shortcomings to draw together imperfect people with incongruous hearts. But, if fortunate enough to be presented with a choice in the matter, be a disciple of someone with a similar heart. Even better, find someone who has the character and qualities that you want for yourself, and follow them so closely that the dust kicked up by their feet becomes a second skin.

I am having to live with a difficult decision in a similar vein, to leave a community which I love because of incongruous directions. Leaving these people whom I love very much leaves jagged edges and splinters in the rift. Aside from them, there is little left that retains me. This community is a hermit crab shell which I have outgrown. It was home to me and I will forever remember fondly of it, but it will never quite fit the way that it used to. My heart is resting on distant shores and new beginnings. Still looking for a shell that fits.

essay

I had to write an essay for an application, describing a cross-cultural experience. I hope it's alright to post it...

In 2005, I spent the summer between my third and fourth years of college in China and Mongolia. VSET brings American college students to teach conversational English to high school and college students in several Asian countries. Much of the focus is on building relationships that last beyond the two months of the program. My team of eight had two teaching sessions in addition to a week of training and a week of debriefing with the other teams.

Our first session was spent in Mongolia’s capital city of Ulaan Bataar. Other than some basic language and culture lessons, I knew nothing about the isolated land we were flying into. Adjusting was difficult at first, but I quickly fell in love with my students. Their strong cultural identity and warmth as a people was inspiring. I spent almost every waking hour with my students, doing what they enjoyed doing, eating what they ate, and even seeing some of their homes and meeting their families. A tearful goodbye at the train station sent us to Bejing.

I am ethnically Chinese though I was born and raised in California. This was my first time in China, but I expected the culture shock to be less jarring. In many ways it was more comfortable, but I felt no connection to the people. I had assumed that because I understood the culture, I would be able to integrate easily and connect naturally. But I realized that I identified more with the American side of my upbringing than I did with the Chinese side. I felt superior.

One afternoon, we struck up a conversation with a graduate student who had spent a semester studying abroad in Ohio. After talking for a while, he started opening up about his battle with loneliness. He complained about having incessant pain in his hand and would clench his forearm constantly. At one point in the conversation he removed his watch and revealed four lines across his wrist that had been hidden by the wristband. My expression must have betrayed my confusion because my teammate leaned over to me and whispered, “He tried to kill himself.” At that moment, my pride melted. I had never met anyone who attempted suicide. All of a sudden, it was no longer about me. I wished that I had some magical solution for him, but I could do nothing but be a friend. We met a few more times before we had to leave Beijing and I haven’t heard from him since. I will never forget him.

The remainder of the Beijing session was much easier. I was no longer hindered by my identity crisis and I was able to see the students for who they were on the inside. I left the States thinking I would see how different the rest of the world was. I returned realizing that walls of culture and language and wealth divide hearts that have the same fears, struggles, ambitions, and joys. We are one world.

concrete river video and story

Full lyrics two posts down.

The concept for this song came to me two summers ago while I was living in Cerritos and commuting to work by bike, train, and skateboard. It's about 4 miles along the San Gabriel River from my parent's house to the train station. If you haven't seen the rivers in LA, they are massive slabs of concrete shaped like a V to channel water from inland to the the Pacific. Sometimes after a rain the water level rises, but most of the time it is just a trickle. They usually have a walkway running along either side with entrances at various overpasses and neighborhoods.


I would bike with my skateboard strapped to my backpack from my house to the train station, ride the Greenline to El Segundo and skateboard the half-mile to my office. I remember learning how to slow myself down after 5 whirlwind years as an undergrad. Learning how to adjust to life in the real world. Learning how to enjoy the journey.

And it was from my bicycle, along the river, that I watched the sun rise and the sun set every day. That river ran along poorer backyards and horse stables and industrial junkyards. Over the handlebars I saw a different universe hidden from suburban Los Angeles. I saw taggers trying to make their mark, couples stealing a moment of privacy, families fishing, cowboys giving their horses a workout, and the dregs of society trying to keep warm away from prying eyes.

It was a strange mix of worlds, but one that seemed to fit together somehow. It was separated from the ambitions and judgments and vanities of normal life. It was different. It was peaceful. I started writing about that concrete river two years ago but gave up until this song came out recently.

Does knowing more of the story behind a song make it more meaningful or would you rather come up with your own interpretation?

extravagant worship

I have been going through Mark for quiet times and came to this passage in Mark 14 about Jesus' anointing at Bethany. It is a demonstration of the kind of worship that God desires from us: Worship that is extravagant. This is right before the Last Supper leading to Jesus’ crucifixion. Jesus knows what he must go through very soon. I imagine his countenance would be pretty somber and serious. Let’s read Mark 14:3-9.

Jesus Anointed at Bethany:

³While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head.

⁴Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, "Why this waste of perfume? ⁵It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." And they rebuked her harshly.

⁶"Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me. ⁷The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me. ⁸She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. ⁹I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her."

This passage is found also in the other three gospels. Matthew and Mark do not identify the woman. Luke says it was a “woman who had lived a sinful life” (possibly Mary Magdalene), and John says it is Mary sister of Martha.

In any case, this woman who is familiar with Jesus pours an alabaster jar of nard on Jesus, anointing Him just days before his crucifixion. Nard is a rare and expensive spice from the Himalayas and was very expensive. A typical alabaster jar was thin and not more than 6 or 8 inches high. Someone present says it is worth more than a year’s wages. So this is equivalent to a $40,000 dollar bottle of CK Obsession for Men. It is probably her most treasured possession. But instead of a light spritz, she breaks the whole jar and empties it completely on Jesus.

"Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year's wages and the money given to the poor." And they rebuked her harshly.

The practical part of me agrees with that voice in the crowd. There could be much better uses for something so valuable. They could do a lot of good with that money, or at least use the perfume slowly in sane amounts. I’m sure Jesus knew that also, but He rebukes the crowd. He calls it a beautiful act. He accepts this act of worship and here we are reading about it 2000 years later.

"Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me…You will not always have me. She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her."

We learn to be practical and efficient, and those are useful qualities. This is how we balance our responsibilities and survive as students, as employees and as Christians. We need to be practical and efficient to be good stewards of what God has given us. But guess what? God is not impressed with our practicality, at least not in worship. In a relationship, a girl would never say to her boyfriend, “Boyfriend, I love that you are able to love me so efficiently.” That's not how relationships work.

The same goes for our relationship with Christ. Spending time with God is not about getting the biggest return for our investment. If it were, we shouldn’t be developing a relationship with Him, we should be developing a portfolio. But that’s how we treat it sometimes. If we invest a certain amount of time into prayer and church and discipleship and people, we hope to get a certain amount of return on the investment in the form of blessings or growth.

Except Jesus shows us that worship is not about practicality, it is about EXTRAVAGANCE. In no other situation would it be beautiful to use a $40,000 bottle of perfume like that. And it is not about the amount of money either. The poor widow who gave her only 2 pennies was no less extravagant. It is about the heart and the circumstances behind the act. The kind of worship that pleases God is the kind that turns its back on practicality to say that He is deserving of all glory and every glory. When we give extravagantly we are telling God that He is our real treasure. We are saying that our earthly treasures come from Him anyway and that we value the giver more than the gift.

Practicality is about returns, extravagance does not care. There are two ways to fix a car. One way is to fix it for functionality, to replace what is broken just to get it running. This is the most efficient way. The second way is to restore it, to meticulously make sure that every nut and bolt is shiny, even polishing the underside that no one will ever see. Very few people will be able to appreciate the time and effort that goes into it. But that car becomes more than just transportation, it becomes a treasure to it's owner. So how do we treat our worship? Do we just make sure that it runs or do we make it shine?

Extravagant worship does not neglect our responsibilities; the poor, in this example. It is displaying faith that God doesn’t need us to carry out His will. He wants our focus to be on Him first. Everything else, even our mission and ministry and responsibilities come second to that. Extravagant worship demonstrates trust that God will provide for everything else.

This could mean setting aside our most attentive hour of the day for quiet time, or putting extra time into a banquet skit to make it perfect, or staying up all night to comfort a friend. It is basically going the extra mile when it comes to God. Matthew 5:40-41 says,

If someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.

Go two miles for God, even if you can get away with going just one. The extra mile is the one that really puts a smile on God’s face. The extra mile silences the voices which say that the perfume could have been used for more practical purposes. Not for a return on the investment, but for love and out of genuine worship. Efficiency is not a fruit of the spirit.

I speak as one who has failed at this continuously. I love efficiency. There’s nothing wrong with being efficient or practical, but I know I have missed out on a lot of blessings because of it. Homework and studying took me away from worshiping extravagantly when I was an undergrad. I was always looking for a quick exit from ministry activities so I could study for that midterm or finish that problem set. Looking back now I barely remember any of my classes but I would give anything to be able fellowship with my class again. At work, my desire for a professional image keeps me from extravagant worship. I don’t want to be known as a Jesus freak and I want to be respected by my colleagues. This year as staff, maybe worst of all, I have accepted the adequate completion of tasks as a substitute for extravagant worship. I hope you guys don’t make the same mistakes.

Once again, our relationship with God is not to be reduced to a portfolio, to investment versus return. He has already given us the most extravagant gift of all in Jesus Christ. He is deserving of worship of the same caliber.

[UCLA ICA, 5-21-2009]
..feedback welcome..

futures (cont.)

Okay, either no one's interested or no one's reading, but I'll post anyway.

Currently I am heavily invested in campus ministry. So heavily that my devotional (and personal) life hangs by a thread. Even in this stretched state, or maybe because of it, God has shown me the reaches of His grace and used me in inexplicable ways. This environment builds character and perseverance and Trust. I have grown because of it. However, it is difficult for me to enjoy it, save for merciful but short glimpses of heaven.

And as the school year traverses into its final quarter, the road begins its divide yet again...

I feel that God is leading me away from college ministry and giving me a heart for young professionals. A spiritual community has sprouted at my workplace completely by grace and the few post-graduates at White Harvest are fellowship starved, me included. It is my joy to take part in these communities. But God (or Min) has entrusted to me a handful of young men at UCLA as well. These guys are growing and I enjoy serving them as well, though I cannot give them the attention they deserve because of work. I am also unsure, because of my absence, if they are ready to be integrated into the larger ICA body. I need to be faithful to them as best as I am able.

So the question is, do I remain on campus staff next year? Am I willing to be stretched for another year? The more "successful" my ministry, the less time I have for devotionals and, well, laundry and stuff. I am unable to give my best to people on campus, at work, and at church at the same time. I know God would use me regardless as He has this year, but is there a better way?

The other option, discontinuing my staff responsibilities, presents its own problems. I spent a year as a White Harvest attendee, and it was good as I adjusted to working life and took a breather from ministry. But I do not want to return to that. There was a huge lack of peer fellowship and I felt out of place among the other graduates, who were all on staff. Is it possible to grow at White Harvest as a graduate without being fully committed to campus ministry? I hope so, because I don't want to leave.

There is hope yet. The beginnings of a post-grad fellowship are rising from the dust at WHEC, and I am hopeful that God will use it for His glory and for our good. Saturday Society 2.0? God started it and I have no idea where He will take it, but that sounds like everything else that is happening in my life.

There is also the question of my job, Los Angeles, and another issue that is hopelessly complicated. Oh, and music. So many roads but only one direction. Clarity come.

"Cast all your anxieties on Him, for He cares about you."
1 Peter 5:7

disturbing

So I just came across this article on extremely disturbing movies, read at your own risk. Now I consider myself to be adequately desensitized to most things thanks to our friend the internet, but my stomach was churning. The dark corners of man's imagination is pretty scary. And knowing that such violence and depravity and evil are not just imaginary makes me want to jump in front of a bus. I have been seeing the world beyond the rose-tinted walls of a protected Asian-American upbringing, and it scares me. But as much as I want to avert my eyes, something deep within my soul knows that it is these things that necessitated the coming of a Savior. The ugliness that invariably exists within will be brought to the light and cleansed, however painful the process. The world was created perfectly, it is fallen, and it can be redeemed.

more on heaven

I have been longing for heaven lately. Longing to circumvent the obstacles of this life. Longing to see God face to face without this veil of deceitful flesh. Longing to escape the pressure, the expectations, the temptations, and the hurts.

But my longing for heaven might be misguided. It has been reaping a harvest of sorrow in me. It is not necessarily worldly sorrow, but neither is it Godly sorrow that leads to joy.

I think that real hope in heaven should create a selflessly joyful existence. If someone is absolutely convinced that they are destined for eternity with the Creator of the Universe, this life becomes but a breath. There should be no wallowing in self pity or discontent. There cannot exist pride or selfishness in someone who lives completely in God's salvation. Only joy should survive. That doesn't mean that there will be no more trouble, just that the response to it is one of surrender. Circumstances cannot touch the joy of someone who's treasure is truly in eternity.

So what is the difference between a longing for heaven that reaps sorrow and a longing for heaven that reaps joy?

Faith. I lack faith. I don't believe enough in the goodness of God or the reality of heaven. I am still trying to get the most I can out of this life and lamenting over what I cannot. And all this while knowing that the things of this world cannot fully satisfy. "Woe to the lukewarm Christian for neither can he fully enjoy God nor sin."

"My soul languishes for Your salvation,
I wait for Your word.
Revive me according to Your lovingkindness
So that I may keep the testimony of Your mouth."
-Psalm 119:81,88

"I do believe; help my unbelief."
- Mark 9:24

"If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain 'move from here to there' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible to you."
-Matthew 17:20

ambition?

(This post was really hard to write for some reason.)

Dream big. I have learned from a young age to reach for the stars and that hard work and determination are the keys to my dreams. Happiness is found the the attainment of ambitions. If I am esteemed above my peers and exalted for my success, I will finally be content with my life. I should strive to be the best at what I do.

But everything that I have experienced tells me the opposite. It is true that studying hard has landed me a well-paying job, that practicing guitar has made me a decent musician, even that studying the Bible has given me a bit of wisdom. But raging ambition can turn a person into a shell of what they were meant to be. "If only I had this, I would be content."

Lasting happiness is not found by looking for it or by striving for it. The future does not hold the key to contentment. The present does. Living for the next promotion, the perfect relationship, a big break or the ultimate vacation robs us of the joy of living. We need to be still and enjoy each moment for what it is: A divinely unique gift that needs to be treasured and enjoyed.

I know this, but still find myself with many selfish ambitions. It is so easy for ideas to get lost on the journey from our hearts to our hands. When situations are difficult or confusing, it is sometimes beneficial to hope in the future to endure the present, but in doing so we can miss the song that all of Creation is singing at this very second. I want to hear that song and rejoice in it.

...

Security. Popularity. Beauty. Success. Comfort. Success.

Joy. Peace. Purpose. Contentment. True love. Eternal life.

Why are you striving these days?

sometimes music cures the desperation

Driving is sometimes my last refuge from the rest of the world. For 30 minutes down the 405 gone are the pressures, the expectations, the ambitions and the failures. The destination is known so I can enjoy the ride. I wish I could say the same about life outside my car.

And sometimes the perfect song comes on and I wish the commute were just a little bit longer.

Sometimes I love it when music cures the desperation.

"Head Over Heels (In This Life)"

Head over here and take me
Head over heels and aching
When I told you I was yours
I was yours

In this life, you're the one place I call home
In this life, you're the feeling I belong
In this life, you're the flower and the thorn
You're everything that's fair in love and war

I'm coming down like a gunshot
In all these battles I've fought
You're the mark I'm aiming for
I was yours

Head over heels

In this life I'm stubborn to the core
In this life I've been burning after more
We both know what these open arms are for
You're everything that's fair

In this life, you're my only one

-Switchfoot