a word of poetry
for the ones who think
too much
for the one who feel
too much
for all who feel caught
squeezed
in between the best of themselves
and the fearful chills
of what they cannot become
i dream in colors
i live in black and white
i remember too much
forgetting what is most important
doubting what is best
distracted
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Reflection on Being a Wesley Seminary Urban Fellow
A call to ministry is one of the greatest tensions a person might experience. It is not just an interest in a job, but a deep seated experience of the entire being called upon by a higher power to live in a capacity beyond what most would find typical or even desirable. Even worse, often the calling is worked out over years, sometimes decades, stretching out an already fragile tension with life long questions and doubts in the same basket as visions and hopes.
Jesus began his ministry with a boom. Matthew (4:12-25) begins the story with triumphant callings in Capernaum, quoting Isaiah and stirring up the hope of a new kingdom coming. He practically proclaims, "Let there be light!" in the same spirit of creation. He hooks a few fishermen in the next chapter with the promise of revolution, a brawl that rugged fishermen would be willing to drop their livelihoods for ("fishers of men" didn't mean what it does to us today). The narrative then moves into a sweeping epic of ministry to great crowds from cities and regions throughout Palestine. Epic.
Since high school and on through college, the call to the city bothered me. You see, I'm a product of the suburbs. For a young, wide-eyed teen looking to make a "difference," the prospects of urban ministry are no less revolutionary and aspiring as Jesus' original call. I worked with urban ministries throughout high school, college, but always at a safe distance: the kind that allowed you a few hours to a few weeks in the inner-city at a time before returning to the comforts of a home or campus in the burbs.
Now, years later, I'm working out my original desires at Wesley Theological Seminary in their new Urban Fellows program. I discovered the possibility an ocean away in China. After college I had put the idea of urban ministry on hold for international teaching and development. Here was that old call dressed up in a new, experimental program that sought a praxis engagement of urban DC, the very city I first felt the tugs of God's alluring whispers. With my wife and I set to return to the DC area, I signed up hoping this seminary and program would be the opportunity to bring together my fractured experiences from youth to today. I wonder if the disciples felt the same tensions and opportunities when they heard Jesus' words? Epic.
Luke (4:14-5:17) gives us a less rosy perspective on the call. Jesus' initial message given to town fellows in Nazareth produced the particular response of riot. The calling of the fishermen by the sea accompanied with the inner conflict of a man ashamed. Before the great crowds gathered on the plains to hear the words of the teacher, a long list of healings, controversies, and conflict had already taken place. Luke paints a journey that, though epic, is fleshed out in the realities of the world's religious, economic, and social systems.
As I complete my first semester of work with the Urban Fellows program, I'm realizing the messiness of the process ahead. In the wholeness of life, the calling to urban ministry is not all consuming. I have to work out the tensions of family life, friendships, and work. I've learned that in order to embody the Gospel, there is a lot of red tape to move through, a lot of study and consideration to be fleshed out in the both typical norms and sweeping changes of downtown DC. It has only been one semester. There are many more to come. I'm getting prepared for a little controversy, a little conflict, and hopefully, a little healing as well.
What's my narrative for my Urban Fellows journey? For now, it is the gospels themselves. The story of a rag tag band of men, tricked into following a ring leader full of dreams that, once revealed, seemed less and less like what they had in mind. Following Matthew's epic beginning comes the Sermon on the Mount, a message barely conceivable in the mind and heart much less in action. Where is the place for meekness and peacemaking in revolution? This Kingdom of Heaven is ideal beyond ideal, unrealistic to the core. Likewise, Luke's Sermon on the Plain is a challenge to the high and low to, a great balancing of fates requiring great love and great sacrifice, speaking into the very conflicts that had taken place before.
I believe Jesus' life spoke into the heart of the urban context of his time. As I follow the stories of his followers from a seaside call along the Galilee to a great journey across the Mediterranean to the center of imperial power, I likewise find my own journey from suburban Maryland to China and back. My life, thus far, has been an eclectic mix of experiences and ideas. As the disciples worked out their hopes and visions in conversation with the life of Christ laid out before them, so shall I in my studies at Wesley, DC, Baltimore, and beyond. I believe Christ will reconcile the great diversity at work within and around me during my Urban Fellows engagement. Along the way he'll challenge me with realities and ideals I've never considered or had to face, the same way his own disciples had to process it. These next few years will be anything but planned, smooth, and clear. Maybe... they'll be epic.
Jesus began his ministry with a boom. Matthew (4:12-25) begins the story with triumphant callings in Capernaum, quoting Isaiah and stirring up the hope of a new kingdom coming. He practically proclaims, "Let there be light!" in the same spirit of creation. He hooks a few fishermen in the next chapter with the promise of revolution, a brawl that rugged fishermen would be willing to drop their livelihoods for ("fishers of men" didn't mean what it does to us today). The narrative then moves into a sweeping epic of ministry to great crowds from cities and regions throughout Palestine. Epic.
Since high school and on through college, the call to the city bothered me. You see, I'm a product of the suburbs. For a young, wide-eyed teen looking to make a "difference," the prospects of urban ministry are no less revolutionary and aspiring as Jesus' original call. I worked with urban ministries throughout high school, college, but always at a safe distance: the kind that allowed you a few hours to a few weeks in the inner-city at a time before returning to the comforts of a home or campus in the burbs.
Now, years later, I'm working out my original desires at Wesley Theological Seminary in their new Urban Fellows program. I discovered the possibility an ocean away in China. After college I had put the idea of urban ministry on hold for international teaching and development. Here was that old call dressed up in a new, experimental program that sought a praxis engagement of urban DC, the very city I first felt the tugs of God's alluring whispers. With my wife and I set to return to the DC area, I signed up hoping this seminary and program would be the opportunity to bring together my fractured experiences from youth to today. I wonder if the disciples felt the same tensions and opportunities when they heard Jesus' words? Epic.
Luke (4:14-5:17) gives us a less rosy perspective on the call. Jesus' initial message given to town fellows in Nazareth produced the particular response of riot. The calling of the fishermen by the sea accompanied with the inner conflict of a man ashamed. Before the great crowds gathered on the plains to hear the words of the teacher, a long list of healings, controversies, and conflict had already taken place. Luke paints a journey that, though epic, is fleshed out in the realities of the world's religious, economic, and social systems.
As I complete my first semester of work with the Urban Fellows program, I'm realizing the messiness of the process ahead. In the wholeness of life, the calling to urban ministry is not all consuming. I have to work out the tensions of family life, friendships, and work. I've learned that in order to embody the Gospel, there is a lot of red tape to move through, a lot of study and consideration to be fleshed out in the both typical norms and sweeping changes of downtown DC. It has only been one semester. There are many more to come. I'm getting prepared for a little controversy, a little conflict, and hopefully, a little healing as well.
What's my narrative for my Urban Fellows journey? For now, it is the gospels themselves. The story of a rag tag band of men, tricked into following a ring leader full of dreams that, once revealed, seemed less and less like what they had in mind. Following Matthew's epic beginning comes the Sermon on the Mount, a message barely conceivable in the mind and heart much less in action. Where is the place for meekness and peacemaking in revolution? This Kingdom of Heaven is ideal beyond ideal, unrealistic to the core. Likewise, Luke's Sermon on the Plain is a challenge to the high and low to, a great balancing of fates requiring great love and great sacrifice, speaking into the very conflicts that had taken place before.
I believe Jesus' life spoke into the heart of the urban context of his time. As I follow the stories of his followers from a seaside call along the Galilee to a great journey across the Mediterranean to the center of imperial power, I likewise find my own journey from suburban Maryland to China and back. My life, thus far, has been an eclectic mix of experiences and ideas. As the disciples worked out their hopes and visions in conversation with the life of Christ laid out before them, so shall I in my studies at Wesley, DC, Baltimore, and beyond. I believe Christ will reconcile the great diversity at work within and around me during my Urban Fellows engagement. Along the way he'll challenge me with realities and ideals I've never considered or had to face, the same way his own disciples had to process it. These next few years will be anything but planned, smooth, and clear. Maybe... they'll be epic.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Reconciliation
What does it mean to reconcile?
As I ease into seminary studies through this first semester of work and reflection, the question rises as the fundamental problem of my spiritual formation. As I look about my classes, my work, my relationships, I see the question staring me the in face. I’ve tried to ignore it by keeping busy, by offering token sacrifices of convenient action to appease it, by rationalizing my actions or non-actions as dictated by circumstance and season. I feel called to a ministry of reconciliation in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. I state this boldly and unashamedly. Yet, as time moves on, there is a shame that confronts me. My intentions are pure, but I feel a spirit of hypocrisy in my actions. The longer I sit with myself, the heavier the weight.
What does it mean to reconcile?
Dictionaries offer the following definitions: “to win over to friendliness; cause to be amicable,” “to accept or be resigned to something not desired,” “to compose or settle,” “to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent,” “to reconsecrate,” “to restore.”
In all of our lives, there are spaces that require reconciliation. Those spaces might be completely personal and internal, or be so large as to encompass entire cultural norms within a greater society. As I write and reflect, I am trying to discover these spaces, to sit in them, and pray fervently for my Lord to speak to me in them.
My wife challenges my sense and desire for reconciliation. She suggests that I seek it out of fear and insecurity rather than holy conviction. I alluded to this in my first reflection; the desire to be okay with all those around me as to not incur wrath or dislike. Indeed, this is true. But at the same time, I am beginning to understand my overall desire to be a positive thing. To have the world reconciled with itself and with God is a holy conviction. But I am divided in my heart between spaces of fear and insecurity. I pray the Lord to heal and fill these spaces with empowering love as to see my desires incarnate in holy concern. In this way, I shall not be reacting to tensions out of fear but engaging them in true love.
To reconcile requires great love and a greater courage to face fears and discomfort.
In my relationships, there are growing chasms in some of my closest friendships. I’ve alluded to those in previous reflections as well. The painful dynamics at work in these friendships feels similar to Howard’s description of “enemy status” within God’s family on page 92. “To love such an enemy requires reconciliation, the will to re-establish a relationship. It involves confession of error and a seeking to be restored to one’s former place.” For all of us, there has been hurt inflicted without full address. I have yet to find a way to voice all of my hurts, and I know my dear friends have not yet either. In our busy lives, the spaces to listen to one another seem few. Complications of growing families and new niches provide further obstacles. Here I am, rationalizing yet again. Where is my will to reconcile? If I cannot reconcile amongst old friends, how ever shall I reconcile with a true enemy?
To reconcile requires discipline.
Then there is the city is live in and the city I study in: Baltimore and Washington, DC. I’ve alluded to these spaces in my earlier reflections as well. In these spaces the division I witness daily is beginning to eat away at my soul. I can hardly go about my daily business without hundreds of visible reminders flooding my soul of the perpetual division, isolation, and hatred that is produced (and often, sanctioned, or even blessed). I’ve intentionally joined a church planting seeking to reconcile divided neighborhoods in southeast Baltimore, seeking to support its ministries as actively as I can, but it doesn’t seem fast enough. I want to throw my entire self into the work now. In my restlessness, I desire to bring together all many churches in Baltimore city of the same reconciling spirit to greater collaboration. The idea keeps bouncing around my head almost to the point of dizziness. In DC at Wesley, my studies as an Urban Fellow keep me ever in tune with the rhythms of Mt Vernon Square neighborhood.
The texts I read, such as Thurman for this very class, provide the wisdom of ages past for understanding how fear, deception, and hate are systematically engrained into our fledgling environments. When one lives in a city like Baltimore and engages in intentional study on the subjects in a context like DC, the words Thurman share are no intellectual exercise anymore. They are realities that confront me with endless questions, chief of which being, “How shall you serve to reconcile?”? I desire to deconstruct the “enemy status” in us all, to preach and act in all manners Howard spoke of in his chapter on Love. I want to love my enemies (be careful what you wish for.) All this of this is both enlightening and paralyzing. I struggle and question daily how ready I am to put my ideas into action. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy.
To reconcile requires a great deal of patience, humility, and the keen awareness that God must move, not I.
All these paradigms lend me insight into what it takes to bring reconciliation. But honestly, I have not had much success in envisioning and understanding what reconciliation looks like on any of the levels I’ve written on. The eschatological “already but not yet,” annoys the hell out of me. I’m not satisfied with the degree of inner reconciliation I’ve experienced with my own fears, within my new marriage, under the approaching circumstances of raising a son. I feel broken by the realities of shaky friendships with my best friends and fuzzy relationships in my new contexts. I’m overwhelmed by the challenge of cities, no, a world bent currently bent toward hell but promised to eventually arc toward love, justice, and a beloved community.
Thurman’s chapters on the three horsemen of hell are filled with personal anecdotes and very real examples of fear, deception, and hatred at work. His response is a chapter on love, a great love exemplified by stories of a living Christ at work alongside his neighbors: his skeptical and judgmental Jewish countrymen, traitorous tax collectors and broken women, the powers of Rome, the possessed and the sick. These were his neighbors, and they are also mine.
What does it mean to reconcile?
To love God and to love my neighbor.
Oh, Lord? How shall humanity ever love as you have?
As a Christian, (not just a deist), I believe the answers come in Christ. Does he not promise us to be the Way, the Truth, and the Light? All my anxieties and struggles call me to sit at His feet. Might I find what I need in my search for reconciliation by applying a greater discipline to follow Him?
Oh, Lord! I believe! Help me in my disbelief!
Howard Thurman offers up the Religion of Jesus is such a way that it seems all but impossible to partake of without some form of supernatural infusion. It is not natural to love as Christ calls us to. All of history testifies to this! Yet in between the cracks are also stories of that elusive Beloved Community. These stories that range from the community of the book of Acts to Koinonia Farm community. These stories generated by dreams from Martin Luther King’s America and Ghandi’s India. Even in my own midst of Baltimore, is there not the story of New Song Ministries of Sandtown.
The Kingdom of God is already bursting forth in such small, seemingly insignificant spaces, but not yet in so much of the inner city, the rural poor, the global sex trade, the hunger and disease.
But I still believe it can.
What does it mean to reconcile?
Follow Christ, be Christ.
Oh God, let Thy will be done!
Amen.
As I ease into seminary studies through this first semester of work and reflection, the question rises as the fundamental problem of my spiritual formation. As I look about my classes, my work, my relationships, I see the question staring me the in face. I’ve tried to ignore it by keeping busy, by offering token sacrifices of convenient action to appease it, by rationalizing my actions or non-actions as dictated by circumstance and season. I feel called to a ministry of reconciliation in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. I state this boldly and unashamedly. Yet, as time moves on, there is a shame that confronts me. My intentions are pure, but I feel a spirit of hypocrisy in my actions. The longer I sit with myself, the heavier the weight.
What does it mean to reconcile?
Dictionaries offer the following definitions: “to win over to friendliness; cause to be amicable,” “to accept or be resigned to something not desired,” “to compose or settle,” “to bring into agreement or harmony; make compatible or consistent,” “to reconsecrate,” “to restore.”
In all of our lives, there are spaces that require reconciliation. Those spaces might be completely personal and internal, or be so large as to encompass entire cultural norms within a greater society. As I write and reflect, I am trying to discover these spaces, to sit in them, and pray fervently for my Lord to speak to me in them.
My wife challenges my sense and desire for reconciliation. She suggests that I seek it out of fear and insecurity rather than holy conviction. I alluded to this in my first reflection; the desire to be okay with all those around me as to not incur wrath or dislike. Indeed, this is true. But at the same time, I am beginning to understand my overall desire to be a positive thing. To have the world reconciled with itself and with God is a holy conviction. But I am divided in my heart between spaces of fear and insecurity. I pray the Lord to heal and fill these spaces with empowering love as to see my desires incarnate in holy concern. In this way, I shall not be reacting to tensions out of fear but engaging them in true love.
To reconcile requires great love and a greater courage to face fears and discomfort.
In my relationships, there are growing chasms in some of my closest friendships. I’ve alluded to those in previous reflections as well. The painful dynamics at work in these friendships feels similar to Howard’s description of “enemy status” within God’s family on page 92. “To love such an enemy requires reconciliation, the will to re-establish a relationship. It involves confession of error and a seeking to be restored to one’s former place.” For all of us, there has been hurt inflicted without full address. I have yet to find a way to voice all of my hurts, and I know my dear friends have not yet either. In our busy lives, the spaces to listen to one another seem few. Complications of growing families and new niches provide further obstacles. Here I am, rationalizing yet again. Where is my will to reconcile? If I cannot reconcile amongst old friends, how ever shall I reconcile with a true enemy?
To reconcile requires discipline.
Then there is the city is live in and the city I study in: Baltimore and Washington, DC. I’ve alluded to these spaces in my earlier reflections as well. In these spaces the division I witness daily is beginning to eat away at my soul. I can hardly go about my daily business without hundreds of visible reminders flooding my soul of the perpetual division, isolation, and hatred that is produced (and often, sanctioned, or even blessed). I’ve intentionally joined a church planting seeking to reconcile divided neighborhoods in southeast Baltimore, seeking to support its ministries as actively as I can, but it doesn’t seem fast enough. I want to throw my entire self into the work now. In my restlessness, I desire to bring together all many churches in Baltimore city of the same reconciling spirit to greater collaboration. The idea keeps bouncing around my head almost to the point of dizziness. In DC at Wesley, my studies as an Urban Fellow keep me ever in tune with the rhythms of Mt Vernon Square neighborhood.
The texts I read, such as Thurman for this very class, provide the wisdom of ages past for understanding how fear, deception, and hate are systematically engrained into our fledgling environments. When one lives in a city like Baltimore and engages in intentional study on the subjects in a context like DC, the words Thurman share are no intellectual exercise anymore. They are realities that confront me with endless questions, chief of which being, “How shall you serve to reconcile?”? I desire to deconstruct the “enemy status” in us all, to preach and act in all manners Howard spoke of in his chapter on Love. I want to love my enemies (be careful what you wish for.) All this of this is both enlightening and paralyzing. I struggle and question daily how ready I am to put my ideas into action. Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy.
To reconcile requires a great deal of patience, humility, and the keen awareness that God must move, not I.
All these paradigms lend me insight into what it takes to bring reconciliation. But honestly, I have not had much success in envisioning and understanding what reconciliation looks like on any of the levels I’ve written on. The eschatological “already but not yet,” annoys the hell out of me. I’m not satisfied with the degree of inner reconciliation I’ve experienced with my own fears, within my new marriage, under the approaching circumstances of raising a son. I feel broken by the realities of shaky friendships with my best friends and fuzzy relationships in my new contexts. I’m overwhelmed by the challenge of cities, no, a world bent currently bent toward hell but promised to eventually arc toward love, justice, and a beloved community.
Thurman’s chapters on the three horsemen of hell are filled with personal anecdotes and very real examples of fear, deception, and hatred at work. His response is a chapter on love, a great love exemplified by stories of a living Christ at work alongside his neighbors: his skeptical and judgmental Jewish countrymen, traitorous tax collectors and broken women, the powers of Rome, the possessed and the sick. These were his neighbors, and they are also mine.
What does it mean to reconcile?
To love God and to love my neighbor.
Oh, Lord? How shall humanity ever love as you have?
As a Christian, (not just a deist), I believe the answers come in Christ. Does he not promise us to be the Way, the Truth, and the Light? All my anxieties and struggles call me to sit at His feet. Might I find what I need in my search for reconciliation by applying a greater discipline to follow Him?
Oh, Lord! I believe! Help me in my disbelief!
Howard Thurman offers up the Religion of Jesus is such a way that it seems all but impossible to partake of without some form of supernatural infusion. It is not natural to love as Christ calls us to. All of history testifies to this! Yet in between the cracks are also stories of that elusive Beloved Community. These stories that range from the community of the book of Acts to Koinonia Farm community. These stories generated by dreams from Martin Luther King’s America and Ghandi’s India. Even in my own midst of Baltimore, is there not the story of New Song Ministries of Sandtown.
The Kingdom of God is already bursting forth in such small, seemingly insignificant spaces, but not yet in so much of the inner city, the rural poor, the global sex trade, the hunger and disease.
But I still believe it can.
What does it mean to reconcile?
Follow Christ, be Christ.
Oh God, let Thy will be done!
Amen.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Living Simply
My wife and I have recently moved back from a year of relief work in China, helping to implement psycho-social programs to help kids build resiliency and recovery from the trauma of having their school buildings crush them during last year's May 12th earthquake. Today, many of these children and their families are still living in temporary housing projects. Often, a family of 3-5 gets one room along a long row of rooms in a two or three square mile complex. It would appear, at first glance, that they are living a life of simplicity. Disasters can strip anyone down to their bare minimal quite suddenly.
Today, my wife and I are both students, studying for degrees we believe God has called us to in order to continue serving and empowering the "least of these" wherever they may be. Unfortunately, our dedication to studies means a lower income for the household, I currently working part time as an adjunct instructor at a community college. The reality that we will soon be expecting our first child in March is an extra weight and joy that promises to bring as much worry as blessing as we prepare our home.
Naturally, I battle bouts of anxiety and worry on an almost daily basis. There is the strong sense of calling, and with it, security. I trust that in seeking first God's Kingdom in our lives, He will fulfill His promise to provide all that we need. Yet in moments of weakness when reviewing bills or the costs of car maintenance here or travel arrangements to see family there, that sinking feeling can begin to pull me down. Questions of how to make it through the later months when savings is low ambush me in the midst of studies.
There is no question about it; God has provided exactly what He has promised up to this point. We ask for our daily bread and we get it. A surprise scholarship here, an early beginning to part my time work there. More and more possibilities abound as the days go by. I praise and glorify my Lord because He has given my family exactly what we have needed for this season. I believe that He will continue to provide as my family seeks God's will and kingdom. Lord, help me in my unbelief.
"The central point for the discipline of simplicity is to seek the kingdom of God and the righteousness of his kingdom first and then everything necessary will come in its proper place," says Richard Foster. If this is the discipline of simplicity, than the season of life I have walked into are the perfect grounds for practicing it. Not simply an outward simplicity built in cutting down on spending and such to ensure our economic livelihood, but the fostering of the great inner simplicity that builds confidence in our relationship with God as primary. It is the building of a divine center, the refining of a will for but one thing.
There is no question about it; my wife and I feel a call to serve the fatherless and the widow, and believe our lives ought to be prepared to the fullest for such a task. This entire season of life from studies to preparing for a family plus all the daily moments of simple acts of living from eating to walking can be placed in the perspective of Kingdom building. Jesus says that the Kingdom of God is within us. He also says that living streams should abound in us and flow out to others. The life of simplicity then is both the building of God's Kingdom within our souls and the preparation for that inner light to ignite our environments. It is the rejection of fear as well as of the desire for power or affluence. It is trusting with the simplicity of a child toward a loving father.
But what would I do if an earthquake shattered everything I had? What if something took away my family, my home, and my entire pattern of life? How than shall I live? Such possibilities produce a natural and proper concern. Such a question pushes the greatest challenge of inner simplicity right in our faces. Is my family but a gift from God that can be taken away? How will the Kingdom be incarnated in such a tragedy? How shall He speak into the broken world such as this? I have not had to face it, but so many have in so many parts of the world from the inner city ghettos a few blocks from my apartment to refuge camps the world over. Yes, simplicity is a discipline for those who have. I consider my self a "have" and not a "have not." I know my life today calls me to greater internal and external simplicity to reflect God's glory and providence. I believe He is transforming me in this process. But I end this reflection with a new question to pursue: how is the discipline of simplicity to be enacted in the midst of loss, suffering, and pain when what little you already had has been taken? After all, it could be any of us.
Today, my wife and I are both students, studying for degrees we believe God has called us to in order to continue serving and empowering the "least of these" wherever they may be. Unfortunately, our dedication to studies means a lower income for the household, I currently working part time as an adjunct instructor at a community college. The reality that we will soon be expecting our first child in March is an extra weight and joy that promises to bring as much worry as blessing as we prepare our home.
Naturally, I battle bouts of anxiety and worry on an almost daily basis. There is the strong sense of calling, and with it, security. I trust that in seeking first God's Kingdom in our lives, He will fulfill His promise to provide all that we need. Yet in moments of weakness when reviewing bills or the costs of car maintenance here or travel arrangements to see family there, that sinking feeling can begin to pull me down. Questions of how to make it through the later months when savings is low ambush me in the midst of studies.
There is no question about it; God has provided exactly what He has promised up to this point. We ask for our daily bread and we get it. A surprise scholarship here, an early beginning to part my time work there. More and more possibilities abound as the days go by. I praise and glorify my Lord because He has given my family exactly what we have needed for this season. I believe that He will continue to provide as my family seeks God's will and kingdom. Lord, help me in my unbelief.
"The central point for the discipline of simplicity is to seek the kingdom of God and the righteousness of his kingdom first and then everything necessary will come in its proper place," says Richard Foster. If this is the discipline of simplicity, than the season of life I have walked into are the perfect grounds for practicing it. Not simply an outward simplicity built in cutting down on spending and such to ensure our economic livelihood, but the fostering of the great inner simplicity that builds confidence in our relationship with God as primary. It is the building of a divine center, the refining of a will for but one thing.
There is no question about it; my wife and I feel a call to serve the fatherless and the widow, and believe our lives ought to be prepared to the fullest for such a task. This entire season of life from studies to preparing for a family plus all the daily moments of simple acts of living from eating to walking can be placed in the perspective of Kingdom building. Jesus says that the Kingdom of God is within us. He also says that living streams should abound in us and flow out to others. The life of simplicity then is both the building of God's Kingdom within our souls and the preparation for that inner light to ignite our environments. It is the rejection of fear as well as of the desire for power or affluence. It is trusting with the simplicity of a child toward a loving father.
But what would I do if an earthquake shattered everything I had? What if something took away my family, my home, and my entire pattern of life? How than shall I live? Such possibilities produce a natural and proper concern. Such a question pushes the greatest challenge of inner simplicity right in our faces. Is my family but a gift from God that can be taken away? How will the Kingdom be incarnated in such a tragedy? How shall He speak into the broken world such as this? I have not had to face it, but so many have in so many parts of the world from the inner city ghettos a few blocks from my apartment to refuge camps the world over. Yes, simplicity is a discipline for those who have. I consider my self a "have" and not a "have not." I know my life today calls me to greater internal and external simplicity to reflect God's glory and providence. I believe He is transforming me in this process. But I end this reflection with a new question to pursue: how is the discipline of simplicity to be enacted in the midst of loss, suffering, and pain when what little you already had has been taken? After all, it could be any of us.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Worship with my Wife
Begin the day for the Lord. Begin with the reading of His Word, celebrating with a Psalm, meditating on the words of the Prophets, refined by the teachings of the Epistles. Begin with a song of praise, a joyful noise. Begin with prayer, speaking words of honesty and encouragement, seeking direction and clarity for the day ahead. Begin the day by fellowshipping together, breaking bread and gaining the sustenance needed for the day. Then go out and work well, praising through our actions, listening with our hearts, until the evening comes when we might return to rest.
What’s more, the daily ritual ought to be done together as a family, a community that seeks to live and reflect God in all of our work. Bonheoffer not only asks for the discipline of a morning routine, but of community. As if the discipline of arising an hour early each day to progress through a holy routine is nothing. Indeed, an hour of individual devotion each morning is easy compared to doing it as a community. When things get collective, they get messy.
I am a newly married man, learning to dance with my life through each days requirements. In the newness of this life, I am having a hard enough time disciplining myself to communicate clearly in fellowship with her, much less bring us together in unity before God. Our worship of our God is restrained to formal gatherings on Sundays, short prayers offered around meals, and occasional evenings before bed. Scripture is discussed on occasion as it applies to the circumstances before us, but rarely is it read together.
There is a dimension of spiritual life together that my wife and I have yet to learn. When it comes to traditional acts of spiritual devotion, we still hear different melodies and dance to our own rhythms. How do we take the busy lives before us and carve out the communal space necessary for family worship as Bonheoffer admonishes?
Since my college years, I’ve tried to foster the Presence of God amongst all the actions of my life: to be always worshipful. I’ve had good seasons when the Spirit’s guidance is steady and I am “in tune.” I’ve had bad seasons when fears and distractions crowd out any ability to perpetuate God’s peace. At this moment of re-settling into life in America and preparation for future ministry and work together, the battle between worship and worry rages. Worship calls me to surrender to God’s presence in trust and joy. Worry begs me to consider what is lacking and what can never be assured. Worship asks me to look ahead in anticipation of God’s glory and tutelage. Worry desires to cover my eyes with a lens of uncertainty that will lead me to further desires of personal control. I’ve felt the battle throughout moments of study, of writing, of driving, of class and work. As I am becoming more aware of them, I must choose to worship. Let His glory be evident in all.
Yet the greatest difference this season is that I am no longer alone. My battle for worship over worry and fear is connected to my wife. Her strength and weaknesses are, likewise, tied to me. As the year continues, my prayer is that our God given gifts continue to merge in such a way that worship becomes ever more present. I pray our individual melodies create harmony that glorifies God and reflects His favor, joy, and peace on us and our neighbors.
For that prayer to be fulfilled, we must learn to discipline ourselves. Mornings of intentionality in praise, Word, and prayer may seem far away, but small steps should be taken now before the waves of work and busyness wash in the months to come. Let us begin to pray through our morning routine. Let us remember some Scripture for our day. Let us try and make our new life together worshipful.
What’s more, the daily ritual ought to be done together as a family, a community that seeks to live and reflect God in all of our work. Bonheoffer not only asks for the discipline of a morning routine, but of community. As if the discipline of arising an hour early each day to progress through a holy routine is nothing. Indeed, an hour of individual devotion each morning is easy compared to doing it as a community. When things get collective, they get messy.
I am a newly married man, learning to dance with my life through each days requirements. In the newness of this life, I am having a hard enough time disciplining myself to communicate clearly in fellowship with her, much less bring us together in unity before God. Our worship of our God is restrained to formal gatherings on Sundays, short prayers offered around meals, and occasional evenings before bed. Scripture is discussed on occasion as it applies to the circumstances before us, but rarely is it read together.
There is a dimension of spiritual life together that my wife and I have yet to learn. When it comes to traditional acts of spiritual devotion, we still hear different melodies and dance to our own rhythms. How do we take the busy lives before us and carve out the communal space necessary for family worship as Bonheoffer admonishes?
Since my college years, I’ve tried to foster the Presence of God amongst all the actions of my life: to be always worshipful. I’ve had good seasons when the Spirit’s guidance is steady and I am “in tune.” I’ve had bad seasons when fears and distractions crowd out any ability to perpetuate God’s peace. At this moment of re-settling into life in America and preparation for future ministry and work together, the battle between worship and worry rages. Worship calls me to surrender to God’s presence in trust and joy. Worry begs me to consider what is lacking and what can never be assured. Worship asks me to look ahead in anticipation of God’s glory and tutelage. Worry desires to cover my eyes with a lens of uncertainty that will lead me to further desires of personal control. I’ve felt the battle throughout moments of study, of writing, of driving, of class and work. As I am becoming more aware of them, I must choose to worship. Let His glory be evident in all.
Yet the greatest difference this season is that I am no longer alone. My battle for worship over worry and fear is connected to my wife. Her strength and weaknesses are, likewise, tied to me. As the year continues, my prayer is that our God given gifts continue to merge in such a way that worship becomes ever more present. I pray our individual melodies create harmony that glorifies God and reflects His favor, joy, and peace on us and our neighbors.
For that prayer to be fulfilled, we must learn to discipline ourselves. Mornings of intentionality in praise, Word, and prayer may seem far away, but small steps should be taken now before the waves of work and busyness wash in the months to come. Let us begin to pray through our morning routine. Let us remember some Scripture for our day. Let us try and make our new life together worshipful.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Praying through the Nation's Capital
I commute back and forth between DC and Baltimore for classes. As I head into our nation’s capital, I typically veer off the BW Parkway onto New York Avenue. I watch the parkway’s forests merge into the National Arboretum. Trees then become run down buildings, fast food restaurants, and gas stations. As I approach NW, construction cranes and building frames fill the sky. Passing North Capitol, I always glance left at the grand dome of the Capital rising above the row homes. I continue from New York Ave to Massachusetts past torn down housing projects, storefront churches, a revitalized Gallery Place, downtown everything, always-trendy Dupont, rows upon rows of embassies from every other nation on the globe. The National Cathedral towers over the last stretch before I reach American University and Wesley Theological Seminary.
I make this trip two to three times a week. With each trip up and down this grand tour, there are prayers to be said and scripture to reflect upon. Through the noise of the traffic I try to not only commune with God, but with the city I grew up alongside and, one day, hope to serve. I desire to bring all the elements together, fully aware of God’s presence on my internal life and the city from poverty to riches, international spaces to academic campuses.
The city is filled with people, and yet, during this weekly ritual, I am always alone. During this moving tour, I am kept aware of my surroundings in flow with traffic while simultaneously seeking to focus my mind and heart.
Turn off the radio. Listen.
What do the buildings tell you? What do the crowds reflect? Who gathers in the storefronts and the cathedrals? See how the flags of the world blow in the breeze, what are the nations saying? Remember the ragged on the streets. Consider the suits in their meetings. What does God ask of them? What does He ask of you?
Scriptures begin to trickle in…
“And he drew near and saw the city, and wept over it, saying, ‘Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace!’”
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor…”
“Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God”
“Whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies-in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ.”
Look around you. Speak
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
Small, short prayers.
Lord, Have Mercy.
Lord, Grant Wisdom.
Lord, Bring Humility.
Lord, Teach Us.
These are moments along the way that are filled with intercession.
Father, bring peace and witness to the nations broken by war.
Father, empower the ministers and leadership of these churches.
Father, open the eyes of the rich and powerful to your will and agenda.
Father, fill the hungry and the poor with good things
Usually, I arrive at Wesley about an hour before class begins, near noon. It’s time for lunch. I usually sit at the picnic table behind the Wesley Bells towering above the trickling pool. As I eat slowly, The noise in my mind begins to fall away. I consider all I have seen, all I have heard, all I have asked and said. When all is said and done, this sojourn across DC is but a training ground for the heart. It is a space to enact simple disciplines to deepen my connection with the Jesus in such a way that I love and weep over the city as he did, to feel the call to service and witness. If the disciplines are a window to grace, then I must sit before them more often.
God is near, beyond me, around me, within me.
It’s not always easy, but above all that comes about in this city, I try and stop to seek the one thing that ought to matter most.
Communion with my Lord.. .
Enjoy the Lord.
I make this trip two to three times a week. With each trip up and down this grand tour, there are prayers to be said and scripture to reflect upon. Through the noise of the traffic I try to not only commune with God, but with the city I grew up alongside and, one day, hope to serve. I desire to bring all the elements together, fully aware of God’s presence on my internal life and the city from poverty to riches, international spaces to academic campuses.
The city is filled with people, and yet, during this weekly ritual, I am always alone. During this moving tour, I am kept aware of my surroundings in flow with traffic while simultaneously seeking to focus my mind and heart.
Turn off the radio. Listen.
What do the buildings tell you? What do the crowds reflect? Who gathers in the storefronts and the cathedrals? See how the flags of the world blow in the breeze, what are the nations saying? Remember the ragged on the streets. Consider the suits in their meetings. What does God ask of them? What does He ask of you?
Scriptures begin to trickle in…
“And he drew near and saw the city, and wept over it, saying, ‘Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace!’”
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor…”
“Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God”
“Whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies-in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ.”
Look around you. Speak
Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.
Small, short prayers.
Lord, Have Mercy.
Lord, Grant Wisdom.
Lord, Bring Humility.
Lord, Teach Us.
These are moments along the way that are filled with intercession.
Father, bring peace and witness to the nations broken by war.
Father, empower the ministers and leadership of these churches.
Father, open the eyes of the rich and powerful to your will and agenda.
Father, fill the hungry and the poor with good things
Usually, I arrive at Wesley about an hour before class begins, near noon. It’s time for lunch. I usually sit at the picnic table behind the Wesley Bells towering above the trickling pool. As I eat slowly, The noise in my mind begins to fall away. I consider all I have seen, all I have heard, all I have asked and said. When all is said and done, this sojourn across DC is but a training ground for the heart. It is a space to enact simple disciplines to deepen my connection with the Jesus in such a way that I love and weep over the city as he did, to feel the call to service and witness. If the disciplines are a window to grace, then I must sit before them more often.
God is near, beyond me, around me, within me.
It’s not always easy, but above all that comes about in this city, I try and stop to seek the one thing that ought to matter most.
Communion with my Lord.. .
Enjoy the Lord.
Friday, September 25, 2009
What would happen if...
“What would happen if everyone did followed the values of the Kingdom of God? Turn the other cheek. Love your enemies. Forgive always.”
Chaos. Disorder. Violence. Civilization would cave in on itself.
The way of Christ is not realistic.
I just moved to Baltimore a month ago. In this short time, I’ve been intentional about soaking up what this city is about.
Overall, it is not a pretty picture.
I live in a nicer, midtown neighborhood filled with parks and museums, but it is only a few blocks away from the notorious east side known for two very different things: The great medical institution of Johns Hopkins Hospital and the poverty and violence of the projects. The irony is thick. The large and mighty institutions here do not appear to give life. All is not right in the world.
“So what would happen if everyone did that?”
Chaos. Disorder. Violence. Civilization would cave in on itself.
On the contrary, it is all happening anyway. So what are we doing about it?
I’ve also been about churches, looking for signs of the Kingdom of God in a space thick with the darkness of principalities and powers corrupted and turned in on themselves. They are here. They are small. They are growing. Baltimore is a city of local flavor and concern. Those who live here are forced to make a decision on whether to serve the city or ignore it. This decision is set before every church here as well.
“What would happen if everyone did that?
Maybe the police wouldn’t be twittering 2-3 shootings every couple of days. Maybe the homeless congregating outside churches would have a home. Maybe the boarded up row homes would be refurbished for the people who need it, not the institutions who want them. Maybe the youth would be empowered to serve one another instead of rival on the streets. Maybe schools would be provided the resources they need to educate. Maybe our churches would be beacons of light and community instead of ominous steeples of judgment. Where is this Kingdom of God that supposedly transforms suffering into victory against the dominant culture of redemptive “means to an end” violence and control?
But that’s not the question I should be asking. The real question is:
“What would happen if I did that?”
This is a much scarier question.
“The Kingdom of God is within you”
How will I love my God and my neighbor this year?
This is Baltimore. For this season, it is the space I’m called to live out my radical discipleship. It is so much easier to hide away in my apartment with my books. How will I live out the values of the Kingdom? How will I carry my cross?
Lord, I pray for radical passion, vision, and opportunity to be a disciple of your cross and resurrection. I pray for the streets and the skyscrapers, the prisons and offices, the universities and the inner city high schools, the storefront churches and the cathedrals. Work within these institutions. Lord, connect me with the communities of faith that serve and empower their greater community with the values and message of the Gospel. Connect me with the powerful and the weak, the fatherless and the widow, the well resourced and the homeless, the youth and the elderly. Lord, teach me how to engage the world with the spirit of the coming age, not that of the former. Help me to conquer death so that I might live free. I was blind, but now I see. Use me to help others see you and the world as it ought to be. Give us courage to live as you’ve called: bearing crosses and setting captives free.
“What would happen if everyone did that?”
The Kingdom of God would happen.
Chaos. Disorder. Violence. Civilization would cave in on itself.
The way of Christ is not realistic.
I just moved to Baltimore a month ago. In this short time, I’ve been intentional about soaking up what this city is about.
Overall, it is not a pretty picture.
I live in a nicer, midtown neighborhood filled with parks and museums, but it is only a few blocks away from the notorious east side known for two very different things: The great medical institution of Johns Hopkins Hospital and the poverty and violence of the projects. The irony is thick. The large and mighty institutions here do not appear to give life. All is not right in the world.
“So what would happen if everyone did that?”
Chaos. Disorder. Violence. Civilization would cave in on itself.
On the contrary, it is all happening anyway. So what are we doing about it?
I’ve also been about churches, looking for signs of the Kingdom of God in a space thick with the darkness of principalities and powers corrupted and turned in on themselves. They are here. They are small. They are growing. Baltimore is a city of local flavor and concern. Those who live here are forced to make a decision on whether to serve the city or ignore it. This decision is set before every church here as well.
“What would happen if everyone did that?
Maybe the police wouldn’t be twittering 2-3 shootings every couple of days. Maybe the homeless congregating outside churches would have a home. Maybe the boarded up row homes would be refurbished for the people who need it, not the institutions who want them. Maybe the youth would be empowered to serve one another instead of rival on the streets. Maybe schools would be provided the resources they need to educate. Maybe our churches would be beacons of light and community instead of ominous steeples of judgment. Where is this Kingdom of God that supposedly transforms suffering into victory against the dominant culture of redemptive “means to an end” violence and control?
But that’s not the question I should be asking. The real question is:
“What would happen if I did that?”
This is a much scarier question.
“The Kingdom of God is within you”
How will I love my God and my neighbor this year?
This is Baltimore. For this season, it is the space I’m called to live out my radical discipleship. It is so much easier to hide away in my apartment with my books. How will I live out the values of the Kingdom? How will I carry my cross?
Lord, I pray for radical passion, vision, and opportunity to be a disciple of your cross and resurrection. I pray for the streets and the skyscrapers, the prisons and offices, the universities and the inner city high schools, the storefront churches and the cathedrals. Work within these institutions. Lord, connect me with the communities of faith that serve and empower their greater community with the values and message of the Gospel. Connect me with the powerful and the weak, the fatherless and the widow, the well resourced and the homeless, the youth and the elderly. Lord, teach me how to engage the world with the spirit of the coming age, not that of the former. Help me to conquer death so that I might live free. I was blind, but now I see. Use me to help others see you and the world as it ought to be. Give us courage to live as you’ve called: bearing crosses and setting captives free.
“What would happen if everyone did that?”
The Kingdom of God would happen.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
The Baltimore Experience
-Excerpt from a chapter written by Stephen T Baron, Deborah Agus, Fred Osher, and David Brown. Scholars from Baltimore's many academic institutions.
"Baltimore city is the 13th largest city in the US. It is located on the eastern seaboard of the US in the state of Maryland 37 miles from Washington DC and 196 miles from New York City. Baltimore is one of the oldest cities in the USA and in 1997 celebrated the bicentennial of its incorporation. The city is governed by a Mayor and 19 member City Council which is elected every 4 years.
Over the past 40 years, similar to other urban areas in the USA, Baltimore has experienced a decline in population. Once the largest political jurisdiction in the state of Maryland with 939,024 or 25% of the state's population, Baltimore is currently the fourth largest subdivision in the state with a population of 692,800 or 4% of the state's population. The majority of the individuals residing in Baltimore City are African American (about 60%) with Caucasians making up 38% and other races the additional 2%. Baltimore's 14,652 businesses employ 311,161 workers. Manufacturing accounts for 10% of the city's workforce and the largest employed is the Johns Hopkins University and Hospital System.
Baltimore is home to the largest concentration of poor people in Maryland. About one half of the state's poor people reside in the city of Baltimore. The population of Baltimore City is about 30% of the metropolitan area (the city and the five surrounding counties) but the city is home to almost 68% of the region's poor.
In 1960, the median family income of city families was 91.2% of the metropolitan area median family income while in 1990 the income of city families was 66.9% in proportion. The poor are overwhelmingly children from single parent homes,, African American female single parents, and the elderly and disabled. In 1992, 21.5% of the households in the city hand incomes below $10,000 compared to only 9% of households in the state of Maryland. The elderly (over 65 years old) make up 13.7% of the city's population. Over 40% of the elderly population living in the city are disabled, while 32.5% of the elderly state-wide are disabled.
In 1991, the city's unemployment rate of 9.4% was the highest in the state. Baltimore is also home to the greatest concentration of homeless persons and individuals in need of substance abuse treatment in the state."
Maybe... God put me here for a very intentional reason.
"Baltimore city is the 13th largest city in the US. It is located on the eastern seaboard of the US in the state of Maryland 37 miles from Washington DC and 196 miles from New York City. Baltimore is one of the oldest cities in the USA and in 1997 celebrated the bicentennial of its incorporation. The city is governed by a Mayor and 19 member City Council which is elected every 4 years.
Over the past 40 years, similar to other urban areas in the USA, Baltimore has experienced a decline in population. Once the largest political jurisdiction in the state of Maryland with 939,024 or 25% of the state's population, Baltimore is currently the fourth largest subdivision in the state with a population of 692,800 or 4% of the state's population. The majority of the individuals residing in Baltimore City are African American (about 60%) with Caucasians making up 38% and other races the additional 2%. Baltimore's 14,652 businesses employ 311,161 workers. Manufacturing accounts for 10% of the city's workforce and the largest employed is the Johns Hopkins University and Hospital System.
Baltimore is home to the largest concentration of poor people in Maryland. About one half of the state's poor people reside in the city of Baltimore. The population of Baltimore City is about 30% of the metropolitan area (the city and the five surrounding counties) but the city is home to almost 68% of the region's poor.
In 1960, the median family income of city families was 91.2% of the metropolitan area median family income while in 1990 the income of city families was 66.9% in proportion. The poor are overwhelmingly children from single parent homes,, African American female single parents, and the elderly and disabled. In 1992, 21.5% of the households in the city hand incomes below $10,000 compared to only 9% of households in the state of Maryland. The elderly (over 65 years old) make up 13.7% of the city's population. Over 40% of the elderly population living in the city are disabled, while 32.5% of the elderly state-wide are disabled.
In 1991, the city's unemployment rate of 9.4% was the highest in the state. Baltimore is also home to the greatest concentration of homeless persons and individuals in need of substance abuse treatment in the state."
Maybe... God put me here for a very intentional reason.
Acts of Devotion
Acts of Devotion are.. .
water poured out over sacred alters
oil dripping off the foreheads of the anointed
flickering of the candles by icons
swirls of the smoke from incense
blood trickling off the hands of the cursed
darkness in the hearts of the cursing
calloused hands folded in prayer, meditation, and daily work
fingers on triggers with eyes focused on moving targets
slaves wading through the rivers, to reach the other side
expectant, fearful couples preparing their homes for the blessings of new life
children at the bedsides of their ailing parents faithfully awaiting a life beyond
students in the classroom, pens tapping, brains turning over and over
students on the streets, fists pumping, hearts blazing, higher and higher
flags at half mast
bells are ringing
bombs are falling
marching hand in hand
we shall overcome
the bottom of bottles
the street corners
the tops of towers
the dollar
the cross
the sword
the heavens
the earth
water poured out over sacred alters
oil dripping off the foreheads of the anointed
flickering of the candles by icons
swirls of the smoke from incense
blood trickling off the hands of the cursed
darkness in the hearts of the cursing
calloused hands folded in prayer, meditation, and daily work
fingers on triggers with eyes focused on moving targets
slaves wading through the rivers, to reach the other side
expectant, fearful couples preparing their homes for the blessings of new life
children at the bedsides of their ailing parents faithfully awaiting a life beyond
students in the classroom, pens tapping, brains turning over and over
students on the streets, fists pumping, hearts blazing, higher and higher
flags at half mast
bells are ringing
bombs are falling
marching hand in hand
we shall overcome
the bottom of bottles
the street corners
the tops of towers
the dollar
the cross
the sword
the heavens
the earth
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Imitation of Christ, Books I & II, A reflection
Is what you have to say still relevant to me today? You, a monk secluded in the comforts of a monastery during a time of chaos and crumbling empire. As I read your words of centuries past, I am disturbed at the level of intensity by which you encourage me to disregard and retreat from the world around me. Has not Christ called me to engage the world? Had Jesus not incarnated himself amongst us to serve, connect, heal, and empower? Can such things be done within the walls of spiritual retreat?
I have long thought of myself as a person of compassion, a servant seeking to love all in the same spirit of Christ. I imagined myself compassionate, considerate, and humble to the needs of friends, family, and broken.
But in recent days, I have been challenged.
Those closest to me have proposed that my desires to serve all around me are but expressions of codependent brokenness. From my perception, they were good deeds done to express love and joy. To my loved ones, they were acts done to seek the approval of others, to meet the demands of a shamed and insecure soul. I cannot manage to speak what I feel, only what I see desired to be heard. Speaking for my loved ones so that they will continue to love me. Had I made my relationships an idol? Truly I ask, where are my efforts directed? And for what cause are they acted upon?
Suddenly, the ancient monk's words begin to echo in my heart. "Do not open your heart to every person, but discuss your affairs with one who is wise and who fears God... We ought to have charity for all people, but familiarity with all is not expedient," you say in your first book, the eighth chapter. Indeed, I have reached out to more people than I ought. I've extended myself in a web of friendships and relationships I but claim as friendships, even if they are but connected by thin threads of shared memories and ideals.
Why? Why am I so dependent on the company I keep to maintain an image of self as credible, loved, and valuable? Mother must commend me. Brothers must approve of me. Old lovers and childhood friends must always remember me.
"We should enjoy much peace if we did not concern ourselves with what others say and do, for these are no concern of ours. How can a man who meddles in affairs not his own, who seek strange distractions, and who is little or seldom inwardly recollected, live long in peace?" you ask in the 11th chapter of your first book.
I confess, I have meddled, and am often tempted to continue meddling in the relationships of my life as a means of securing an allusive grace. I am seeking the wrong sources. "If we let our progress in religious life depend on the observances of its externals alone, our devotion will quickly come to an end." (Book I, Ch 11) Then let me stop seeking the externals, the praise and grace of my audience of a hundred loved ones. It is not real love without Christ. Let me
Perhaps there is a time for monastic work to be done after all. Especially in this age of modernity that attacks the senses ceaselessly. Is there a quiet space to be found anywhere? Can you not make one for yourself, through the discipline so often spoken of in the text, in the chamber of the heart? Quiet your life and let peace flow in you from a pouring of the Spirit instead of seeking it in the externals of your life. Take time for yourself, and spend it well with the one who has called you
"Beloved."
Christ calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves.
.. . as ourselves.
Do I love myself as Christ loves me?
Or do I refuse it, seeking validation beyond the one who has eternally embraced me already?
Where is the care for my own soul?
"Where are your thoughts when they are not upon yourself? And after attending to various things, what have you gained if you have neglected self? If you wish to have true peace of mind and unity of purpose, you must cast all else aside and keep only yourself before your eyes." (Book II, Ch 5)
After all, Christ has died for me, and redeemed me. I am beloved in His sight. What else do I need?
Indeed, there is a time for retreat and the renewing of self.
Words of saints, centuries old, written in lonely cells of distant monasteries, still speak today.
I have long thought of myself as a person of compassion, a servant seeking to love all in the same spirit of Christ. I imagined myself compassionate, considerate, and humble to the needs of friends, family, and broken.
But in recent days, I have been challenged.
Those closest to me have proposed that my desires to serve all around me are but expressions of codependent brokenness. From my perception, they were good deeds done to express love and joy. To my loved ones, they were acts done to seek the approval of others, to meet the demands of a shamed and insecure soul. I cannot manage to speak what I feel, only what I see desired to be heard. Speaking for my loved ones so that they will continue to love me. Had I made my relationships an idol? Truly I ask, where are my efforts directed? And for what cause are they acted upon?
Suddenly, the ancient monk's words begin to echo in my heart. "Do not open your heart to every person, but discuss your affairs with one who is wise and who fears God... We ought to have charity for all people, but familiarity with all is not expedient," you say in your first book, the eighth chapter. Indeed, I have reached out to more people than I ought. I've extended myself in a web of friendships and relationships I but claim as friendships, even if they are but connected by thin threads of shared memories and ideals.
Why? Why am I so dependent on the company I keep to maintain an image of self as credible, loved, and valuable? Mother must commend me. Brothers must approve of me. Old lovers and childhood friends must always remember me.
"We should enjoy much peace if we did not concern ourselves with what others say and do, for these are no concern of ours. How can a man who meddles in affairs not his own, who seek strange distractions, and who is little or seldom inwardly recollected, live long in peace?" you ask in the 11th chapter of your first book.
I confess, I have meddled, and am often tempted to continue meddling in the relationships of my life as a means of securing an allusive grace. I am seeking the wrong sources. "If we let our progress in religious life depend on the observances of its externals alone, our devotion will quickly come to an end." (Book I, Ch 11) Then let me stop seeking the externals, the praise and grace of my audience of a hundred loved ones. It is not real love without Christ. Let me
Perhaps there is a time for monastic work to be done after all. Especially in this age of modernity that attacks the senses ceaselessly. Is there a quiet space to be found anywhere? Can you not make one for yourself, through the discipline so often spoken of in the text, in the chamber of the heart? Quiet your life and let peace flow in you from a pouring of the Spirit instead of seeking it in the externals of your life. Take time for yourself, and spend it well with the one who has called you
"Beloved."
Christ calls us to love our neighbors as ourselves.
.. . as ourselves.
Do I love myself as Christ loves me?
Or do I refuse it, seeking validation beyond the one who has eternally embraced me already?
Where is the care for my own soul?
"Where are your thoughts when they are not upon yourself? And after attending to various things, what have you gained if you have neglected self? If you wish to have true peace of mind and unity of purpose, you must cast all else aside and keep only yourself before your eyes." (Book II, Ch 5)
After all, Christ has died for me, and redeemed me. I am beloved in His sight. What else do I need?
Indeed, there is a time for retreat and the renewing of self.
Words of saints, centuries old, written in lonely cells of distant monasteries, still speak today.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Good Morning, America. I'm back.. .
Good morning, America.
Specifically: good morning New Concord, Ohio. The little rural college town I spent my toddler years in before I was dragged off to the Washington DC suburbs.
After about half a year being blocked out by the Great Firewall of China... I'm back in the land of of free and home of the brave. A place where I can write about whatever I want on a blog that almost nobody is reading. Freedom of expression, especially when no one is looking, even if secretly you wish there were.
Here is a new beginning. I've been working and living in China for the past four years. Will there be reverse-culture shock? Homecoming shock? How will it all work? Family and friends, relationships I've maintained digitally, over the phone, during short summer flings. How does it all fit again?
And now... I have my own family. My own wife and household. My own...
Life has changed dramatically for me these past two years. Faster than I ever imagined. Along with that change comes questions, question, so many questions.
Questions make for good writing. Hope I have the time to explore them in the weeks to come.
Specifically: good morning New Concord, Ohio. The little rural college town I spent my toddler years in before I was dragged off to the Washington DC suburbs.
After about half a year being blocked out by the Great Firewall of China... I'm back in the land of of free and home of the brave. A place where I can write about whatever I want on a blog that almost nobody is reading. Freedom of expression, especially when no one is looking, even if secretly you wish there were.
Here is a new beginning. I've been working and living in China for the past four years. Will there be reverse-culture shock? Homecoming shock? How will it all work? Family and friends, relationships I've maintained digitally, over the phone, during short summer flings. How does it all fit again?
And now... I have my own family. My own wife and household. My own...
Life has changed dramatically for me these past two years. Faster than I ever imagined. Along with that change comes questions, question, so many questions.
Questions make for good writing. Hope I have the time to explore them in the weeks to come.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Who Am I, Dr. Phil?
I took this Dr. Phil, Human Relations Department, personality test twice. Many questions offered two answers that seemed to both be appropriate to my habits. Therefore, I took the test twice, just to see what the differences would be.
The first time I got a 53
The score description goes on to state: Others see you as an exciting, highly volatile, rather impulsive personality; a natural leader, one who's quick to make decisions, though not always the right ones. They see you as bold and adventuresome, someone who will try anything once; someone who takes chances and enjoys an adventure. They enjoy being in your company because of the excitement you radiate.
The second time I got a 43
This time, the score description states: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.
Hmmm... that appears to be pretty different.
So... who am I now?
How do you see me?
The first time I got a 53
The score description goes on to state: Others see you as an exciting, highly volatile, rather impulsive personality; a natural leader, one who's quick to make decisions, though not always the right ones. They see you as bold and adventuresome, someone who will try anything once; someone who takes chances and enjoys an adventure. They enjoy being in your company because of the excitement you radiate.
The second time I got a 43
This time, the score description states: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.
Hmmm... that appears to be pretty different.
So... who am I now?
How do you see me?
Friday, March 20, 2009
education
“The worst thing is that they control our memories... Especially when they have done something terrible, they hide history or force people to forget... That is why we must educate people, step by step, about the truth.”
-L S X
-L S X
Thursday, March 19, 2009
holy spirit
clothe me with the warm, tingling comfort of a freshly wrapped, newborn daughter in her grandmother’s quilt, laid down for an afternoon nap on a bed of freshly cut flowers
baptize with the anger of overthrown kings and unjustly deposed princes, suffocated and crushed at the foot of their rugged and idealistic wooden thrones by their despot advisors
empower feeble, sensitive, childish hands to carry wounded sparrows to their nests, lift up the drowning from their puddles of shame, and cripple the machines that grind our bones
fill these cups with ancient wines, spring picked tea leaves, and uncommonly strong coffees, served between our daily meals to lighten the heart and make bold the spirit.
pour out the goodness of pure and perfect rains into the leaky buckets and jars we keep to water our daily worries, crowded lives, and distant dreams of beauty and love
baptize with the anger of overthrown kings and unjustly deposed princes, suffocated and crushed at the foot of their rugged and idealistic wooden thrones by their despot advisors
empower feeble, sensitive, childish hands to carry wounded sparrows to their nests, lift up the drowning from their puddles of shame, and cripple the machines that grind our bones
fill these cups with ancient wines, spring picked tea leaves, and uncommonly strong coffees, served between our daily meals to lighten the heart and make bold the spirit.
pour out the goodness of pure and perfect rains into the leaky buckets and jars we keep to water our daily worries, crowded lives, and distant dreams of beauty and love
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
damn liberals...
"The Communist is accustomed to a party line and to obedience and to the idea of public confession. Unless he is a pure fanatic, he doesn't find it overwhelmingly difficult to change his line from Communism to anti-Communism; and having recanted, having faced the mild ordeal of television in which he will play the hero as much as the villain, like a backward boy, previously despaired of, who has suddenly passed all the examinations, then often he will serve his new masters well. But the liberal, the man who believes in truth and justice, or in fairness and decency, he cannot be trusted. He is the enemy of all doctrine... His politics were shifty to begin with and they will continue to be so. He sees good in practically everything, he sees bad in practically everything; he grants you your point, and then expects you to grant him a point in return. He cannot be relied on, he is undisciplined, unrealistic, ungrateful, and he pampers his little private conscience. Prison is his proper place."
-D.J. Enright, Memoirs of a Mendicant Professor
-D.J. Enright, Memoirs of a Mendicant Professor
Thursday, March 12, 2009
afternoon in a Chinese coffeehouse
i let my americano go lukewarm
before I decide to begin sipping
because I am still in denial
i don’t really like coffee that much
bitterness is supposed to bring our senses to life
so struggle to enjoy it, smile cause its hip
i love it most when accompanied by sweets too strong for my teeth
only then does it remind me of the old, dirty alleys I once roamed
i wish they came with little shortbread cookies
like they did in glamourous hong kong
or chocolate, like in utopian europe
or so i’ve heard
the man sitting behind me is starting to snore
Chinese wines taste like rotten, watered down, grape juice
new wines try to make up for their insecurities with fiercer bites
older ones are shown off for sport
consumed with jealousy
cabernet saugvon goes well with stir-fried black fungus, bamboo shoots
or maybe its shirazz, or one of those other mixes
the chardonnay i left in the bottle for a week is giving up on life
i know nothing about wines, and they nothing about me
i pretend they are dangerously moody teas mixed with flowers and fruit
so they make me pay when i don’t eat enough
lighting my head and arms on fire
keeping me from sleep
i hear the other man’s lighter clicking followed by dry, lonely odors
i’m still drinking old green teas
dragons stuck at the bottom of the well
looking up with nostalgic tears, slithering in circles
wild leaves from the yellow mountains
picked a little under a year ago on a misty morning
packaged along the long river in a nervous storefront
handed to me by China’s new modern sages
seeking to enlighten a jaded, selfish youth
he is waiting for the spring shipments near tomb sweeping day
the subtle rush of bitter grasses or fresh peeled nuts
followed by the sweetness of melons
as am i, as Am I
the espresso machine is churning, bubbling, sputtering, throwing up, and then quiet
before I decide to begin sipping
because I am still in denial
i don’t really like coffee that much
bitterness is supposed to bring our senses to life
so struggle to enjoy it, smile cause its hip
i love it most when accompanied by sweets too strong for my teeth
only then does it remind me of the old, dirty alleys I once roamed
i wish they came with little shortbread cookies
like they did in glamourous hong kong
or chocolate, like in utopian europe
or so i’ve heard
the man sitting behind me is starting to snore
Chinese wines taste like rotten, watered down, grape juice
new wines try to make up for their insecurities with fiercer bites
older ones are shown off for sport
consumed with jealousy
cabernet saugvon goes well with stir-fried black fungus, bamboo shoots
or maybe its shirazz, or one of those other mixes
the chardonnay i left in the bottle for a week is giving up on life
i know nothing about wines, and they nothing about me
i pretend they are dangerously moody teas mixed with flowers and fruit
so they make me pay when i don’t eat enough
lighting my head and arms on fire
keeping me from sleep
i hear the other man’s lighter clicking followed by dry, lonely odors
i’m still drinking old green teas
dragons stuck at the bottom of the well
looking up with nostalgic tears, slithering in circles
wild leaves from the yellow mountains
picked a little under a year ago on a misty morning
packaged along the long river in a nervous storefront
handed to me by China’s new modern sages
seeking to enlighten a jaded, selfish youth
he is waiting for the spring shipments near tomb sweeping day
the subtle rush of bitter grasses or fresh peeled nuts
followed by the sweetness of melons
as am i, as Am I
the espresso machine is churning, bubbling, sputtering, throwing up, and then quiet
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
chamaedorea elegans,
my little green plant
is my daily companion
he reaches up to greet me each morning
eager, skinny stalks tipped with youthful, frisky leaves
tender with innocence
he has never known curses or tears
and so I love him with a shallow love
he slouches to the right, or left, depending on the angle
he wonders about the clouds
he is confused about the temperature
he enjoys a little cinnamon with his tea
a little bit taller each day, I imagine
a few shades darker each week, I hope
perhaps one day,
he’ll trust me enough
to bare me a flower
though I know not whether he can
I don’t even know his name
is my daily companion
he reaches up to greet me each morning
eager, skinny stalks tipped with youthful, frisky leaves
tender with innocence
he has never known curses or tears
and so I love him with a shallow love
he slouches to the right, or left, depending on the angle
he wonders about the clouds
he is confused about the temperature
he enjoys a little cinnamon with his tea
a little bit taller each day, I imagine
a few shades darker each week, I hope
perhaps one day,
he’ll trust me enough
to bare me a flower
though I know not whether he can
I don’t even know his name
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
2.23.9
she is stronger than i
a warrior who can overtake legions
stand against the weight of mountains
carry on amongst the roar of winds and waves
conquer the deepest of chasms
thrive on the challenge of the moments
fighting in care of the oppressed
her will of diamond
her heart of gold
her eyes of fire
wisdom
beauty
inspiration
and i...
with the tip of my tongue
an ignorant slide of hand
a thoughtless gesture
can pierce her heart
pillage her home
shame her conscience
and bring us both to tears
a warrior who can overtake legions
stand against the weight of mountains
carry on amongst the roar of winds and waves
conquer the deepest of chasms
thrive on the challenge of the moments
fighting in care of the oppressed
her will of diamond
her heart of gold
her eyes of fire
wisdom
beauty
inspiration
and i...
with the tip of my tongue
an ignorant slide of hand
a thoughtless gesture
can pierce her heart
pillage her home
shame her conscience
and bring us both to tears
Saturday, February 21, 2009
2.20.9
not alone anymore
i no longer wonder out loud
you are near by
a mystery too real to ignore
a flame i can't yet touch
too hot for fragile, sensitive hands like mine
i no longer look at mirrors
without the knowledge i am loved
but still i wonder.. .
this beginning to freedom
must be a revelation born of joy
never coaxed by fear
tender hands to care, not crush
warm with the fragrance of spring
a fresh breeze to sooth old sores
a quiet patience to watch the blossoms bloom
if only you were closer still
and I, a fiercer breed
could embrace the flame
burn away my worries
in return i'd offer you the peace
of a deep and tranquil ocean
i no longer wonder out loud
you are near by
a mystery too real to ignore
a flame i can't yet touch
too hot for fragile, sensitive hands like mine
i no longer look at mirrors
without the knowledge i am loved
but still i wonder.. .
this beginning to freedom
must be a revelation born of joy
never coaxed by fear
tender hands to care, not crush
warm with the fragrance of spring
a fresh breeze to sooth old sores
a quiet patience to watch the blossoms bloom
if only you were closer still
and I, a fiercer breed
could embrace the flame
burn away my worries
in return i'd offer you the peace
of a deep and tranquil ocean
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Corresponding Nanjing and Chengdu, Part I
“In Nanjing, historical emotions linger in the air like bacteria. In this scholarly city, you can feel everything that is contained in art without even looking into the themes of art; you can discover the details of art without ever thinking about its forms.” -Qi Lan
I cannot consider myself a Nanjing dweller, as my experiences in the city have always been limited to a few days at most. For three years of my life, I lived two hours west of this noble city in nearby Wuhu. Throughout those years, as much as I loved Wuhu, there was an ever present longing to understand and experience that great capital city.
I remember my first time to Nanjing, coming up over the elevated highway to view her imposing wall on my right in contrast to a quiet park on my left with miniature bridges and impressive pillars bearing the Chimera-like creature that has come to symbolize the spirit of the city. In front of me opened up China’s trademark housing projects; rows of modern apartments and business buildings. In the distance I spotted Nanjing’s TV tower by the Yangzi.
My father emailed me shortly after that visit to remind me of my grandparent’s short stay in the city after World War II. Nanjing was to be their permanent home after many war-torn years of wandering. Had it not been for the events of 1949, my father and mother might have been born there. Rumor has it my second aunt on my mother’s side was born in Nanjing. He told me that he found it interesting that I had returned to the city a generation after my grandfather left it.
One of my first peer friends in Wuhu was a child of Nanjing, and he appeared to fit all the stereotypes I’d eventually come to learn about the city. He was a young twenty-something musician and scholar, sensitive and idealistic, upright but insecure. With a long, clean face and a short, lean, sturdy build, he exuded a pre-tense of modernity while simultaneously marked by tradition. He worked started as a music teacher for Anhui Normal the same year I began teaching with hopes of improving Anhui’s musical programs as a whole. He taught and researched global music ethnocology, was into the newest fashions and trends: a spittin’ image of the new Chinese yuppie scholar with global interests and aspirations. But if you asked him where his hopes were planted, he would probably tell you he wanted a true and authentic revival of the classical Chinese spirit of music.
I had the privilege of attending this friend’s wedding where I met many of his other Nanjing townfellows. One of them, drunk no less, learned my family was from Taiwan. He put his arm around me and mumbled with pride, “You know, people in Taiwan still see Nanjing as the capital of the new China.” He paused for a second, groggily considering his next thought. “And, you know, we Nanjing people, we remember that too.”
Dare I say it, I see Nanjing as a spiritual home of mine. I fully understand that it is an idealized home, given my lack of real experience. In another time or story, I might have been one of her many poets or scholars, or the spoiled grandson of an official; Ming, KMT, or otherwise. Or even a callous farmer on the fertile lands along the long river, or an undignified fisherman. It would not matter: I imagine I would have thrived with either the scholar’s brush or the peasant's plow.
I imagine this because, though I do not know Nanjing as well as I would like, I know myself; and the many adjectives I have heard used to address the city I find resonance with, whether positive or negative. It’s historical tones, traditional posture, and reflective habits expressed through scholarship and ideals, ironed out through many cycles of destruction and reconstruction. Romantically poetic in its unrealized hopes yet staunchly realistic in its sufferings, Nanjing’s unbridled nostalgia betrays its desires for modernity, her sensitivities always lead it toward a quietness that those seeking hustle-bustle play and power cannot understand nor tolerate.
For those things, Shanghai is king. Somehow, I quickly skipped over those years of youthful abandon in favor of a more solemn spirit. I have no drive for success on the worldly level, yet I am still unsure of myself inwardly. Like my native Nanjing friend, I dabble amongst different cultural ideas and have a visible interest for things modern, but in the end I’m nostalgic and sensitive for the things of the past. Now that I am married, my wife is beginning to see that I am hopelessly backward in my desires for simplicity paradoxically paired with a convoluted drive to modernize the ancient and extract timeless principles from clearly, time bounded circumstances. My ideal of a good date is a stroll through an ancient temple coupled with a visit to a modern art gallery. History is a story I love, the present a gift to treasure, and the future a mystery to behold.
This Nanjing friend of mine often shared clean set, modern Chinese, meals with me at a coffeehouse chain (that originated in Nanjing, no less). In our conversations, we shared a generally similar spirit and perspective on things as perhaps only poet-at-heart types do. As our years of work in Wuhu continued, however, we lost touch due to our ever increasing busyness and investment in our work. By my third year, the best we could muster was a passing hello on campus on our ways to class. Despite the seeming fall out in relationship, he was adamantly present the morning of my final departure from Wuhu. Sensitive, like me, he shed a few tears as my van pulled away.
These many spaces near the Yangzi River are all a sort of home to me. Wuhan, Yangzhou, and Zhuji are the land of my grandparents. Wuhu and Nanjing, my adopted homes during some of the most impressionable years of my youth.
These days, I often tell my friends and family that I am finally sick of China, ready to be home in the United States for a few. But at the same time, I know I love this space more than I probably care to admit.
I am a long-lost child of 江南.
I cannot consider myself a Nanjing dweller, as my experiences in the city have always been limited to a few days at most. For three years of my life, I lived two hours west of this noble city in nearby Wuhu. Throughout those years, as much as I loved Wuhu, there was an ever present longing to understand and experience that great capital city.
I remember my first time to Nanjing, coming up over the elevated highway to view her imposing wall on my right in contrast to a quiet park on my left with miniature bridges and impressive pillars bearing the Chimera-like creature that has come to symbolize the spirit of the city. In front of me opened up China’s trademark housing projects; rows of modern apartments and business buildings. In the distance I spotted Nanjing’s TV tower by the Yangzi.
My father emailed me shortly after that visit to remind me of my grandparent’s short stay in the city after World War II. Nanjing was to be their permanent home after many war-torn years of wandering. Had it not been for the events of 1949, my father and mother might have been born there. Rumor has it my second aunt on my mother’s side was born in Nanjing. He told me that he found it interesting that I had returned to the city a generation after my grandfather left it.
One of my first peer friends in Wuhu was a child of Nanjing, and he appeared to fit all the stereotypes I’d eventually come to learn about the city. He was a young twenty-something musician and scholar, sensitive and idealistic, upright but insecure. With a long, clean face and a short, lean, sturdy build, he exuded a pre-tense of modernity while simultaneously marked by tradition. He worked started as a music teacher for Anhui Normal the same year I began teaching with hopes of improving Anhui’s musical programs as a whole. He taught and researched global music ethnocology, was into the newest fashions and trends: a spittin’ image of the new Chinese yuppie scholar with global interests and aspirations. But if you asked him where his hopes were planted, he would probably tell you he wanted a true and authentic revival of the classical Chinese spirit of music.
I had the privilege of attending this friend’s wedding where I met many of his other Nanjing townfellows. One of them, drunk no less, learned my family was from Taiwan. He put his arm around me and mumbled with pride, “You know, people in Taiwan still see Nanjing as the capital of the new China.” He paused for a second, groggily considering his next thought. “And, you know, we Nanjing people, we remember that too.”
Dare I say it, I see Nanjing as a spiritual home of mine. I fully understand that it is an idealized home, given my lack of real experience. In another time or story, I might have been one of her many poets or scholars, or the spoiled grandson of an official; Ming, KMT, or otherwise. Or even a callous farmer on the fertile lands along the long river, or an undignified fisherman. It would not matter: I imagine I would have thrived with either the scholar’s brush or the peasant's plow.
I imagine this because, though I do not know Nanjing as well as I would like, I know myself; and the many adjectives I have heard used to address the city I find resonance with, whether positive or negative. It’s historical tones, traditional posture, and reflective habits expressed through scholarship and ideals, ironed out through many cycles of destruction and reconstruction. Romantically poetic in its unrealized hopes yet staunchly realistic in its sufferings, Nanjing’s unbridled nostalgia betrays its desires for modernity, her sensitivities always lead it toward a quietness that those seeking hustle-bustle play and power cannot understand nor tolerate.
For those things, Shanghai is king. Somehow, I quickly skipped over those years of youthful abandon in favor of a more solemn spirit. I have no drive for success on the worldly level, yet I am still unsure of myself inwardly. Like my native Nanjing friend, I dabble amongst different cultural ideas and have a visible interest for things modern, but in the end I’m nostalgic and sensitive for the things of the past. Now that I am married, my wife is beginning to see that I am hopelessly backward in my desires for simplicity paradoxically paired with a convoluted drive to modernize the ancient and extract timeless principles from clearly, time bounded circumstances. My ideal of a good date is a stroll through an ancient temple coupled with a visit to a modern art gallery. History is a story I love, the present a gift to treasure, and the future a mystery to behold.
This Nanjing friend of mine often shared clean set, modern Chinese, meals with me at a coffeehouse chain (that originated in Nanjing, no less). In our conversations, we shared a generally similar spirit and perspective on things as perhaps only poet-at-heart types do. As our years of work in Wuhu continued, however, we lost touch due to our ever increasing busyness and investment in our work. By my third year, the best we could muster was a passing hello on campus on our ways to class. Despite the seeming fall out in relationship, he was adamantly present the morning of my final departure from Wuhu. Sensitive, like me, he shed a few tears as my van pulled away.
These many spaces near the Yangzi River are all a sort of home to me. Wuhan, Yangzhou, and Zhuji are the land of my grandparents. Wuhu and Nanjing, my adopted homes during some of the most impressionable years of my youth.
These days, I often tell my friends and family that I am finally sick of China, ready to be home in the United States for a few. But at the same time, I know I love this space more than I probably care to admit.
I am a long-lost child of 江南.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Paradox of Marriage
These are some thoughts from a newlywed.
I’ve been married for about a month or two, depending on which date you would like to adhere to. In that short time, I’ve been putting the pieces of our relationship together, the pieces from the past year or so. As I fiddle and compare, I’m hoping for a simple pattern that might help me live my marriage well.
This half year left in Chengdu, is there no more important mission or goal than the building of a strong and healthy foundation between Christine and I for the rest of our lives?
Why do I feel more lost and aimless than I ever have in my life? Is it because of the so-called quarter life crisis? Is it because of the challenge of applying ideals to reality? Here I sit, dissecting my heart to search for small clues to the little anxieties that have followed me to this relaxed, tea-sipping, urban sprawl.
An obsession with productivity multiplied by gender defined expectation to provide for my family. I define productivity as something done to benefit and serve others. This definition does not include myself. This is a problem. I’ve always ignored myself in favor of projects and relationships that would be more “productive.” Here, I’ve been challenged to take a good look at myself, just me.
For my first half year, instead of facing up to this challenge of facing myself, I’ve frantically distributed myself all over the city in an attempt to be productive. I’ve given a few lectures, done amateur graphic and video design for Mercy Corps, taught English to snobby elementary school students, arranged a disorganized short term trips, researched Hua Mei’s structure and influence for a inconclusive research paper, familiarized myself with the state of the 3-self in Sichuan, gotten a fly-by view of Chinese philosophy and development, finished my Wheaton Intercultural Masters (for what its worth?).
Not bad, but not good. I’m a bit disappointed in myself. The time could have been spent better, though it certainly wasn’t wasted. Ironically, the time could probably have been better spent being less “productive” and more on myself.
Above all those little things, of course, is marriage. In the last half year, I got ready and got married to the love of my life in two weddings filled with surprises, drama, and joy.
And she is the reason I’m here, more than any job, project, or experience that I can find, muster, or hope for. It’s the first time, ever in my life, I’ve made such a drastic, last-minute, choice in relation to another with so little direction or preparation of my own. I came to Sichuan, first and foremost, for her. And by being here first, for her, I suppose it makes sense that I’ve had trouble with finding something for myself.
In the past, I’ve always been independent. I’ve been my own person who makes my own decisions for my own ideas. I got to go where I wanted for reasons I selected. No longer will this ever be true again. Marriage changes the very foundation of how life is to be lived. Coming to Sichuan has been a physical embodiment of that commitment.
Since getting here I’ve been trying to figure out what else to do.
But in the final analysis, that’s not such a bad reason to show off. I’m here in Chengdu, Sichuan for the year to support and love my wife. I’m pretty proud of that.
This is my first lesson. It shall never be a waste of time to drop everything else to love and serve your wife.
I love my wife. I’m learning to love her more and more.
And.. . I think Christine is right, God put me here to get my eyes off everything else and to put them on myself, unashamedly and for the first time in many, many years.
There is a great deal of irony in all this. I came to Chengdu for her, but also for me in a way I never would have thought of myself. It is so interesting that the latter has become far more difficult than the first. I have no problem supporting her in her being here, it’s supporting myself away from the trappings of productivity that have been my trouble.
Marriage is like that. We get a lot more in our giving than we would have thought, though the receiving is not always as easy or pleasant as we would have liked to imagine.
I may have been “independent” before meeting Christine, but my life was filled with goals and projects of an “external” nature, responding forever to the needs that were set before me, instead of listening to my heart.
Now, since meeting Christine and giving her my heart and commitment, I’ve ended up in a new place void of commitments to anything else. It’s been uncomfortable as hell, leading to my first half year of hodge-podge activities. I needed the external to give me a sense of worth and value.
I don’t know if any of this is making sense, but in my heart it is.
Following her here to Sichuan has been an opportunity to stop and become more of who I am, in relation to my life partner, and my God alone without any external trappings to distract me.
In serving my wife, God has given me an unparalleled chance to take care of myself: a real sabbatical. Unfortunately, I came up with the distractions myself because life was so uncomfortable without them.
I hope to make better use of my time this early 2009.
On another note... something on intimacy.
I’ve always had trouble with this. Whether it’s been inappropriate disclosure or walled up feelings, I’ve never had a good time of it. In these first few weeks of married life, I’ve had the challenge of revealing my heart to her.
I am doing it in a way I always have. Little pieces here and there, and waiting to see what kind of response I get. If it’s a safe, positive response, I’m encouraged to open up more. If it’s critical or harsh, I clam up a little more.
A good marriage is built on intimacy more than any other concept for out of it flows honesty, trust, humility, and interdependence.
Let me conquer my fears and let her into my heart, whatever the outcome may be. Let there be honesty in my words instead of worry. Let there be trust in her love instead of fear of her wrath. Let there be humility to listen instead of defensiveness. Let us grow to depend on one another in such a way we could never really be apart.
Scary... but the pay off is heaven itself, revealed in the tense space between our love and dependence for and in one another.
Dearest Lord, let us love and support one another the way we ought to under the example you have set before us in word and deed. In doing so, let us shine the light of your love in its truest and purest form. The love between a man and woman as love between God and Humanity, Heaven and Earth.
I’ve been married for about a month or two, depending on which date you would like to adhere to. In that short time, I’ve been putting the pieces of our relationship together, the pieces from the past year or so. As I fiddle and compare, I’m hoping for a simple pattern that might help me live my marriage well.
This half year left in Chengdu, is there no more important mission or goal than the building of a strong and healthy foundation between Christine and I for the rest of our lives?
Why do I feel more lost and aimless than I ever have in my life? Is it because of the so-called quarter life crisis? Is it because of the challenge of applying ideals to reality? Here I sit, dissecting my heart to search for small clues to the little anxieties that have followed me to this relaxed, tea-sipping, urban sprawl.
An obsession with productivity multiplied by gender defined expectation to provide for my family. I define productivity as something done to benefit and serve others. This definition does not include myself. This is a problem. I’ve always ignored myself in favor of projects and relationships that would be more “productive.” Here, I’ve been challenged to take a good look at myself, just me.
For my first half year, instead of facing up to this challenge of facing myself, I’ve frantically distributed myself all over the city in an attempt to be productive. I’ve given a few lectures, done amateur graphic and video design for Mercy Corps, taught English to snobby elementary school students, arranged a disorganized short term trips, researched Hua Mei’s structure and influence for a inconclusive research paper, familiarized myself with the state of the 3-self in Sichuan, gotten a fly-by view of Chinese philosophy and development, finished my Wheaton Intercultural Masters (for what its worth?).
Not bad, but not good. I’m a bit disappointed in myself. The time could have been spent better, though it certainly wasn’t wasted. Ironically, the time could probably have been better spent being less “productive” and more on myself.
Above all those little things, of course, is marriage. In the last half year, I got ready and got married to the love of my life in two weddings filled with surprises, drama, and joy.
And she is the reason I’m here, more than any job, project, or experience that I can find, muster, or hope for. It’s the first time, ever in my life, I’ve made such a drastic, last-minute, choice in relation to another with so little direction or preparation of my own. I came to Sichuan, first and foremost, for her. And by being here first, for her, I suppose it makes sense that I’ve had trouble with finding something for myself.
In the past, I’ve always been independent. I’ve been my own person who makes my own decisions for my own ideas. I got to go where I wanted for reasons I selected. No longer will this ever be true again. Marriage changes the very foundation of how life is to be lived. Coming to Sichuan has been a physical embodiment of that commitment.
Since getting here I’ve been trying to figure out what else to do.
But in the final analysis, that’s not such a bad reason to show off. I’m here in Chengdu, Sichuan for the year to support and love my wife. I’m pretty proud of that.
This is my first lesson. It shall never be a waste of time to drop everything else to love and serve your wife.
I love my wife. I’m learning to love her more and more.
And.. . I think Christine is right, God put me here to get my eyes off everything else and to put them on myself, unashamedly and for the first time in many, many years.
There is a great deal of irony in all this. I came to Chengdu for her, but also for me in a way I never would have thought of myself. It is so interesting that the latter has become far more difficult than the first. I have no problem supporting her in her being here, it’s supporting myself away from the trappings of productivity that have been my trouble.
Marriage is like that. We get a lot more in our giving than we would have thought, though the receiving is not always as easy or pleasant as we would have liked to imagine.
I may have been “independent” before meeting Christine, but my life was filled with goals and projects of an “external” nature, responding forever to the needs that were set before me, instead of listening to my heart.
Now, since meeting Christine and giving her my heart and commitment, I’ve ended up in a new place void of commitments to anything else. It’s been uncomfortable as hell, leading to my first half year of hodge-podge activities. I needed the external to give me a sense of worth and value.
I don’t know if any of this is making sense, but in my heart it is.
Following her here to Sichuan has been an opportunity to stop and become more of who I am, in relation to my life partner, and my God alone without any external trappings to distract me.
In serving my wife, God has given me an unparalleled chance to take care of myself: a real sabbatical. Unfortunately, I came up with the distractions myself because life was so uncomfortable without them.
I hope to make better use of my time this early 2009.
On another note... something on intimacy.
I’ve always had trouble with this. Whether it’s been inappropriate disclosure or walled up feelings, I’ve never had a good time of it. In these first few weeks of married life, I’ve had the challenge of revealing my heart to her.
I am doing it in a way I always have. Little pieces here and there, and waiting to see what kind of response I get. If it’s a safe, positive response, I’m encouraged to open up more. If it’s critical or harsh, I clam up a little more.
A good marriage is built on intimacy more than any other concept for out of it flows honesty, trust, humility, and interdependence.
Let me conquer my fears and let her into my heart, whatever the outcome may be. Let there be honesty in my words instead of worry. Let there be trust in her love instead of fear of her wrath. Let there be humility to listen instead of defensiveness. Let us grow to depend on one another in such a way we could never really be apart.
Scary... but the pay off is heaven itself, revealed in the tense space between our love and dependence for and in one another.
Dearest Lord, let us love and support one another the way we ought to under the example you have set before us in word and deed. In doing so, let us shine the light of your love in its truest and purest form. The love between a man and woman as love between God and Humanity, Heaven and Earth.
Monday, February 9, 2009
prejudice.. .
I'm an avid supporter of taking the bus. Not so much for environmental reasons as I like feeling a part of the city, a part of the everyday. Second to riding a bike, nothing in China exhibits a feeling of belonging for a foreigner so much as taking public transportation (at least when you can blend in like me, so nobody is staring at you).
But yes, it's also good for the environment. Get on the bus, or ride a bike. But wear a helmet... even if nobody else is.
Chengdu, being a major urban center, is filled with a variety of peoples, especially with its proximity to Western China's many minorities. Prime amongst these minorities are Tibetans. I'm not very experienced with Tibetans, but perhaps more so than you're average U.S. citizen. I taught an English class of eight Tibetans once and they were very engaging, kind, and courteous students. They're Tibetan accents actually help them pronounce English sounds better than Han Chinese do. They have a reputation for being great dancers and singers... like every minority group does in China.
Background explained: this story involves a bus and a family of Tibetans.
As most people may be able to guess, Chinese buses can get pretty damn crowded. Passengers are suppose to enter from the front, pay the fee, and exit the back. Sometimes, this procedure is not feasible given the sheer volume of the people coming on and off. In such cases, people jump on from the back exit when space in the front isn't available. Once boarded, passengers will pass their fare money up the bus to the front. It is common knowledge and courtesy to do so, and I've been impressed with how consistently it is done. Sometimes huge fistfuls of 1 yuan bills will be passed forward. The bus driver doesn't even have to ask, and mostly trusts what is passed up as the right and proper due.
Today, while taking the bus to work, the bus was quite full, as usual. At one stop, a Tibetan lady and her two children rushed to the back gate and hopped on. The bus continued and a few minutes passed. The lady looked comfortable, but did take out any money. Looking about, the faces of the other passengers seemed uneasy. It was clear people were wondering if this little family was hoping for a free ride...
Tibetans have certain reputations, but dishonest is not one of them. If anything, they are a little too honest. My wife says that's why they do so poorly at business. There's no point in haggling prices with Tibetans, they just tell you what they're willing to sell it for and that's that. At the same time, however, Tibetans have the stereotype of also being lazy (or relaxed and slow... depending on how you look at it).
I won't lie, as the bus moved along, I started running down my list of Tibetan generalizations as to process why the Tibetan mother of two would not pay her fare after hoping on the back of the bus. Was she ignorant of bus fares? Was she actually hoping to just ignore the fare? As I was thinking, however, an old lady reminded the lady to pay. The Tibetan woman responded in Tibetan, in which none of us could understand. At this point I joined in and gestured with my hand the universal rubbing of fingers: meaning money, and said there was a fare to be paid up front. More Tibetan was given in reply. The old lady sighed, "I don't understand," but tried to tell the lady again to pay the fare. The other passengers were quietly watching, starting to feel tense.
After a few more awkward moments, a Tibetan man from the front of the bus pushed through the crowds. When he arrived, he said he had paid for them all up front in barely intelligible Mandarin Chinese. The old lady smiled at me and them, a little bit embarrassed. I was as well. It would appear to be another incident of Han Chinese looking down on Tibetan minorities. In a gesture of good will the old lady smiled at the children and said, "be careful, it's really tight in here." The younger daughter seemed to snap back in Tibetan with a little bit of a dirty look. Had they felt offended? I wouldn't have been surprised if they were.
In any case, this was a clear misunderstanding. I trust I, or this old lady, would have reminded any passenger, Han Chinese or otherwise, to pay the fare after boarding from the back if they had not. But the fact that this family was not Han Chinese, but a minority, makes the whole ordeal just a little bit more sensitive.
This incident reminds me of another story in the U.S. concerning prejudice and buses...
About a year or two ago, I was waiting to board the Chinatown bus from New York to Boston. All the passengers were lined up waiting for the bus to arrive around 9 pm or so. A few persons back, a person was looking around nervously. This didn't bother me of course. What did catch my attention was when he left the line and turned the corner, leaving his baggage behind. That bothersome feeling increased when the man didn't return for (what seemed like) five minutes.
Now, years of hanging around airports since the "war on terror" began have taught me to be suspicious of nervous or overly confident looking people leaving their luggage behind in crowded spaces. They announce that it shouldn't happen every 5 to 10 minutes. I wasn't in an airport however, and honestly, not that much time could have passed. I was nervous all the same and just prayed nothing explosive was in the bags. After a few more minutes the man returned to the line. Relieved, I boarded the bus and was off to Boston with no other concerns.
The disturbing element concerning this event is this: the man looked to be of Arab descent. There is no doubt in my mind that my sensitivities toward his actions were heightened because of his ethnicity. I'd racially profiled the man based on common media perceptions. If the man were of Asian, Anglo, or even African decent, I don't believe my worries would have been as high. (though I'd like to imagine I'd still be alarmed... right?) I recognized this immediately as I felt it, and hence tried to ignore it, but the feeling remained.
I admit it, I have prejudices. I have prejudices because I make generalizations, informed or not. Sometimes they prove insightfully helpful, other times they make me ashamed. I am working all the time to re-calibrate my heart and mind to critique and understand each circumstance and person I meet with wisdom, compassion, and justice.
We operate from generalizations all the time, and when it comes to differences, the simplest mistake or assumption could communicate, or miscommunicate, far more than we'd like. We're all prejudiced, because we operate toward difference based on whatever information or experience we have (correct or not.)
The only answer to this problem, in my eyes, is the fostering of a real intentional relationship between the differences at hand. But that's a dream answer that falls short in reality... right?
I'm still a bit of an idealist...
but can I become a more active one?
Isn't it interesting how these incidents on buses can often lead to so much more?
But yes, it's also good for the environment. Get on the bus, or ride a bike. But wear a helmet... even if nobody else is.
Chengdu, being a major urban center, is filled with a variety of peoples, especially with its proximity to Western China's many minorities. Prime amongst these minorities are Tibetans. I'm not very experienced with Tibetans, but perhaps more so than you're average U.S. citizen. I taught an English class of eight Tibetans once and they were very engaging, kind, and courteous students. They're Tibetan accents actually help them pronounce English sounds better than Han Chinese do. They have a reputation for being great dancers and singers... like every minority group does in China.
Background explained: this story involves a bus and a family of Tibetans.
As most people may be able to guess, Chinese buses can get pretty damn crowded. Passengers are suppose to enter from the front, pay the fee, and exit the back. Sometimes, this procedure is not feasible given the sheer volume of the people coming on and off. In such cases, people jump on from the back exit when space in the front isn't available. Once boarded, passengers will pass their fare money up the bus to the front. It is common knowledge and courtesy to do so, and I've been impressed with how consistently it is done. Sometimes huge fistfuls of 1 yuan bills will be passed forward. The bus driver doesn't even have to ask, and mostly trusts what is passed up as the right and proper due.
Today, while taking the bus to work, the bus was quite full, as usual. At one stop, a Tibetan lady and her two children rushed to the back gate and hopped on. The bus continued and a few minutes passed. The lady looked comfortable, but did take out any money. Looking about, the faces of the other passengers seemed uneasy. It was clear people were wondering if this little family was hoping for a free ride...
Tibetans have certain reputations, but dishonest is not one of them. If anything, they are a little too honest. My wife says that's why they do so poorly at business. There's no point in haggling prices with Tibetans, they just tell you what they're willing to sell it for and that's that. At the same time, however, Tibetans have the stereotype of also being lazy (or relaxed and slow... depending on how you look at it).
I won't lie, as the bus moved along, I started running down my list of Tibetan generalizations as to process why the Tibetan mother of two would not pay her fare after hoping on the back of the bus. Was she ignorant of bus fares? Was she actually hoping to just ignore the fare? As I was thinking, however, an old lady reminded the lady to pay. The Tibetan woman responded in Tibetan, in which none of us could understand. At this point I joined in and gestured with my hand the universal rubbing of fingers: meaning money, and said there was a fare to be paid up front. More Tibetan was given in reply. The old lady sighed, "I don't understand," but tried to tell the lady again to pay the fare. The other passengers were quietly watching, starting to feel tense.
After a few more awkward moments, a Tibetan man from the front of the bus pushed through the crowds. When he arrived, he said he had paid for them all up front in barely intelligible Mandarin Chinese. The old lady smiled at me and them, a little bit embarrassed. I was as well. It would appear to be another incident of Han Chinese looking down on Tibetan minorities. In a gesture of good will the old lady smiled at the children and said, "be careful, it's really tight in here." The younger daughter seemed to snap back in Tibetan with a little bit of a dirty look. Had they felt offended? I wouldn't have been surprised if they were.
In any case, this was a clear misunderstanding. I trust I, or this old lady, would have reminded any passenger, Han Chinese or otherwise, to pay the fare after boarding from the back if they had not. But the fact that this family was not Han Chinese, but a minority, makes the whole ordeal just a little bit more sensitive.
This incident reminds me of another story in the U.S. concerning prejudice and buses...
About a year or two ago, I was waiting to board the Chinatown bus from New York to Boston. All the passengers were lined up waiting for the bus to arrive around 9 pm or so. A few persons back, a person was looking around nervously. This didn't bother me of course. What did catch my attention was when he left the line and turned the corner, leaving his baggage behind. That bothersome feeling increased when the man didn't return for (what seemed like) five minutes.
Now, years of hanging around airports since the "war on terror" began have taught me to be suspicious of nervous or overly confident looking people leaving their luggage behind in crowded spaces. They announce that it shouldn't happen every 5 to 10 minutes. I wasn't in an airport however, and honestly, not that much time could have passed. I was nervous all the same and just prayed nothing explosive was in the bags. After a few more minutes the man returned to the line. Relieved, I boarded the bus and was off to Boston with no other concerns.
The disturbing element concerning this event is this: the man looked to be of Arab descent. There is no doubt in my mind that my sensitivities toward his actions were heightened because of his ethnicity. I'd racially profiled the man based on common media perceptions. If the man were of Asian, Anglo, or even African decent, I don't believe my worries would have been as high. (though I'd like to imagine I'd still be alarmed... right?) I recognized this immediately as I felt it, and hence tried to ignore it, but the feeling remained.
I admit it, I have prejudices. I have prejudices because I make generalizations, informed or not. Sometimes they prove insightfully helpful, other times they make me ashamed. I am working all the time to re-calibrate my heart and mind to critique and understand each circumstance and person I meet with wisdom, compassion, and justice.
We operate from generalizations all the time, and when it comes to differences, the simplest mistake or assumption could communicate, or miscommunicate, far more than we'd like. We're all prejudiced, because we operate toward difference based on whatever information or experience we have (correct or not.)
The only answer to this problem, in my eyes, is the fostering of a real intentional relationship between the differences at hand. But that's a dream answer that falls short in reality... right?
I'm still a bit of an idealist...
but can I become a more active one?
Isn't it interesting how these incidents on buses can often lead to so much more?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
the Ideal and the Reality: oh, how we striiiive.. .
Writing...
just to write...
Christine says I should write a book. Whatever about? I haven’t yet the discipline, vision, or talent to take on a book. But smaller things are worthwhile. Personal newsletters are a beginning. Next i would like to take on a revamp of my “So What?” document for distribution with a little more academic backing. It would serve to be my first pamphlet of possible use beyond personal interest or amusement.
I’m currently reading several books at once... another display of my inability to focus. I am a child of TV, DVD, and ADD. Nonetheless, I find the cross referencing of many of these texts enjoyable. Like a fruit punch or a fine port (is that the type of wine that gets mixed?), the literary personalities, thoughts, and experiences mix together in my mind.
The single, most concentrated voice is the one that followed me back from my honeymoon in India: Mahatma Gandhi’s auto-biography, or as he likes to state: his “experiments with Truth.” Auto-biography’s are not necessarily the most accurate portrayal of a person’s life, but they are always the most intimate. To hear Gandhi tell his own story of his development in law and public advocacy is a good story to know. I’ve finished half the book already and his musings on religion, family, and diet play as dominant a role in his thinking as his career as a lawyer or community organizer in South Africa. There is still little to no mention of a desire to be modern India’s prime mover for independence. All this goes to show that great men do not always expect themselves great. At least in his own words, Gandhi simply sought integrity of life. Like MLK Jr., his first passion was for his first community of Indian expats struggling as indentured servants or small businessmen hundreds of miles away from Indian soil, in South Africa.
How Gandhi’s search for faith and his life of public service come together appear to be the tale he is aiming to weave in his writing. I suppose when they finally come together sometime in the latter half of the book, the issue of India’s breaking from the British will have become a very important matter. By the time of his famed salt walk, was it the nation of India, the plight of the poor, or the calling of God his hallmark motive? I suppose it should be all three...
In other news, Jon Meacham is lecturing me on his scholarly perspective toward the great controversial narrative that is America’s faith. As a nation, how did the founding fathers play out God and State? Surely, separation of institutions necessary and desirable, but influence? Under Meacham’s exposition, from Adams to Washington, everyone had something to contribute to the building of the nation via their faith by word or deed. What was their personal faith influenced their actions, even if those actions were always, by and large, of a secular nature: in the interests of the people of America. The God of Public Religion is alive and well today, and Obama has invoked His name in word, and recently in deed. Will his new faith-based policies and advisory board lead to a reconciliation of the bitter and wasteful culture wars?
Honestly, it’s a matter not worth delving too deeply into, not until the economy can get fixed. What’s going on with the stimulus again? Every time I glance at the Washington Post there is something about how the plan has changed, who’s willing to support it or not, and everyone’s general ignorance. This includes myself. I need to get a book on basic economics and understand what’s going on a bit more deeply.
China got started on their own big stimulus plan. If the State Media is accurate (of course it is,) it’s all going nicely and China still has confidence in its ability to bounce back. In other news, hundreds of migrant workers are laid off and going home. The rebuilding process since the quake is no longer the big news as the nation’s very economic stability is at stake. Here in Chengdu even, rebuilding and reinvestment have equal footing based on the billboards I see.
In my past months of reading, other leaders of China have had their chance to lay impressions on my thinking. A wide history of thinkers and actors from Confucius to Mao, my studies have revealed the odds and ends of faith and policy yet again. Whether it is a faith in the Way of Heaven or the Revolution of the (Peasant) Proletariat, the striving to make our realities fit our ideals remains the same. Whether it is exhibited in the life of Indian saints or American heroes, in our inner lives or public actions, the challenge to make our surroundings a model of our dreams is ever present.
And that’s where I am today. The quarter life crisis of making these ends meet. I’ve been out of college three and a half years now, twiddling away my time in China teaching, serving, and dreaming. In college I formulated some pretty idealistic values of community, reconciliation, and change that I’ve never been able to incarnate fully. In honesty, I’m disappointed in myself. I haven’t pushed my actions to meet my ideas.
I’m an externally oriented person, and I’ve let the externals of the needs set before me push me along. I do what I see around me, I don’t do what is in my heart. I’m afraid of doing that, of taking on that great challenge. If I fail at something given to me by circumstance, I don’t feel so bad. I have done my best and I will try again in another situation, another need elsewhere. But if I fail at what I desire to define myself as, than who am I? Am I not a failure in the deepest sense? No external credibility given, I’d feel small. So very small.
Such a fear, a lie, is truly paralyzing, and most certainly of the devil. I’m not the type to be particularly in touch with my own feelings anyway. If I keep bustling around whatever is set before me, I’ll inevitably lose track of any real convictions.
Will that pattern of life and living continue this next half year in Sichuan? How will it play out in August when Christine and I are back in America; I doing any number of possible things from work to seminary.
It should not, and can not if I want to live a life of integrity.
I compromise too much.
So, as far as new year’s resolutions are concerned (Chinese new year’s resolution, mind you), I need to listen to my heart and move. I’ve been dared to move.
Get on your boots! Get on your boots!
Today, this Sabbath Sunday, I began a theological document on the charismatic theology of St. Luke. Although it is heady as hell, it is also a welcome addition to my eclectic pile of texts. Why? Because in all my readings on history, faith, and governance amongst so many different people of different cultures, the role of the Holy Spirit of God (as we Christians understand it) is, supposedly, quite active in some way shape or form. As a believer, should He not be all the more active at the very center of my heart?
If Luke’s Gospel and Acts are to be taken on his own terms apart from Pauline lenses, then what I’m seeking out is that elusive, much contested, phenomenon known as the “filling of the Holy Spirit.” I’m not talkin’ bout tongues or election, but something simpler yet no less profound. I’m looking for God to bring my heart into a conviction and passion for something He wants done that I cannot help but serve, move and be about it.
Move me.
just to write...
Christine says I should write a book. Whatever about? I haven’t yet the discipline, vision, or talent to take on a book. But smaller things are worthwhile. Personal newsletters are a beginning. Next i would like to take on a revamp of my “So What?” document for distribution with a little more academic backing. It would serve to be my first pamphlet of possible use beyond personal interest or amusement.
I’m currently reading several books at once... another display of my inability to focus. I am a child of TV, DVD, and ADD. Nonetheless, I find the cross referencing of many of these texts enjoyable. Like a fruit punch or a fine port (is that the type of wine that gets mixed?), the literary personalities, thoughts, and experiences mix together in my mind.
The single, most concentrated voice is the one that followed me back from my honeymoon in India: Mahatma Gandhi’s auto-biography, or as he likes to state: his “experiments with Truth.” Auto-biography’s are not necessarily the most accurate portrayal of a person’s life, but they are always the most intimate. To hear Gandhi tell his own story of his development in law and public advocacy is a good story to know. I’ve finished half the book already and his musings on religion, family, and diet play as dominant a role in his thinking as his career as a lawyer or community organizer in South Africa. There is still little to no mention of a desire to be modern India’s prime mover for independence. All this goes to show that great men do not always expect themselves great. At least in his own words, Gandhi simply sought integrity of life. Like MLK Jr., his first passion was for his first community of Indian expats struggling as indentured servants or small businessmen hundreds of miles away from Indian soil, in South Africa.
How Gandhi’s search for faith and his life of public service come together appear to be the tale he is aiming to weave in his writing. I suppose when they finally come together sometime in the latter half of the book, the issue of India’s breaking from the British will have become a very important matter. By the time of his famed salt walk, was it the nation of India, the plight of the poor, or the calling of God his hallmark motive? I suppose it should be all three...
In other news, Jon Meacham is lecturing me on his scholarly perspective toward the great controversial narrative that is America’s faith. As a nation, how did the founding fathers play out God and State? Surely, separation of institutions necessary and desirable, but influence? Under Meacham’s exposition, from Adams to Washington, everyone had something to contribute to the building of the nation via their faith by word or deed. What was their personal faith influenced their actions, even if those actions were always, by and large, of a secular nature: in the interests of the people of America. The God of Public Religion is alive and well today, and Obama has invoked His name in word, and recently in deed. Will his new faith-based policies and advisory board lead to a reconciliation of the bitter and wasteful culture wars?
Honestly, it’s a matter not worth delving too deeply into, not until the economy can get fixed. What’s going on with the stimulus again? Every time I glance at the Washington Post there is something about how the plan has changed, who’s willing to support it or not, and everyone’s general ignorance. This includes myself. I need to get a book on basic economics and understand what’s going on a bit more deeply.
China got started on their own big stimulus plan. If the State Media is accurate (of course it is,) it’s all going nicely and China still has confidence in its ability to bounce back. In other news, hundreds of migrant workers are laid off and going home. The rebuilding process since the quake is no longer the big news as the nation’s very economic stability is at stake. Here in Chengdu even, rebuilding and reinvestment have equal footing based on the billboards I see.
In my past months of reading, other leaders of China have had their chance to lay impressions on my thinking. A wide history of thinkers and actors from Confucius to Mao, my studies have revealed the odds and ends of faith and policy yet again. Whether it is a faith in the Way of Heaven or the Revolution of the (Peasant) Proletariat, the striving to make our realities fit our ideals remains the same. Whether it is exhibited in the life of Indian saints or American heroes, in our inner lives or public actions, the challenge to make our surroundings a model of our dreams is ever present.
And that’s where I am today. The quarter life crisis of making these ends meet. I’ve been out of college three and a half years now, twiddling away my time in China teaching, serving, and dreaming. In college I formulated some pretty idealistic values of community, reconciliation, and change that I’ve never been able to incarnate fully. In honesty, I’m disappointed in myself. I haven’t pushed my actions to meet my ideas.
I’m an externally oriented person, and I’ve let the externals of the needs set before me push me along. I do what I see around me, I don’t do what is in my heart. I’m afraid of doing that, of taking on that great challenge. If I fail at something given to me by circumstance, I don’t feel so bad. I have done my best and I will try again in another situation, another need elsewhere. But if I fail at what I desire to define myself as, than who am I? Am I not a failure in the deepest sense? No external credibility given, I’d feel small. So very small.
Such a fear, a lie, is truly paralyzing, and most certainly of the devil. I’m not the type to be particularly in touch with my own feelings anyway. If I keep bustling around whatever is set before me, I’ll inevitably lose track of any real convictions.
Will that pattern of life and living continue this next half year in Sichuan? How will it play out in August when Christine and I are back in America; I doing any number of possible things from work to seminary.
It should not, and can not if I want to live a life of integrity.
I compromise too much.
So, as far as new year’s resolutions are concerned (Chinese new year’s resolution, mind you), I need to listen to my heart and move. I’ve been dared to move.
Get on your boots! Get on your boots!
Today, this Sabbath Sunday, I began a theological document on the charismatic theology of St. Luke. Although it is heady as hell, it is also a welcome addition to my eclectic pile of texts. Why? Because in all my readings on history, faith, and governance amongst so many different people of different cultures, the role of the Holy Spirit of God (as we Christians understand it) is, supposedly, quite active in some way shape or form. As a believer, should He not be all the more active at the very center of my heart?
If Luke’s Gospel and Acts are to be taken on his own terms apart from Pauline lenses, then what I’m seeking out is that elusive, much contested, phenomenon known as the “filling of the Holy Spirit.” I’m not talkin’ bout tongues or election, but something simpler yet no less profound. I’m looking for God to bring my heart into a conviction and passion for something He wants done that I cannot help but serve, move and be about it.
Move me.
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