Welcome to Te Atatu

Katherine and I went today to mark out the route for our prayer walk on Friday. Along the way, I got a little bit of a history lesson, which made me realise I guess it's time for the blog world to be formally introduced to Westside Christian Fellowship and Te Atatu Peninsula.

Westside Christian Fellowship began as Auckland International Church. As AIC, the church primarily consisted of international expatriates. In 2007, the church moved to Te Atatu Peninsula in the Waitakere region, which is west of the Auckland mega-city.

I'm just trying to be impressive with my geographical terminology here, ok? To put it simply, for those of you familiar with the Great State of Indiana, it's kinda like saying Anderson (Te Atatu Peninsula) should really be filed under the Madison County cabinet (except in this case it's the beautiful Waitakere (mountain) ranges), but it's now lumped together with Indianapolis (Auckland) as part of the mega-city.

Completely confused yet? :) Google might be able to help.

West Auckland has apparently been historically the area with the notorious reputation. Te Atatu was apparently one of the most "unsafe" areas until recently. According to Katherine, churches on the Peninsula have been prayer-walking the community and much change has come to Te Atatu Peninsula.

Westside has chosen intentionally to work very closely with the schools and families on the Peninsula. It has been an interesting few months for me, watching the subtle influence of post-Christianity play out in family life on the Peninsula. But it has been even more fascinating, watching the growing number of people in our church stepping forward to influence even more positive change in our community.

I'm excited about the things that God has in store for us in 2012. But even more so, I'm honoured that I get to be a part of this. The approval of my 2-year visa (which I just realised I haven't even blogged about!) answers a lot of prayers that have been whispered. But even more so, it affirms that the vision of bringing me here wasn't a mistake; that the dreams we've dreamt in the last few months weren't a mistake; that, just in general, we're doing ok.

2012 promises to be another year of adventure. Sure there will be more (and bigger) emotional roller-coasters--I wouldn't expect any less from a crazy God with an incredibly misunderstood sense of humour. But even through all the big disappointments and heartaches of 2011, God's faithfulness still came through in the few in quantity but massive in quality victories.

Bring it on, 2012 in Te Atatu Peninsula. I'm ready for you!

Unexpected Christmas

In all the weirdness of me, I've always secretly looked forward to my first Christmas away from the birth family.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family, and Christmastime with my crazy cousins and church family is always fantastic. But there's a part of me that feels like my first Christmas away from the birth family is another rite of passage--or perhaps another symptom of the pains of growing up.

So in all the weirdness of me, I've been secretly looking forward to this Christmas for a while. But somehow, the last month got insanely busy with trying to meet datelines to get my visa sorted so I could actually spend Christmas here. Then there was the exhaustion from trying to help plan for Christmas service and stuff while I wasn't even sure if I would be here for it.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, I forgot how much I had been looking forward to this, my first Christmas away from family.
Somewhere in the middle of puppet show rehearsals, writing newsletters and hanging out with kids, I forgot the expectant spirit of Advent.
Somewhere in the middle of trying to find stuff to fill the emptiness of being away from what is familiar, I forgot to even find time to miss the traditions that I've grown up with.

So here I am in the first hour of Christmas morning in a whole new part of the world that is now home, sitting in the home of a friend where I'll be sleeping the rest of this week because the housemates have family in town. The Christmas Eve dinner with the adopted family has long been digested, the cheesy Christmas movies and family games have been put away, and the Christmas tree in Janice's home is lit.

This wasn't at all how I had envisioned my first "grown-up" Christmas. I'm settled in to Te Atatu, but not having my own space to start my own "grown-up" Christmas traditions is creating a feeling of displacement that I hadn't anticipated.

But I wonder if this was exactly how Mary and Joseph felt. It was their first child, and they probably didn't even have the time to get ready for their own family traditions before they had to head to Bethlehem for the census. I wonder if they had themselves envisioned what the birth of their first child was going to be like, and how far it might have been from what they had expected.

Yet somehow in the midst of all the hustle and bustle and feelings of displacement, the Christ-child came. So as exhausting as this whole month has been (I barely even noticed this is the first blog post in over a month...), and in spite of the fact that it is 1 am and I have to be up in a few short hours for a long, long day of festivities, I'm taking a few moments to breathe in the Christmas air. I'll shed a few tears for the traditions that have now been broken, and give thanks for new beginnings and new hope that could only happen because of this Christ-child.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Love from Aotearoa,
Jael

Advent Series: The Covenant

Even though I didn't grown up in a traditional liturgical church, the years at Park Place, in Seminary, and friendships with the likes of Arthur, Ed, Kelley and Rhonda, and Carma have taught me to appreciate the beauty of celebrating tradition, liturgy and the church calendar.

For the last seven years, this time of the year begins my season of Advent. Sure, I'm waiting for the Christ-child and all the other biblical stuff, but I will be lying if I didn't also confess that my season of Advent included waiting for that time of getting to be in the birth-place home. Sure, the time to get on the plane isn't too, too far away anymore, but at the same time, it's not quite here yet.

Every year, I wait.
Anxious to get out of the ridiculous slush of the Anderson winters.
Restless to be done with academics.
Excited to see family and friends again.

This year, new traditions await.

I sit in Kathrin and Stefan's study that has been my bedroom for the last two months, watching the bamboo sway outside the window.

There is no ridiculous slush or wintry winds I want to get out of.
No academics I want to be done with.

But still, I wait.
Waiting for answers to the visa process.
But more importantly, waiting for faith.

At SupaKids (the Bible club the Beisleys, Steve and I are involved with at Matipo Primary School on Wednesdays), we've been talking about being committed. As we discussed each of the Bible stories with the kids, I was reminded of the motif paper I wrote for Biblical Foundations of Mission, where we were asked to trace the missio Dei (Latin for "mission/work of God") through the Bible. The motif I wrote about was God's covenant to relationships. Beginning from Noah and the rainbow, to Abraham and Canaan, to the prophetic calls to return to the covenantal relationship, to Jesus of Nazareth, to the letters of Paul, the consistent theme I saw was that God was most interested in relationships.

I've been thinking a lot about Isaac.
If Aotearoa was my Isaac, am I willing to leave it at the altar?
And what if God doesn't spare my Isaac?
Does that change my relationship with God?

Back when I started my Seminary journey, the covenant that God made were the words from the good old Charles W. Naylor hymn:

"When I am safe at home,
Or in a foreign land,
When on an icebound shore,
Or on a sunlit strand
...

Nothing shall separate
From His unbounded love
I am the Lord's, I know
For all eternity"


I've been asked on several occasions if my faith wasn't big enough to believe that if God called me to Aotearoa, a way would be provided for me to stay here. The truth is, I don't know how big my faith is. I only know that God's covenant to me was that Aotearoa or not, I still am the Lord's. What I get to do or where I get to be doesn't change that covenant relationship with my God.

So I'm sorry if that means my faith isn't big enough.
I don't know how much time I have with my Isaac.
I just know that as long as I have my Isaac, I'm giving all that I am and have.

That's the covenant with my God.

Editor's Note: This post kicks off the Advent series for this year.

New Plymouth Roadtrip #3: Spiritual Guardians

Wednesday saw us stopping at the Rangimarie Maori Art and Crafts Center after breakfast and a fair amount of puzzling. But more on the puzzling in a bit.

It wasn't a huge art and crafts center, but there was a fair amount of the traditional black, white, red Maori art pieces, weaved baskets and sculptures.

It was here that I was struck with the awareness that we really are a whole lot more connected to each other than we take time to think about. The weaved baskets, possibly made from harakeke (Maori for flax) reminded me of the weaved baskets I had seen in 鹤山 when we made the 寻根(literally translated as "looking for roots") trip to Grandpa's village in China two years ago. And the sculpturing brought back images of watching the workers carefully carving each buddha for the temples in Cambodia.

So much of how we communicate is done through art and music, and if so many different parts of the world find themselves communicating in similar fashions, are we really as different as we like to think we are? It made me question why I sometimes used the excuse of "differences in culture" to get away with not knowing or understanding something or someone. If I'm completely honest with myself, "differences in culture" is not, and should never be used as a lame excuse for my own laziness and fear of looking/sounding stupid when I try to build bridges cross-culturally.

Silent Guardians
"All humans are spirits only visiting this world. All spirits are forever beings. All encounters with other people are experiences, and all experiences are forever connections."
(Marlo Morgan - Mutant Message Down Under)


My favourite piece of sculpture at the Art and Crafts Center is titled "Spiritual Guardians". It was a piece that had at least four different faces, depending on what angle you are looking at it from. It reminded me of the many "spiritual guardians" I've had in my life, some of whom I didn't even realise how much they spoke into my life until years have passed since our interactions. It reinforced for me the idea that we really are more spiritually connected than we realise, and that every interaction we encounter creates in us a sense of responsibility to each other.

To put it in a more Christianese way, every interaction we have should be an opportunity for us to be the Light and Love of Christ. We have the responsibility to community to help each one discover our spiritual connectivity in the love of Christ.

In The Blackfield
She wants to stay and talk all day
So I remark when it gets dark
All the pale things under the earth
Will reverse
(Blackfield - Blackfield)


The backpacker we stayed at while we were in New Plymouth brought us into close proximity with a few really cool folks from around the world.

Laura, a young artist from Germany, here trying to get an internship to add to her portfolio for admission to university back in Germany.
Ann-Sophie, from Quebec, French Canada has been hitch-hiking through New Zealand with Laura ever since they got acquainted a few weeks ago.
Julien, a medical/information systems professional from Germany, here for a one-year break from working closely with cancer patients the last couple of years.
Tomoko, a surfer-dudette from Japan, temporarily working at Seaspray House, the backpacker where we met.

As we shared kitchen and dining space or sipped wine and worked on puzzles together, I found it refreshing to simply be sharing space with people who could simply be. Each one brought to that place our own baggage, whether it was fatigue, a thirst for adventure, the need to escape, or whatever other stories there might be. But in the space of that lounge area, nothing mattered more than simply putting our brains and hands together to work on a puzzle, to laugh and to simply be in each other's company.

It was one of the moments that made me miss being in Berlin. Whether we were having sushi parties, hanging out at the park with neighbours, we were meeting new people not just from all walks of life, but from all parts of the world, and each one with a different story, as we were trying to figure out what it means to live the XZ (Christ-centered) life in those communities.

Julien would join us for a few meals here and there. When he shared the story of what brought him to New Zealand, the same thing that tugged at me when I heard "Justin's" story when I was in Berlin came back. "The story isn't over..." Even though these were two completely different stories, something tugged at me to want to know how the next chapter would look like for Julien. I only wish I had managed to get his contact information before we left.

Our last night in New Plymouth, Steve and I stayed up with Laura, Ann-Sophie and Julien, working on our last puzzle, laughing, trading stories, and simply being. Laura showed me some of her art work, and I was blown away by the stories she shared about what inspired her. And then we proceeded to play some of the games we used to play as kids... which, as it turns out, are fairly universal :)

But it came back to the same thing. The simple act of simply being, and simply living in community because we shared space with each other for the few days.

All encounters with other people are experiences, and all experiences are forever connections.

New Plymouth Roadtrip #2: Rainbow Through the Rain

We were on the roads somewhere on Tuesday when Steve came up with the annoying brilliant question, If you could identify your personality as any one thing, what would it be and why?


Allow me to introduce the crew of this roadtrip with the answers each of us gave:

Kathrin, the Cat: dear friend, big sister and housemate
Emily, the Ostrich: Steve's friend from Ohio, here for a visit
Steve, the Tree: friend, "pricker" (Seminary friends, think Dr Froese) and youth pastor
Jael, the Cactus

Amanda once described my personality like that of a cat's, but I decided to go with the cactus this time. A few good friends once used it to describe the personality of someone who really means well deep inside, but keeps their pricks out so you're not really sure what to do with them.

While the other three made their way up Paritutu Rock which I avoided because of my phobia of heights, I took the time to think a little bit more about the Cactus.

The cactus is almost always a solitary figure in the desert. In my driftings around the world, it's easy to feel like I'm alone in the desert, struggling to sink roots deep enough to tap into the source of Life deep below the surface of the desert. The struggle to sink roots represents both my wrestling with questions of faith, and the thirst for Life in community every time I'm uprooted. Because of the struggle, the pricks that develop keep others at bay, and they'll have to work past the pricks to find the source of Life.

On the flip side, I once read somewhere that potted cacti are gifts of friendship the way flowers are gifts to lovers. The potted cacti reflects my friendship with the world, and my desire for community that is unlike the solitary experience of the desert cacti.

Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go
Tell me now where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart
(Mumford & Sons - "White Blank Page")


Monday morning saw us leaving Auckland a little after 10 am. We weren't too far into the journey when Emily shared something that she was reading that morning that included the line, "I trace the rainbow through the rain," familiar words from one of my favourite old, old hymns, Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go.

The journey to Auckland has felt like a dream, almost too good to be true. But with the visa dateline getting closer and closer, the feeling that I'm about to wake up and realise this has all been a dream is getting stronger and stronger. At one of the many lookouts where we stopped for photos, I found myself confronted with the possibility that this could well be my last trip around New Zealand for a while, if things with the visa don't end up the way we hoped. Deep inside I knew this was a worst-case scenario, but I found myself asking the question, if this was the end of the road with Aotearoa, will it be ok? The truth was, there's still a rainbow that I could trace through the rain because of the love that will not let me go.

Has the past couple of weeks here been challenging and discouraging? Yes. But having to wrestle with the possibility of this all coming to an end soon made me realise that as many challenging and discouraging moments there have been in the last two months of being here, I wouldn't want to be anywhere but here right now.

Two months ago, the eight hours I spent at BNE led to learning the lesson that as long as I'm not living life here with complete abandonment; as long as I'm not giving my heart away freely and completely to this land and this people, I'm still living in fear and not trusting enough that the the Source of Life will be enough. Two months later, I realised I've fallen in love with the land and the people.

Tell me now where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart...

New Plymouth Roadtrip #1: Soul Journey

I've been reading Marlo Morgan's "Mutant Message Down Under," a book recommended by Jen and Miriam. The book had pretty crappy reviews on Amazon, but I'm really enjoying the book so far, and not because it's good historical fiction or anything like that, but because of the narrative of the spiritual journey to appreciating the complexities of the simple things in life.

This roadtrip that Kathrin, Steve, Emily and I just came back from has been a little bit of a spiritual journey for me as well. The journey to Aotearoa itself has had its mystical elements in making me feel even more connected to the earth (thank you Caity Stuart), but this roadtrip was a soul journey of a different kind.

To begin, I carried with me a heaviness from the last couple of weeks as we started the roadtrip. As much as I tried to be present for the trip, the fact that the visa business was still not taken care of made it difficult. Do I begin to withdraw, simply out of the possibility that this could well be my last travel around New Zealand for a while?

Ironically, just before we left that morning, Kathrin and I had a brief conversation about something Michael posted on Facebook by Thich Nhat Hanh:

"In the United States, I have a close friend named Jim Forest. When I first met him eight years ago, he was working for the Catholic Peace Fellowship. Last Winter, Jim came to visit. I usuallyy wash the dishes after we've finished the evening meal, beofre witting down and drinking tea with everyone else. One night, Jim asked if he might do the dishes. I said, 'Go ahead, but if you wash the dishes you must know the way to wash the.' Jim replied, 'Come on, you think I don't know how to wash dishes?' I answered, 'There are two ways to wash dishes. The first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes and the second is to wash the dishes in order to to wash the dishes.' Jim was delighted and said, 'I chose the second way- to wash dishes to wash the dishes.' From then on Jim knew how to was the dishes. I transferred the 'responsibility' to him for the entire week.

If while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nusiance, then we are not 'washing the dishes to wash the dishes.' What's more, we are not living during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life shile standing at the sink. If we can't was the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus we are sucked away into the future-and we are incapable of living on moment of life."

- The Miracle of Mindfulness, Thich Nhat Hanh, pgs, 6-8.

It was then that I realised, I was leaving Auckland and had already decided to stay disconnected from the real world. Fretting about the real world stuff wasn't going to change anything anyway, but I couldn't get my mind off the possibility that this roadtrip might well be my last for a while.

Human-ness. What are we to do with that?

I proceeded to try and get my thoughts organized so that I wouldn't dwell excessively on one thing or another. But you know that Voice, the one that I hate sometimes? The voice said, "Let the past sweep over when it sweeps over, rather than try too hard to control the flow of your thoughts."


And so the soul journey began. I'll write more eventually, but my brain is about to combust. 

Happy Guy Fawkes Day

Happy Guy Fawkes Day, friends.

Tonight, Doug and Danette hosted a thank-you barbecue for the folks who helped out at the Holiday Programme. This get-together happened to coincide with Guy Fawkes day, a celebration of the day this guy, Guy, tried to blow up the parliament (at least, according to the few people who tried to explain it to me).

Kiwis celebrate Guy Fawkes day with fireworks. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the universal code for holidays is that if they aren't big enough to celebrate with a ton of food or fireworks, they aren't big enough of a deal.

The strange thing is, as I watched a bunch of the youths light the fireworks on the Beisleys' front porch, my mind drifted back to Fourth of July in St Helen's. I know I'm not a US citizen, but there's just something about how things become a tradition that transcends nationality or political boundaries. Kinda like how I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving with the American community here, or how the Chinese New Year steamboat reunion dinners became a tradition with the Chinese community in Anderson.

I've had a few interesting conversations recently about roots and what those mean. A big part of my story comes from having deep roots in many places, and having the permission to celebrate the traditions that come with those roots. As much as I try not to stick out in the dominant culture every time I move to a new place, I'm still not much of a conformist. Truth is, there are some things about tradition that I'm uber nerdy about.

Like, if I could go back in time, I would have convinced my dad to work with me more on my Chinese calligraphy, even if my siblings weren't interested.
Or contextualizing the Eucharist to today's society. Unleavened bread and wine? How 'bout pita bread and olive oil? (Thank you, Ralf Schwarz)
Or learning the proper native way to pronounce words in every new language/dialect I learn (I'm still working on the Kiwi English. Give it some time.)

Point being, I'm noticing again how much beauty I find in tradition. Sure, go ahead and be skeptical or cynical about everything we can possibly be skeptical or cynical about. But there still is a lot of beauty in tradition, if we can dig through all the cynicism to find it.

Happy Guy Fawkes Day, y'all. I don't know that this will become tradition in my story, but who's to say no?

October Update: Eggs in the Microwave?

Dear friends,

About seven years ago, I learnt a very important lesson in the dorm room of Martin Hall at Anderson University: Never try to boil an egg in the microwave. My roommate came back that evening and observed that the room smelled like really good food, not realising an egg had just exploded in the microwave. The next day, we had to air out the room so that the "yummy" smell that is now foul wouldn't linger too long.

Fast forward seven years. I was on dinner duty tonight because Kathrin (one of my housemates) was away at a conference. When the eggs that were supposed to be hard-boiled were still a bit runny, my immediate thought was, "Microwave! But just for a few seconds without the shell on so it doesn't explode." (I did learn my lesson... Sort of.) If not for Stefan (other housemate who is married to Kathrin) pointing out it still might not be the best idea, we'd have another egg-splosion.

It's a funny story to tell now, but it makes me reflect on the fact that there will always be lessons to be learnt -- and some to be re-learnt.

There's still much to learn about living life here. Like the fact that running around barefoot is generally acceptable in Kiwi-culture (CGM staff - yes, I'm fitting in quite well here ). Or that chickens that are to be eaten are called "chicken," and chickens that are pets are called "chooks." Or that rugby is a big, BIG part of Kiwi-culture, and not just because the All Blacks just won the Rugby World Cup last Sunday.

I was recently reminded that what I learnt from XZBerlin, the team I interned with in Germany, is not applicable only in Berlin. The truth is, being Xristo (Greek for "Christ") Zentrisch (German for "center") is something I can take with me regardless of what part of the world I might find myself in. I'm still learning the "hows" and "whats" of being XZ (Christ-centered) in Auckland looks like, but I'm most thankful for the Stefans who help avoid egg-splosions.

Holiday Programme
It seems strange to think that our holiday programme (VBS for the folks in the States) was two weeks ago. The majority of my time in my first month here was spent working with Danette Beisley to get things ready for that week, and all of a sudden we were done. Even though it got increasingly stressful closer to the week, watching the adult volunteers work together with the youths to get things set-up and running was fulfilling enough. Getting to spend some time with the kids that we had gotten to know through our involvement with the Bible Clubs in two of the primary schools made it even more worthwhile.

Prayer Requests:
Visa Update: This week, I had to call the FBI (something I never thought I'd do, but that's another thing to check off my bucket-list!) to check on the process with the background check from the US. I was informed that the current processing time for background checks is 8 weeks, and they won't have information for me until next week at the soonest. As frustrating as this process has been, the track record has shown that things will fall into place at the right time. Will you pray with me that this process will go smoothly?


Visioning: In the weeks since the holiday programme has ended, the church leadership has spent quite a significant amount of time in conversation about what next year will look like. Pray with us that as we transition and cast vision for the next year, we will really hear who God wants us to be in our community, and how to live that out.

Also, I have new contact information. Send me a message if you would like to have it.

Thank you all for your love, prayers, support and encouragement.

Love you all.

If Home's Where My Heart Is...

With the "honeymoon" phase wearing thin, homesick is starting to sink in a little bit. So yesterday, while sitting outside the Beisleys' home, I made a list of things that I'm homesick for:

* City lights at midnight
* Freshly-picked cherry tomatoes, sweet corn and strawberries
* Beading and solving the world's problems till 2 am
* Smells and smiles from Schwarze Olive
* Watching people line up to board planes
* Hymns and liturgy
* Reading Pride and Prejudice on the bus/train home
* Driving through acres and acres of cornfields with healing music, my emotional roller-coasters, and the Creator
* Popping bottles into the machine at Kaiser's and getting groceries with store credit from the recycling
* Community dinners
* 2 ams with the BFFs saying, "I don't understand yet why the heck you do what you do. But simply because of friendship, I will support and encourage you, and I will push you to keep walking when you're tempted to give up prematurely. And if necessary, I will arrange a boycott if you try to run home when life doesn't seem to go the way you'd hoped."

The list ended there for the day, but there was so much more I could have added.

For years now, I've wrestled with the idea of home.
My first TCK friend Will once explained it as, "home is where I lay my head that night."
My friend Nichele has never set foot on the African continent, but because that's where her ancestors came from, a part of home is in Africa.
My friends John and Jodie may have been born in the States and still return there every summer, but home is Haiti.
My friends Kathrin and Stefan moved to Auckland a few years ago, and home has been New Zealand ever since.
My friend Steve says home is in his pocket. It's what happens in community.
My friend Ian has made the cruise ship he's been working on for the last couple years his home.
My friend Laura once said home is wherever her parents are--no matter which French-speaking country it might be.


Tonight, it hit that home is all that and more.

Home is roots. Roots that go beyond Singapore, to the ancestral homes in China.
Home is blood. Lay a finger on one of the blood-kin and I'll pray fire and brimstone.
Home is together. Coffeeing, eating, laughing, crying... together.
Home is possibilities. Possibilities of roots that give wings to dreams.

Home is nowhere, anywhere and everywhere all at the same time.

And all is well and good until trouble hits too many homes at one time.
And then we wonder how the heck to explain that one part of our world is crumbling even while the rest of it still appears intact.
And then we take a deep breath.
And pray.
And cry.
And (eventually) let go.

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
- MercyMe

P.S. Finally posted photos from our Holiday Programme on Facebook. Click here

Jars of Clay

So here I am again

So full
Yet so empty

So much to say
Yet so wordless

So much restless fighting
Yet so much peace


Today I stood and stared at the ocean
Waters from the past reminding me of things I used to love
Things I used to be passionate about

Things that set me free
Things that taught me about Love


And then I wonder...
There's a whole world of water out there
Why am I sitting in a little sampan again?

Sampans aren't always bad things
Trouble is which sampan,
And what oars do I use to keep from drifting to dangerous waters?


They gave me books to read
Manuals to study
Flashcards even

But they all became sampans too

There's still a whole ocean out there


How do I dive deep
But not drown?


Someone told me recently
Forces are coming together
To bring congruence between my head and my heart

How?
When?
And until then, what?




And then...
"For right now... I don't know what the ans. is so just keep being the best you. When you can't take it... write me e-mails. I will read all of them and respond to them first thing (even tho I have e-mails from 4 weeks ago I need to get to)"

"Therefore, since we have this ministry, as we received mercy, we do not lose heart, but we have renounced the things hidden because of shame, not walking in craftiness or adulterating the word of God, but by the manifestation of truth commending ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelieving so that they might not see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves but Christ Jesus as Lord, and ourselves as your bond-servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.


But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.


But having the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, “I BELIEVED, THEREFORE I SPOKE,” we also believe, therefore we also speak, knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and will present us with you. For all things are for your sakes, so that the grace which is spreading to more and more people may cause the giving of thanks to abound to the glory of God.


Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."


And suddenly I'm thankful Dr Majeski made us memorize this for our NT2 midterm.

Perspektiven on Post-Christianity

Kathrin and I have a lot of conversations. Most days, we agree on most things. Some days, we agree to disagree. Other days, we disagree only to later realise we were both actually saying the same thing but in different ways. She tends to be more optimistic than I am about most things, so even her choice of words reflect that optimism. And it's usually not till later that I realise it was a matter of perspective. We could be talking about something that I've already gotten used to people disagreeing with me about, so my defenses are already up and ready to shoot down anything that could speak against my point. Even if she actually agrees with me, I don't actually hear her agreeing with me until I let my defenses down.

I've been thinking a lot the last few days about Christianity in Auckland. According to sources in American christendom, Auckland apparently falls into the bubble of post-Christianity. At least, that's what I learnt from the papers I've written for seminary that involved research on Maori ethnology and the development of the Christian church here.

But that's a problem. The resources available in the States were limited, and it was even more difficult to sieve through those resources to find the ones that weren't tainted with bias toward either parties involved in the Treaty of Waitangi. So the question remains: How the heck am I supposed to accurately find out about the history of both Maori and Pakeha, AND an accurate history of the Christian church here? Because if we don't know about where we've come from, how are we to figure out how to move ahead?

The thing is, if Auckland is as post-Christian as sources in the States paint it to be, then our approach to living out Christian faith here will be more complicated than simply presenting the creation story and praying the sinner's prayer. (Seminary friends, remember that conversation after Old Testament?) Because for someone who has either never grown up with a concept of God, or with a tainted perception of God, the creation story is just another narrative, like a literary work or a Shakespearean prose. And for us who grew up in the church, God and the Bible have always had some authority along with our parents, teachers etc. But for someone whose only understanding of an authority figure also has physical, emotional or spiritual abuse attached to it, the idea of an authority that is more concerned with love and grace than with legalism will still be difficult to grapple with.

Then there's the question of, if Auckland IS post-Christian, what happened that led us down this road?
Was it the doing of the well-intentioned (but maybe not so well-informed) British missionaries who, in the perception of the native Maori, were all the same as the other Brits did not keep up their end of the Treaty of Waitangi?
Was it the selfish agendas of church politics that caused division, leading to people leaving the church discouraged by how their idealistic perception of Christianity had just been shaken up and torn apart?
Or what's the story?

A part of me feels horrible that, as much as I've prided myself to be a student of anthropology, I've been in Auckland for over a month but haven't even started to really try to understand the world outside the church walls here. But I'm also realising that just because some aspects of the suburban Te Atatu Peninsula don't actually look too different than Anderson, Indiana, I don't process that the experience of Christianity here (whether you call it a religion, a faith, an experience or whatever the word is) is any different from the Christian bubble of Anderson.

I guess it's all a matter of perspective, eh? We each approach the idea of Christianity with a different perspective, but am I willing to listen to the stories behind why someone's approach is different from mine, or am I going to be defensive, the way I am in some of my conversations with Kathrin?

But there are more and more questions rolling around in my head. It's unsettling, but who's to say it's a bad thing?

UnProfessional Love

Doug asked me about a week ago if being on this side of Seminary was anything like what I expected. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer him because I don't know that I really had any expectations. Or maybe it was that I hadn't really thought it would be too different from the other stuff I was already involved with while in Seminary.

My biggest regret of my undergrad life was that I zipped through it so quickly that I hardly had time for people. I was involved in many things, but I never found the time to simply sit and listen or just be. Yet somewhere in the middle of the chaos of those years, I stumbled upon this idea called Love.

As those years drew to a close, I knew the lessons I learnt came from more places than just my music classes. In fact, I had gotten so tired of the professionalism of those looking for a career in music. All I wanted to do after I was done with college was to find some way to simply love people.

Which was probably why Seminary looked like the biggest joke ever. I didn't need more professionalism to show me how to love people. Besides, all that I had seen professionalism do was set people up against each other and make them compete. Even in music, together sounds better than alone (except when you get a bunch of flautists together--sorry, I just haven't let my music nerd side hang out in a while so I couldn't resist that). Yet we try to outdo each other with our ability to double- or flutter-tongue, or how much control we have over our vibrato or how quickly our fingers can move over the ivories.

But we lose sight of the bigger picture. Music was supposed to be a personal expression--whether it's the composer or the performer, not a show of who's better than who. I finished undergrad thinking, why can't we just flippin' love each other? It really isn't that hard.

The truth is, Love IS that hard. Between the 3 years of seminary and the 5 years of fighting church politics, the idea of Love that was already planted in my head was beat down, thrown around, pieced back together, and then beat down, thrown around and pieced back together all over again. But each time it was beat down, thrown around and pieced back together again, it grew bigger, bolder and scarier. And not because it was intimidating in and of itself, but because it demanded more of me.

Suddenly Love wasn't just about saying the right things at the right time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about giving all the time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about doing things anymore.
Suddenly, I realised Love couldn't be a profession.

I'm reminded again of the annoyingness and the pain of rediscovering love this time last year. And as I reflect upon the last couple of weeks of getting ready for this week's holiday program, it hits me again that Love isn't about putting on a uniform and doing things. Love isn't about getting the job done or making sure that programming runs smoothly. Love isn't about plastering a smile on my face as I greet kids that come into the gym at Rutherford Primary School each afternoon this week.

Love is about making room.
Love is about creating space for things to happen.
Love is about intentionality even when we feel like we've been running on empty for way too long.

And then I stumble upon the answer to Doug's question. The reason why life on this side of seminary doesn't seem too unexpected is because Love is still tormenting me with the reality that I still have no idea what I'm actually saying when I tell someone, "I love you".

And I guess for five years now, I have waited for this season where there's much less bookish professionalism and all that's left to do is to let life continue to teach me about Love. Because as it comes down to it, life and creation and all the thing-things (thank you, Phoebe Pether) that loiter around here are simply an expression of the Creator's Love.

Truth be told, I'm well aware that lately my attitude toward life in general hasn't been great. Even if I've just been through a lot of change, even if I've been running on close to nothing, those excuses for bad attitude can only last for so long.

Professional Love says keep putting that smile on your face and act like all is well in your world.
UnProfessional Love says take the time to grieve, then take the time to deal with it. Because you know the source of this Love never runs out.


This morning, I finally took time to go for a walk. Part of me felt guilty that I've been feeling so empty that I wasn't sure I'd have anything to give the ones involved with the holiday program. All month long we've been working toward this, and now that it's here, I'm empty and frustrated--mostly because I've been empty for so long and tried to ignore it. And I've felt the nudging from the Creator to back away for time alone, but I kept coming up with stupid excuses to avoid crashing. When I woke up this morning, something finally snapped. I needed to get away, even if only for a few minutes, or I would crash and burn.

Stefan and Kathrin live close to the boardwalk on the Peninsula where we get a pretty good view of the Auckland skyline. Well, we do most days, but today was not one of those days. Instead the fog had clouded the skyline of the city. After spilling my guts to the Creator for a good few minutes and apologising for being less than sufficient, it finally hit me.

I love cities. Berlin, Portland, Singapore, New York, Atlanta, and maybe soon enough, Auckland. Even on rainy days and cloudy days, I love cities regardless of whether I can see the skyline. I love cities because of its odd mix of people, the clutters of litter and the loudness of it all. But most importantly, wherever there are people, there will always be some kind of a mess or something to be frustrated about. C'mon, we're human. Humans are messy. But I love the mess anyway, because that mess reflects so much of my own imperfection. But even more than that, it reflects the creativity of a God who gives grace for more than I can even think or ask.

The creativity of a God with very unprofessional Love.

A Child Named Hope

There once lived these two little girls
They called one of them I
The other, they called Hope
They were best friends growing up

I was always lost in some deep thought
She was not one to settle for easy answers
The grown-ups always told her
Hope had all the answers
"If you would only listen to her"

Trouble was,
The grown-ups may have been right about Hope
But Hope also knew
I had to wrestle with the questions
For wrestling was necessary
So I could take ownership of the answers she found
All Hope offered
Was the steadfastness of friendship

In her years of wrestling,
I had to peel away the layers of idealism
She learnt she had to start seeing the world for what it was
Instead of what ideals she wanted it to be
I started putting distance between herself and Hope
For Hope's answers seemed too easy

The years flew by
And the distance remained between the friends
Hope often cried herself to sleep wishing things were different
I had to walk her journey alone
But Hope also resolved to keep pace from the distance

Hope had an older sister
Her name was Love
Love's wisdom was encouragement to Hope
So that her strength and friendship could endure
While I had her heart broken over and over again

The day came when I hit rock bottom
Hope found her in the corner of that dark room
I had been around Depravity too much
The scars from her own battles were many
But even more
Were the pieces of her heart
Shattered from the stories of brokenness she encountered
To live without hurting would be an unnatural existence

I grew afraid of being alone
For in those dark corners of loneliness
The pain and the scars tormented her
In that time,
Hope and Love found her

That night,
Hope held the candle as Love rocked her to sleep

But I was ashamed of the distance she had put between them
For a long time she pushed their friendship away
For a long time she was convinced
The only way she could have Hope and Love back
Was to completely walk away from Depravity

But Hope and Love pursued her
Hope showed her she never left
Even in her years of friendship with Depravity
Hope simply made space
For Depravity to teach her to be real

Enough time has passed now.

I sat in the middle of a conversation last night frustrated that all I could offer was another story of depravity. I found myself second-guessing the things I had said, angry that I didn't have more humour to offer.

But the truth is
Between the emotional scars that I am slowly finding healing from and the stories from the streets of Atlanta and Berlin
Between the wounds of close friends that I carry (because Hope, in her twisted sense of humour, gave me way too big a dose of empathy) and the faces of children in the reservations of South Dakota
I have seen too much Depravity that to live without hurting would be unnatural

I have also known Hope for too long to live in despair
But for me to try to write Hope, Love or Depravity out of my life would be compromising my story.

So all I can do now is to go out
And see anyway
Hurt anyway
Love anyway

Live anyway.

Three Weeks in Aotearoa

Today officially marks three weeks since I arrived in Auckland. Several friends here have made the observation that I didn't really land in Auckland, but rather just hit the ground running.

In this last week, I finally took the time to kind of jump out of my own skin metaphorically and look at the last few weeks from an "outsider's" perspective. Am I surprised that I hit the ground running? No. I probably would have been more surprised (and wonder what on earth is wrong with me??) if that didn't happen.

I'm not a "sit still and wait upon the Lord" person. I don't do that well. My host/roommate, Kathrin, and I had a conversation about that this week. She said something along the lines of, "I feel like I've been given a yellow light for a long time. I'd rather just have a red or green, but instead I'm simply getting yellow. That's ok... I have a lot of patience----NOT."

And I think that's kind of where I am. I've been at the yellow for so long that now that I'm finally here, I'm excited. I'm eager to go, to do, to be... But at the same time, there has to be the balance on the other side. I have to stop. I have to slow down. I have to take the time to grieve all the change that has happened in the last few months.

Do I absolutely love being here? Yes.
Do I absolutely love the people here? Yes.
Do I feel like I fit in here? Yes.

But still. There needs to be time to stop. To breathe. To rest. To cry.
And a big part of me wants to say, "We'll get to that later. Right now we're gaining momentum, so it's not quite time to crash yet."
But yet if I don't stop for a quick break now, I will crash and burn. And it will be ugly.

Sigh.

One of these days, self-care is going to get so much easier. One of these days, self-care could even come in the form of simply popping a "soul-soother" pill or something like that.

But until that day, we keep plogging along and do the best we can to take care of ourselves.


Alright, moving on.
So here are a few things I've been involved with since I got here:

Church at Westside Christian Fellowship (WCF)
Church service usually starts at 4:30, but because we're renting space from the Anglican church, we usually get to church around 3 to set up for our service. "Church" usually ends with a pitch-in dinner, and everyone brings a dish according to the theme that's been decided. That has been a great time for me to get to know people at the church, hear their stories, hang out, and wrestle with the kids and the youths. By the end of the day, I'm usually exhausted--usually because I spend WAY too much time running around trying to avoid getting tackled by one of the youths or kids. And even though it's exhausting, I love every minute of it. For a global nomad, the feeling of acceptance and settling into some kind of family structure is comforting. And so for church to always feel like it's a rowdy family reunion feeds my soul.

The church family here has also been great with taking care of me. People have constantly been feeding me and taken me out for coffee (it might even be possible that I've consumed more coffee in the last 3 weeks than during my seminary years. Except it's happy coffee--coffee you drink for fun, not stay-awake coffee!). A small group of like-minded crazies at church have taken it upon themselves to check up on me that I'm doing well spiritually and emotionally and processing life healthily.

Holiday Program
In a little over a week, we will be having our holiday program. The theme for this year is "Passport to the Holy Land". It's pretty much Vacation Bible School style, and it will be on October 10-14. Danette has been working very hard on getting this together, and I've been given the opportunity to watch and learn as well. Pray with us that this will be an event that allows relationships to develop amongst the kids, the group of helpers and our community. Pray also that it will bring life change that lasts longer than just the event itself.

Hiking at Piha
Last weekend, my hosts and housemates Kathrin and Stefan, and our youth pastor Steve led a group of university students on a hike to Piha and I got to tag along. To everyone who has been telling me New Zealand is beautiful, you are absolutely right. Stefan is amazing at photography and took a bunch of pictures. I haven't had the time or technology to upload the photos I took yet, so here's the link to the photos Stefan took.

Piha

So much more to write since life has been so full for the last couple of months. Once I get around to a regular routine of writing again, I'll do my best to not simply do the verbal diarrhea thing. But for now, time to get things ready for dinner tonight!

Meeting Wairua

Her feet settled in comfortably into the sand as she placed them one in front of the other continually. They felt like they belonged. As did she, right there on the beach with the cool waves gently washing up around her ankles. This was home, and she was settled. At least, until it's time to move again.

The sunlight was beginning its retirement journey for the day, and even though it would have felt more normal for melancholy to settle in around this time of the day, her feet still felt light. She was beginning to gain momentum when she noticed a solitary figure keeping pace with her not too far off in the distance. She knew right away who it was, but this time the figure was dressed in a red, white and black finely woven top with what looked like a Hawaiian skirt.

She smiled and gave a slight wave of acknowledgement. It was comforting to know that she hadn't wandered too far since the conversation at the coffeeshop. But the distance between them confused her. She didn't feel as distant from *Wairua as their footprints in the sand reflected. As much as she wanted to close the distance between them, the voice in her head kept saying, "Ohhh, watch it. Watch it!"

Her eyes were fixed on the feather on Wairua's headband as she started inching closer, trying to ignore the voice in her head. "Ahhh, scheiße!" she yelped, as the pain shot straight from her foot to her heart where that old wound laid wide open as if salt had just been rubbed directly into it. Refusing to let that first shot of pain stop her, she tried again, but could make no more progress than she did the first time. She felt the first tears coming on and tried desperately to blink them back, but they spilled out as if the floodgates had finally been open.

She looked back up to Wairua, the pain on her face as raw as the fresh stab on the old wound. She hoped for a band-aid or perhaps a magic carpet that would smooth over the broken bits of shell that covered the distance between them, but all she saw were the tears on Wairua's face and the rays of sun reflecting from the little bottle of liquid she wore around her neck.

Chills went down her spine as she recalled the last time she saw that bottle. Suddenly it was like time flew backwards by three years, and she was meeting *Sarayu for the first time. She wore a bottle around her neck the same way Wairua did. Her body went limb and she fell upon the sand, and as each piece of broken shell pierced through her skin, the pain shot straight to her heart the same way the first one did.

It couldn't be the same bottle Sarayu had, could it? The pain and hopelessness of those years suddenly felt so raw all over again. But Sarayu had walked her through those days of sitting in the dark corners wanting to have nothing to do with this thing called Life, and gently put every one of those tears she shed back then into that bottle she wore around her neck. That she could feel as light as she did walking on the beach just a few moments ago was something she celebrated everyday. So where was this searing pain coming from now?

"My child," Wairua whispered, "This isn't about three years ago anymore. Back then you knew me as Sarayu, as Papa, as Jeshua. I'm still Sarayu, Papa and Jeshua, but in Aotearoa, I'm also Wairua, the Spirit of Life. These shells between us are the broken pieces of you, connected between your heart and the people and lands you have been with. You heard it once earlier tonight. Change sometimes hurts. My child, you have been hurting for so long and I don't know why you keep trying to hold up this shell. You and I both know that you do change better in vulnerability to community than alone, and yet you keep holding back from genuine community. We talked about this during those eight hours in that airport, didn't we?

As long as you're not living life here with complete abandonment,
As long as you're not giving your heart away freely and completely to this land and this people,
You're still living in fear.

And giving your heart away doesn't mean simply giving love away. It also means being vulnerable to receive love. You are not less of a person simply because you are broken and empty. But you will become less and less of a person if you keep trying to give away love without being willing to receive Agape in return."

Wairua knelt on the sand, and with her bare hands began brushing off layers and layers of sand from the first piece of shell, cutting her fingers over and over again in the process. She wore a gentle smile on her face as her tears mixed in with the crimson droplets. The smile grew warmer and bigger as more and more of the cream-coloured shell revealed itself.

The first piece of shell finally came loose, and as Wairua dusted off the last sand bits, her smile became one of victory.

"This, my child," she said, as she set the first piece aside and began working on the next one. "This is my blood, shed for you.

As often as you do this, remember Me."


* Maori for "Spirit"
* Borrowed from William Paul Young's The Shack

Soul Food From Aotearoa

Haere Mai. Welcome.

Too much time has flown by since the last time I blogged.

No, I take that back.

The amount of time has been right, but so much has happened. As much as I enjoy crafting words, I don't know that I have the sufficient vocabulary in any human language to describe all that has happened in the last couple of weeks.

I guess the most important thing I have to say here for today though is: I'm now in Auckland. And for that I am thankful.

I've been here less than two weeks now, and already my soul is so filled. Do I still have doubts about whether Auckland is the right place for this season? To tell you no would be a big fat lie. I'm still waiting for the day that we actually formalize the visa process and for the immigration folks to tell me, "Sorry. Denied."

I guess I should back-track a little.

Yes, I made it to Auckland. But I'm here on a tourist visa at the moment because I'm still waiting for a background check in the States to be processed for the visa application. The whole process is kinda complicated (but mostly just annoying) to explain, but simply put: If we waited for the background check to be processed, it would take at least another month from the time I mailed the request to the States to the time we would hear anything back. So we figured I'd come in on a tourist visa for now and apply for the work visa after the background check comes in, seeing as I have enough financial support for now so that Westside doesn't have to pay me yet.

Clear as mud? I'd be happy to explain all the details to you eventually, but that's not the point of this entry today.

The point is, I'm here. I don't have a clue what I'm doing, but apparently Things are happening. And I'm blown away by the fact that simply because I finally decided to stop shuffling my feet around and come in spite of immigration regulations, I get to be a part of Things here. And somehow, trying to put these things down on pen and paper (or keyboard and screen?) makes me feel like I'm cheapening the spirituality of all that has happened. And the fact that my soul has been so, so filled makes it hard for me to not be cynical about it.

I've been having an internal debate between myself and the conversation Jenny and I had back when I heard back from Chad that the folks at Westside had given the go-ahead to continue conversations with me about coming over. A big part of me finds it difficult to believe that good things can come so easily. After all, there were still so many questions left unanswered.

• Would I fit in theologically?
• Would I find the soul friends quickly enough to help me process transition the way my Anderson community had before I fall back into my unhealthy coping measures?
• How the heck is the Greater Being going to equip me enough to work with kids?

But those are not the important questions for now. The scariest thing is that there already are people here who will walk this journey with me. They've listened to some of the ridiculousness of the questions I've been asking. They've helped me try to balance out the head and heart sides of ministry. They've been so intentional about taking care of me physically, spiritually and emotionally. Part of me wants to say, "Yeah, but I'm new. How long will this last?" while another part wants to say, "Shut up. Just because you've had your share of church folks hurting one another doesn't mean you're allowed to stop believing in the power of Agape."

But again, that's still not the point. I can keep rambling, and keep digging for cynicism then further still for truths that combat cynicism, and still completely miss the point.

The point is, I'm here. I've done a good job so far of covering up how tired I really am, and how I feel like I'm running on nothing. This year has been long. The journey to finally be physically in Auckland has been exhausting. The ability to simply sit and let Things happen is clearly coming from a Being far greater than me right now. The truth is, Things will happen at Westside regardless of whether or not I'm here. I get to be a part of these Things not because I'm a good person, or because this is a reward for my willingness to let the world be the village that raises me.

I get to be a part of this because Agape knew this was my love language. And for that, I am in awe.

I apologise if I haven't been very coherent. The desire to finally put some of these thought bubbles down into words has been great, but even greater has been the desire to simply sit quietly in awe of all that has happened and the One that has weaved these stories together.

Love you all, and appreciate each one of you so much for being a part of my village.

Coffee Shop Conversations

She sat behind her computer typing away furiously with a slight frown. Occasionally she would look across the rows of trees below to let her thoughts breathe for a few seconds, and the frown would ease up just that little bit as she sipped her cappuccino.

For that few seconds, she let her mind race back to the last time she was in that coffee shop and a slight smile crept up on her face as she continued typing furiously. It was the beginning of a summer that was about to change her life, except she didn't realise it yet. And the people around that table--an eclectic group nonetheless--seemed to fit in so well with the fact that they were just outside of Berlin, Germany. "If Portland was the capital of Weird in the US, Berlin would probably be that equivalent for this part of the world," she thought to herself. Of all the places she had traveled to, it would of course make sense that these were her top two favourite cities. She was, after all, weird and proud of it.

She took another sip of her cappuccino as she furiously tried to put to words all the thoughts and theological implications that had gone through her head in the last week or so. "In every circle of friends, there has to be an old soul," she smiled as she remembered that comment she made in passing in one of those conversations. That was when she realised she had so many people in her life to fulfill the many layers of human relationships that were required for healthy human functionality. Each one of them gave her something different to be thankful for, and something else to think about. And she was becoming increasingly confident that regardless of where in the world she went to, it wouldn't be difficult to establish these circles again from next to nothing.

So lost was she in the attempt to process the current theological ramblings that she jumped when she finally looked up again and saw him sitting there.

"Holy crap, Papa! Don't do that to me again!" she let out in a harsh whisper. He simply smiled back.

"How long have you been... Never mind, don't answer that." She knew. He had followed her from the house to the bus-stop, to the train station. Then again, she was pretty sure he was at the airport with them earlier that day as well when the kids in the youth group decided to head there after church. And the last time she was at that spot. And the day she moved to Anderson. And TKGS. And...

"Ok, ok. Got it. I'm guessing we need to talk?"

Again, he said nothing and simply smiled.

"I know I've been doing a lot of thinking, and very little feeling," she finally said after some time passed since his silence. "And we both know that I've been doing a lot of thinking so that I can avoid feeling. I'm frustrated because I'd rather be in Auckland. But truth be told, this whole process has worn me down a lot, and I'm not even excited anymore. Everyday is just blah because I want a sense of "normalcy" and don't laugh because we all already know my life has been and will continue to be anything but normal. But that's not what I mean. Even if it turns out that Auckland would only be for a little while, I want to feel at "home" somewhere for that little while. I want to be able to walk into a shop somewhere and say, "I want this for my living space, and it's reasonably-priced and sized," and be able to buy it instead of thinking that it won't be able to fit into my two pieces of luggage. I've loved being able to drop everything at the last minute to go spend time with people because I don't know when's the next time I'll get to see them, but a loose schedule like that for more than just a couple of months is about to drive me crazy. I may have spent a lot of time with the Kenyan sisters this summer, but I'm still used to having SOME kind of structure. Am I ranting?"

He still said nothing and simply smiled.

And that was when she understood. Through all these transitions she craved nothing more than just one constant. That Constant had created all the circles she had just been so thankful for to hold her through each change, but Constant was still constant. And Constant constantly gave her space to think as she needed to think, feel as she needed to feel, not feel as she needed to not feel...

Constant constantly gave her space just so she had space.

"Hopes told you you had the gift of giving space," he finally said after she caught her breath.

"But I only have space to give because YOU give me space," she said.

"My child, I don't need answers from you. I don't need you to figure me out. I don't need you to rant when you're frustrated, sing when you're happy, or cry when you're upset.

I just need you to be you."

The [Truth?] About Worship

In a recent conversation, we were for one reason or another talking about how worship is structured in churches these days. So when I heard a song that had the lines, "You are love; You are life" in its bridge in a congregational setting recently, it made me stop and think.

What's the purpose of this thing we call "worship" anyway? To sing songs of adoration to the Leader of our faith? To tell the One we believe to be Creator how thankful we are for our existence? And was it mandated that we only sing songs surrounding the existence of this Creator? And if so, does that make our Creator a self-centered being?

As usual, I don't claim to have answers, but a thought hit me today. Sure, I believe in the existence of a Being that is love and life, but I'm wondering if that's all I sing about regardless of where I am or who I'm with, wouldn't that get kind of annoying to the people around me?

I mean, if a good friend of mine is head over heels in love with their spouse, sure, I would enjoy hearing about their spouse from time to time. Heck, if they didn’t talk about their spouse at all, I would probably be worried. But if all that they talk about is their spouse, then clearly their relationship with their spouse is of such high importance that my relationship with them doesn’t matter.

Or let’s just put it bluntly. If all this friend talks about is their spouse, then that’s just plain annoying. I might even start wondering if they have an unhealthy relationship that leads to them not being able to talk to other people.

That being said, if all this friend talks about were their parent, favourite political leader, sibling or best friend, I would probably be equally concerned, if not annoyed.

Now I acknowledge that this Being that is love and life is a little more supernatural than the average human being, so the relationship would also be a bit more supernatural. But doesn’t this Being also teach that the greatest commandment is to love the Lord your God with your heart, soul and mind AND your neighbor as yourself? I may be interpreting this wrongly, but I believe loving your neighbor also means being in enough of a relationship with them that we don’t just talk about our spouse/parent/favourite political leader/sibling/best friend all the time.

And also, if this Being that teaches that one aspect of the greatest commandment is to “love your neighbor as yourself,” then I’m not sure I would be able to think of this Creator as the aforementioned self-centered being.

Streaming it down a little further to my personal belief that one revelation of this Being comes in the form of Jesus of Nazareth, also known in some circles as the Christ. I find myself guilty of forgetting his humanity from time to time. I tend to think that the only form of humanity he took on was the ability to suffer so that he can empathise with our suffering. But I’m starting to wonder if his humanity also required him to learn how to love. At least in the Christian circles, we don’t find it difficult to believe that he loved the Creator – if he didn’t, he would not have taken on the human form to redeem creation. But his ability to love people out of his humanity? I think if we didn’t catch that from reading the Gospels, we’ve already missed the whole point.

Which leads me to my next thought… Isn’t this what it means to be “evangelical”?

This will be for another time. But for now, I looked up “evangelical” on the Merriam-Webster dictionary and found this:

: of, relating to, or being in agreement with the Christian gospel especially as it is presented in the four Gospels

2

: protestant

3

: emphasizing salvation by faith in the atoning death of Jesus Christ through personal conversion, the authority of Scripture, and the importance of preaching as contrasted with ritual

4

a capitalized : of or relating to the Evangelical Church in Germanyb often capitalized : of, adhering to, or marked by fundamentalism : fundamentalistc often capitalized : low church

5

: marked by militant or crusading zeal : evangelistic evangelical ardor of the movement's leaders — Amos Vogel

Interesting, huh?

Also, a friend of mine posted this some time ago that I thought was interesting food for thought to throw into this mix.

Thoughts?

Penang Highlights Part #2

The Peranakan Culture
Even before the TV series “The Little Nonya” came out on Channel 8 a few years ago, I’ve had a fascination with the Peranakan culture, but I will have to admit that the TV show was what sparked the interest to examine this people group more closely. I am an anthropologist after all. So when we had the chance to visit a Paranakan residence on our last day in Penang, I was naturally excited.

Peranakans are a people group known as Straits Chinese that exist only in this part of the world. They are Chinese ethnics who, upon their arrival in parts of Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia, took on the ways of the native Malays and some of the British-influenced European lifestyles. The men were called Baba, and the women Nonya. They tended to be wealthy and influential Chinese who worked in close alliance with the British colonial government and had the opportunity to travel to parts of Europe.

As an anthropological nerd, I could probably go crazy writing about this people group, but that will be for another time. I will say this much though: The fusion of the Chinese reds and golds with the darker, richer streaks from the Malay ethnics, combined with a touch of European décor make for a very unique interior design. The Peranakan home is fascinating because of this very reason.

I Met Love at Kek Lok Si (極樂寺)
Kek Lok Si is a Buddhist temple that is considered one of the landmarks of Penang. It stands out as one of the tallest buildings in the state, and if I’m not wrong, the only religious space of that magnitude of grandiose.  According to Pastor Sunny’s wife, a Christian prayer summit that happened some years ago caused the head of the original building to fall off. It has since been reconstructed with a bill that came up to something like RM40,000 (S$16,000 or USD13,000).

Since we were all about being touristy, we visited this temple because there were a bunch of cheap touristy shops leading up to the top of the temple. It was quite a hike so we didn’t make it all the way up although I would have liked to if the weather hadn’t been as dreary as it was that day. On the way up, there was this elderly lady sitting at the corner with a little plastic container with a few coins in it. Something about noticing her sitting there haunted me for a while, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. She wasn’t the first beggar we had come across, but it bothered me that she had come to the temple to beg.

We kept walking a little further and finally my mum and Auntie Audrey decided they were tired. I went up a little more until I got to what appeared to be the bottom of the temple, and for a while, just stood in awe. There was something about the Buddhist chants that seemed so calming in the midst of all the other chaos that was going on in my life at the time, and it reminded me of the couple hours in the Japanese Gardens in Portland with the spirituality guru, Cassie Trentaz. But I couldn’t shake off the image of the lady still haunting me, partly because I knew I was going to see her again when I started my descend.

There in that courtyard, I finally figured out what it was that was so haunting. As the BFF might put it, there was “The Voice” saying, “She’s clearly looking for something or she would have gone begging on the streets instead of within religious space. Funny, ain’t it, in times of need she would come to the Buddhist temple when you don’t see her sitting in the Church.” I kept trying to rationalize “The Voice” away, and we ended up having a conversation that went something like that:

Me: She was probably raised Buddhist, so of course in times of need she would turn to the only form of religion she has ever known.
The Voice: Or could it be that Christianity never quite offered her what she was looking for because Christians were too afraid of stepping into the space of other “false religions” to notice her?
Me: But if I offered her anything, wouldn’t she assume I was sent by Buddha, even if I was trying to represent Christ?
The Voice: But if you didn’t offer her anything, what chance of a conversation would you even be able to have with her?
Me: But we’re in a hurry so I don’t really have time for a conversation anyway…
The Voice: What if she wasn’t really looking for sympathy or for help? What if all she needed was to know that someone saw her? You claim to see spiritual things, say the words, “I see you” from the movie Avatar so easily, and believe in Namaste, but what’s the point of seeing these things when you don’t actually see?

Me: Crap.

The Voice won. Of course.

If I had the opportunity (translate: if I hadn’t been such a wuss), I would have told her that I saw her because I saw Love, and I had Love that came from a source that was bigger than me. Did I have the capacity to Love a stranger? I’m not sure. But I knew Love saw her, and Love wanted her. Love didn’t want her to be compliant to a list of rights and wrongs; Love just wanted her.

As I started making my way down from the courtyard, I scrounged around for some loose change. There wasn’t a lot, probably not even enough for a full meal. But Love said, “Look her in the eye. See her.”

I met Love at Kek Lok Si.

Go here for pictures

New Blog Series: The [Truth?] Shall Set You [Free?]

In light of some of the conversations I've had recently, I've had some things being tossed around in my head. They mostly challenge the ideas of truth and freedom that I have held for a while, and some of the things that have been said or that I've said have surprised me as well. So I'm starting a new blog series that I'm titling "The [Truth?] Shall Set You [Free?]" to wrestle with some of these things, and I'm inviting you to participate if you'd like.

This blog space has not historically been very interactive so I'm not sure if it will become more it will get following the launch of this series. But in light of the possibility of more participants, let me lay a few ground rules before we begin:

I write this coming from the perspective of someone who grew up in a Christian home but not completely around Christian circles all the time until I went away to college. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ, and I see the world through the lenses of my relationship with Christ, even if some of the things I'm about to write may challenge that notion.

1) If you would like to contribute more thoughts into this dialogue, please clarify where you are coming from and through what lenses you see the world. It would be helpful to assume that there are others who may want to participate who do not share your faith or religious views.

2) Please be respectful of others. This space is not open for bashing others' thoughts, and comments will be moderated. Disrespectful or offensive posts will be deleted.

3) Keep an open mind about things. My hypothesis for this series is that, when it comes down to the bare essentials, we are all trying to make meaning of truth and freedom.

I'm looking forward to the interactions we might have in this space.

Shalom.

P.S. Don't worry, the other usual stuff that appears on this blog will still make their regular appearances :)

August 31 Update

I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my every prayer for you all, in view of your participation in the gospel from the first day until now. For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus. For it is only right for me to feel this way about you all, because I have you in my heart, since both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel, you all are partakers of grace with me. For God is my witness, how I long for you all with the affection of Christ Jesus. And this I pray, that your love may abound still more and more in real knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve the things that are excellent, in order to be sincere and blameless until the day of Christ; having been filled with the fruit of righteousness which comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.
- Philippians 1:3-11

Dear friends,

I thank my God in all my remembrance of you.

On this very day a year ago, I embarked on my last first day of school for what I hoped to be the last time (at least for a long while) and, over the course of the year, wrestled with this idea of the journey to Auckland.

And here we are now, a year later. I was hoping to at least have my flights to Auckland booked by now, but as it turns out, things don't always turn out the way we hope. The visa application process has been made more complicated because they are requiring extra documentation from the States side since I have lived there for more than five years. So now we are still waiting for all the extra documents to be processed.

But waiting is not a fun game, especially while I'm in between places and countries. The feeling of displacement is unsettling, but that is the reality for now. Your thoughts and prayers for patience and for the rest of this process to go smoother than it has so far would be greatly appreciated.

In the meantime, I have enjoyed spending time with family and old friends. I have also been coaching a student from Thailand who is preparing for an English placement test to get into the public schools here. Because I grew up speaking two languages fluently, it never crossed my mind how challenging English grammar can be. And try getting someone whose first language doesn't differentiate the R and L sounds and have a hard time with the S sounds to say, "close to the coast" and you get variations like "crose to the clothes" and "clothes to the coats."

As I write, I recall the words of Paul, so well-narrated by Todd Faulkner, campus pastor at Anderson University, who spoke at Park Place two Sundays before I left. I thank my God in all my remembrance of you. I long to be in so many places -- Anderson, which became home for the last seven years; Germany, a place with so many dear friends and fond memories; Auckland, the place that I have wrestled with landing in for the past year; and Singapore where so much of me still finds its roots here -- each of these places because of you. But regardless of where you are, and regardless of how frustrating the journey has been, I thank my God in all my remembrance of you.

"For it is only right for me to feel this way about you all, because I have you in my heart ... you all are partakers of grace with me. For God is my witness, how I long for you all with the affection of Christ Jesus."

Thank you for your encouragement along this journey. I apologise if I haven't written back to you personally; time has not always been on my side. And thank you especially to each one of you who have asked, prayed and been so supportive of this journey.

I carry your heart

Penang Highlights Part #1

Penang is a place that I haven't been to since... Oh, I think before my sister was born (She turns 17 today, by the way. If you see her around Anderson, give her a big happy birthday shout out!). This past weekend, my mum, Auntie Audrey (a friend from church) and I took a quick weekend getaway there.

It's fascinating to go back to a place where you haven't been to in a while, and seeing things through different lenses.

Our primary purpose of going there was to eat and shop (this is a getaway after all) because things were a lot cheaper there (they are about the same price if we did a dollar-to-dollar comparison, but the exchange rate is about S$1 to RM2.45). I usually do my major shopping once a year when I'm back in Singapore because we'll go to some part of Malaysia for a day or weekend and we'll get our shopping done then. This time though, my luggages are already packed and ready for New Zealand, so I didn't get to do as much shopping. But I still returned with a very full stomach and so much more food for thought.

Colonial Roots

Maybe it's because so much of the research I had been doing for my last semester of seminary revolved around the impact of colonialism in New Zealand, the fact that Penang was one of the Straits Settlements was of a lot more interest to me. Sure, the Brits didn't do a very good job defending their colonies during World War II, but if not for them, Singapore would not have achieved the economic status that we have today. Which makes me think, maybe the Brits didn't do all bad.

Or perhaps, it's a matter of building upon whatever good or bad the Brits may have done for the betterment of the quality of lives for the people. Penang, in a lot of ways, as my mum and Auntie Audrey were eager to point out, reminded them a lot of Singapore in their childhood. A lot of their equivalent of a "town square" is very similar to Singapore's City Hall area, what with the Padang, the Esplanade and the like.

The second morning we were there, we went up Penang Hill by the cable car. On the top of the hill, there was a Masjid, a Hindu temple and a bunch of houses from the colonial era, many of which were built by hand because there would not have been machinery available for those purposes at the time. These are now private homes, many of which function as vacation homes owned by foreign investors because most of the locals probably would not be able to afford them.

Cabbie Culture

Something that was really fascinating to me was what I started to observe as "Cabbie Culture". Cabs don't go out on the streets like they do in Singapore or New York City, so you have to either call ahead or wait at a hotel or shopping mall (much like Anderson, I suppose?). But even there, there's a code of conduct. Cabbies who get there first get the first customers even if the customers talk to other cabbies. It is understood that if there's someone who got there ahead of you, you have to let them have the customer and wait your turn. One cab driver told us he had been waiting outside our hotel since 5am that morning, and when it was his turn to drive us, it was around 9am.

On an average, cabdrivers make about RM60 per day (S$24, US$20). On good days, they can get up to RM120, and that is usually on days when they know they will have an influx of tourists (usually dependent on Singapore's holiday season). Cabbies are given a list of when cruise ships from Singapore arrive (usually every other Monday) so they know when to go to the jetty.

The Church of God in Penang

We had the opportunity to visit the Church of God congregation while we were there. Pastor Sunny, his wife, and two of their three kids came and picked us up that morning. On the way there, they explained to us that the church recently officially became recognised as a deaf church. The congregation is made up of maybe 20-30 people, and about half of the group is deaf.

It was fascinating watching the way the deaf congregation communicates because as Pastor Sunny's wife (I really should remember her name, but I don't) pointed out, there are no secrets in the deaf community because everyone sees what everyone else is signing. They are less embarrassed by anything, and are very eager to welcome new people in their midst even if it is difficult for both sides to communicate.

She also pointed out that even in the deaf community, there are cultural differences. In a recent conference, other deaf churches in the area got together and she said you could tell who are from Kuala Lumpur (capital of Malaysia) and Singapore. The ones from the cities tend to be more educated and have a broader worldview while the ones from Penang, for example, tend to be more oppressed by their families because they were perceived as bad luck. She went on to say that it is for that reason that the sermons we hear in the church are simpler so that the deaf community will be better able to understand that the Gospel is FOR them.

What a noble concept, huh?

Still to come: The Peranakan Culture and Meeting Jesus at Kek Lok Si 極樂寺