Advent #2: December Came Too Soon

1:40 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 1:40 am came too soon.
Just as December came too soon.

"A whole 'nother year has passed," as the good folks of the Midwest will say.
And again, December came too soon.


I hadn't had time to process the disaster that the Spring of 2010 semester had been, and I found myself crash-landing in Germany.
And I fell in love there.

No, correction. I learnt what it really meant to love there.
No, no, I meant... I learnt the present-day translation of what agape meant.
The agape as it really was like in the Acts of the Apostles.
And what that agape translates to today.

The kind of agape that binds community as that Jewish Rabbi taught.

What was his name again?

Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.

Then I barely had time to figure out the mess I was in coming back from Germany.
And I was thrown into dealing with real life people.

People who weren't simply names out of those "holy" pages, like Priscilla and Aquila, or Cornelius or Stephen.
Real life people whom I was faced with the question of whether or not I wanted to intentionally choose agape with them and for them.

The same agape that that Jewish baby born in that manger intentionally chose.
Wait, what was his name again?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Then I barely have time to figure out the mess I'm in right now processing this agape.
And I'm about to be thrown back into that once-upon-a-time "only home I know" physical location.

Only to remember, after this December, it will no longer be anymore.
Bags will be packed with childhood memories, while the physical pieces probably tossed into a no-man's-land similar to that space that stood between the former East and West Berlin.

The same "no-man's-land" that that Jewish "Son of Man" dude referred to as "no place to lay his head."
Tell me again, what was his name?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Right.
That Jesus of Nazareth dude.
What business does he have with me anyway?
And why the heck should I give a rip about his life?
He's been dead and gone two thousand years.
What does he matter today?


Except he does.
Because he chose agape.
He chose agape for me.

He chose that manger not simply for a story to fill those "holy" pages.
He chose that "nowhere to lay his head" not simply so I can identify with that "no-man's land".
He chose that "Rabbi" not simply just to teach.

He chose that because he knew it would lead him to that cross on Golgotha.
He chose that because he chose agape.


2:09 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 2:09 am came too soon.

Just as December came too soon.

But that Jesus of Nazareth.

He came just on time.

Come, Thou long-expected Jesus

Thankful

It is nearly 5am.
I just turned in my last big paper for my second to last semester of seminary.
I should be sleeping.
But I'm wide awake with a heart full of thanks.

Thankful for the way God works to bring new people in to be family.
Thankful for the accountability to take care of myself over the last few weeks of sickness.
Thankful for honest, genuine, transparent conversations about life and things that have hurt us in the past.
Thankful for prayers and strength through the past weeks of physical pain.
Thankful for opportunities to do life together.
Thankful for second chances.
Thankful for the opportunity to watch new family members discover the blessings of doing life as family.
Thankful for reminders to not take the familiar for granted.
Thankful for the comfort that if I need anything at all, regardless of what time it is, there will be someone who will show up for me.
Thankful for family that are not afraid of the ugly, messy sides of life.
Thankful for the willingness to confront these ugly, messy sides together.
Thankful for a global family spread across all these different time zones that even when one side is asleep while I'm up writing a paper, there's another side to talk to to help keep me awake.
Thankful for prayers that kept me going this week.
Thankful for those who understand the depth of the spiritual warfare of this week.
Thankful for everything that made staying up till 4:30am writing a paper enjoyable.
Thankful for stamina to still care about this academic work even after the discoveries in Germany this summer.
Thankful for opportunities to do life and relationships to make this academic relevant.
Thankful for this couch to crash on after this night of paper-writing.
Thankful for you who are reading this.

And finally, thankful that I can now go to bed.
So blessed. So thankful for you.

Advent #1: Mary

So it's come down to this.

Nine months I carried him. And for what?
Thirty-three years he lived. And for what?

All those years I've endured being misunderstood. All I wanted was to be a good mother to my son, but because the father of my other children was not also his father, the other women never knew what to make of me.

Never mind that it didn't matter to the father of my other children that Jeshua wasn't his.
Never mind the divine revelations we received about his birth.
They didn't understand.
But then again, neither did I.

And all these years I watched him grow. From Bethlehem to Nazareth; from the manger to the temple. All these things he did, I never understood. But he was my son. So even while I didn't understand, I loved him.

But he was never really mine. Sure I carried him for nine months. But he came from a place that I never really understood. And the things he did in his lifetime were never really things I could understand. Turning water into wine, healing the sick, making the lame walk again...

But there was something else.
He loved.

He loved me. He loved his father.
He loved the women on the streets, those tax people, and even... even those people who brought him to Golgotha.

But why? Why would he love them? Why SHOULD he love them?

I loved him because I carried him for nine months. But he? He had no blood relations, no ties, no obligations to any of these people. Yet he cared. He owed them nothing; he did not have any reason to worry about the consequences of their life decisions. Yet he loved.

There are days when I wonder, did I carry him all that nine months just to watch him carry that cross? If I had known that this was what it was going to come down to, I would have asked for this yoke to be taken away from me. Then I wouldn't have to hurt because the man on that cross would have been someone else's son and not mine. And I could just watch from a distance and not get involved with the story.

But he knew. He knew even before he was in my womb. And he still chose this.

This.
This is love.
Love that is greater than I can understand
Love that gives all, demanding nothing in return
Love that expects nothing in return
Love that knew all the stories and the ugly baggage, but never withdrew
Love that saw the bigger picture but yet cared about the small details

I could have just been a bystander watching this all unfold. But he chose to show me the depth of this love when he let me carry him, even if just for a little while. He chose to let me understand the pain of this love that overwhelms my humanity.

This was a love that would have come whether or not I was involved. But it also came for me.

And this is the love that compels me to love with that same depth and intensity. But I'm not Jeshua. I don't have it in me to love like that. But come, Emmanuel. Come and overwhelm me with this deep, intense love again that I might love the way you chose to.

O Come Emmanuel

What do I Know of Holy?

You know the song that goes, "Break my heart for what break yours"? I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the songwriter had no idea of the magnitude of what they are asking for.

What do we think we're asking for when we sing that line?
Compassion for the poor and needy?

Not that I don't believe compassion for the poor and needy isn't a part of the heart of God.
But that comes easy, doesn't it?

Compassion? Does compassion drive us to do anything?
And even if it does, the poor and needy are distanced. We can invite them into our lives, but until they become the people that we do everyday life with, they still are our "projects".

So what happens when our hearts are broken because of a love that is far bigger than we in our humanity can understand?
What happens when our hearts are broken because we are asked to say, "I love you," even when we already know that person is going to walk away anyway?
What happens when our hearts are broken because the love that we have understood and been filled with is compelling us to love in that same way?

Do we know what we're asking for when we sing, "Break my heart for what breaks yours"?
What do I know of holy?


And what about that Child?
That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?
Did he know this was the love he was born into?
Was he holy? Was he divine?

If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life "its" name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of holy?


I don't know a lot about spiritual things.
But I know they exist, and there's a realm of spirituality that I can only catch glimpses of from time to time.
And I have not traveled into enough parts of the world to know how this spirituality works in other parts of the world.
But I know I cannot disregard that spiritual things happen outside of my "Christian" understanding of this label.
And academia cannot and should never take away the spiritual.

And we are more spiritually connected than we want to think about.
But we like our distance, don't we?

Because distance keeps messiness away.
The messiness of ourselves.
The messiness of things we don't know.
The messiness of getting involved with others.

Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?




And then there's that Child.

That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?

Did he know this was the love he was born into?

Was he holy? Was he divine?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of HOLY?

Lyrics from Addison Road's "What do I Know of Holy"

Sweet November; Life Together

Alright Blogger world, I did not mean to disappear for so long. But hey, life happens, right? And if life is about the journey where we'll just keep learning, then allow me for a few seconds to share about the things I have learnt in my disappearance.

You know how as the Sunday School kid, you kind of learnt that Jesus was the answer to everything? Then in youth group they tell you that you learn some nugget about God and then comes the time that you will be tested on what you learnt? I guess that has been the last few months.

The realisation hit a few weeks ago that I was finally getting into the deep melancholy of having left a place that took up so much of my heart for a few months. But this time I was surprised that, once again, it wasn't the "cultural transitions" that we typically think about. It wasn't transitioning back to communicating in proper English everyday instead of fragments of English and German.

No, it was missing being relational. It was missing intentionally spending time with people as my full-time job. Granted I know it's unlikely I'll ever have the opportunity to just do that as a full-time job again, I do miss having time to not just hang out with people, but actually do life and walk together with them.

And then along came people who, if left to my own choice, I would never initiate conversations with. And then I fall into their story. And we walk together. In my 6.5 years here, I've never had to take someone to the ER or the chiropractor. But I've also never been to a corn maze or carved pumpkins, or done any of the fall fun stuff.

But that all happened in the last month.
This is what doing life together is about, huh?

But it's also the willingness to stick around and fight the fights when we disagree. To apologise when we mess up. To step outside of our mess and realise that when we're stuck in the thick of the storm, whether intentionally or not, our actions sometimes hurt others.

These were all things that I read about in books. Oh, Bonhoeffer's writing is still so uplifting. But the actual living part of it is so much more painful and emotional. But so worth the while in the end.

No beautiful prose or fancy vocab this time that I'm coming out of hiding and re-entering the blogger-world. Just plain, simple, honest truth - at least, that's what I tried to do.

Love you all, and hope things are well - and if not, at least hopeful - in your world.

Variations on a Theme Called Agape

Love is only true when it comes out of the heart, not out of obedience to someone or some law. It is not a mandate but a choice. That is also the most painful kind of love.

It is the kind of love that needs no reason, it just is. It is called "I AM."

It is the kind of love that does not need explanation; the kind that has a capacity beyond human understanding.

It is the kind of love that does not need its voice to be heard.

It is the kind of love that is willing to hurt; the kind that will not let go.

It is the kind of love that can only be expressed after having experienced that same kind of love first. It is called "We love because He first loved us."
It is the kind of love that led to Calvary; the kind that chose to give itself to one(s) undeserving.

It is the kind of love that is called Agape, Yahweh, Christ, Spirit.

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
God forgive me, for I don't have it in me to love like that.

Initial Responses to Newell Lectures...

How many translations do we need?

There are only 2 translations of the German bible

Traditional Luther and the modern translation

2 in Chinese

Traditional characters, simplified characters

7 in Spanish

Modern translations, separation from the Catholic church, regional differences in language

So why do we need 15+ translations in English??

Speculations…

German language: “mann” refers both to “man” and to the generic “one”

Chinese language: 2^nd person, any # is always masculine; 3^rd person plural is always masculine

English speakers/readers are bored?

Speakers of other languages are thankful enough that God cares enough to speak to them in their own language.

They don’t spend time debating over political correctness or what God really meant.

Do other cultures need to be “liberated” so that women can be considered equal to men in society?

What if men and women of other cultures don’t have an issue with the male image of God because that image works for their culture?

If Yahweh is for relationships, how will the theology of liberation in breaking societal hierarchies help maintain or destroy what matters to Yahweh?

Thoughts?

Morning Will Come...

She lay in the dark, her eyes shut.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she sees her face.
And it all comes back.
2 am nights of screaming because all other words fail.
A pain that seemed to penetrate through her guts.
Life so brief, kinship so deep.
And the deep darkness that settled because she was no more.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she hears that familiar tune.
And it all comes back.
Evenings of dreading the short walk between the bus station and home.
While the someones blasted that same familiar tune about... "evening"
Things, people, thoughts she wanted to avoid.
And the reminders of the ones who walked in, had their fun and left her empty again.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she sees their faces.
And it all comes back.
Evenings of long walks with her tiny hand in his.
And her tiny feet on his as they twirled around the room.
Years of innocence where nothing else mattered except the gentle giants in her life.
And how quickly that all ended as he was no more.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she's confronted with herself.
And it all comes back.
The ghosts of yesterday.
And the joy she found, stolen yet again.
The mask of strength removed.
And frozen emotions stirred again.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

Memories of pain.
Goodbyes said too soon. No, goodbyes she never wanted to say.
Hands she should have kept holding for the journey but pushed away because she was too used to being alone.
The longing for a sense of belonging somewhere - anywhere.
They all return to haunt when night comes.

Morning will come - she knows this in her heart.
Ashes will turn to beauty - she knows this too.
But the nights are cold and dark. And long.

Morning will come.
But how long?

So hold me Jesus,
I'm shaking like a leaf.
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of peace.

Thoughts on Religious Harmony from the Culturally Mixed-Up Singaporean...

As a general rule of life, I avoid making any kind of commentary on religious or political scandals. But I guess there are always exceptions, and today is probably one of those.

The scandal that was supposed to unfold this weekend involved the whole deal of the Burning of the Koran by the pastor in Florida. This isn't the first literature burning scandal to be happening in my lifetime, so I was about to just shake my head and keep my mouth shut lest I get slammed by either sides.

But then I thought about my Muslim friends that I grew up with. Today, they celebrate Hari Raya Puasa (as it is so called amongst Muslims in Southeast Asia). Today, they celebrate the end of Ramadan, where they've just spent a month fasting as part of their faith tradition's call to identify with the needs of the world. And if it goes as the pastor in Florida had planned, tomorrow their sacred scriptures that call them to these acts of reconciling with the world will be burnt.

I'm sorry, they may not be claiming Christ. But are these not peaceful thoughts that Christ would preach as well?

So much more I can say, but tonight, I'm thankful for my Muslim friends and all that they've taught me about love. Oh, I could tell you stories of this love and this friendship, but words won't be enough.

There's a little magnet on our fridge that came in a care-package a few years ago. It reads:

Declaration on Religious Harmony
We, the people in Singapore,
declare that religious harmony is vital for peace, progress and prosperity in our multi-racial and multi-religious Nation.


We resolve to strengthen religious harmony through mutual tolerance, confidence, respect and understanding.


We shall always
Recognise the secular nature of our State,
Promote cohesion within our society,
Respect each other's freedom of religion,
Grow our common space while respecting our diversity,
Foster inter-religious communications,


and thereby ensure that religion will not be abused to create conflict and disharmony in Singapore.


I share this not to brag about the little island-city that holds my citizenship. But these are the values that we were taught growing up. And while not all of us get the big picture of the racial/religious harmony thing, at least we try.

And it kind of makes me wonder what my Singaporean friends are thinking of the Church in America. Or for that matter, what the rest of the world thinks now. It's sad, but the bad press gets out a lot faster than the good stuff that's happening...

Constructing Theology...

I once told the dude that eventually became my theology professor that I didn't care about theology. Even after two years of seminary, I still don't. At least, not theology that live in books and not in daily lives. In fact, I've made it my goal in life to, as much as possible, NOT sound like I'm a seminary student.

But maybe I need to go back to Constructive Theology I all over again. What is theology anyway, if it only lives in books? And lately, I've found myself landing back in the stomping grounds of Constructive Theology I with Dr. Strege again. We stomped, trashed and pulled apart so much of our previously constructed theology only to be left with what?

More questions.

So many people dying.
So many young people dying, killing themselves or being killed whether purposefully or not by someone else.
People who have sacrificed for ministry being called again and again to sacrifice even more.
Then there are the ones who sit around with money to burn.

How is God fair?
And what about life?
How does it have meaning if all of it is merely suffering?

So many questions.

We talked about so much of this in Theology classes. But yet when it's lived out it seems so much more painful.

And once again, I'm too incoherent to write clearly, but the wheels are turning too quickly in the head that I can't simply fall asleep.

The simple truth?
Jesus loves me, this I know.

And
We love because He first loved us.


Other than that, I don't know anymore.

If you're the praying type, say a prayer for your jaded friend here, aight?

Love you all.