Dear Keren #4 - Old Friends

Dear Keren,

Over the weekend I got to hang out with some old friends--people you'd probably remember too. It just seems weird to be hanging out with the same people in more grown-up settings, talking about more grown-up topics. Weird, huh?

Seven years ago, Gretchen and I were fresh-faced music majors that hung out in the dorm rooms frustrated over how our music theory homework didn't make sense, and wanting to save the world through the church by making music. Seven years later, we find ourselves in Quiznos trying to be careful how we spend our money, realising how idealistic we were seven years ago thinking that we could save the world. Funny how things change huh?

Six years ago, Hannah and I were on our first missions trip hanging out in Atlanta, trying to figure out what the heck to do with ourselves and our ideals of what the world should be like instead of what it is. Six years later, we find ourselves hanging out with the friends that became family when crap hit the fan, still trying to save the world, except more realistic and less idealistic now. Funny how things change huh?

Seven years later and suddenly we seem to have aged so much. I guess life does happen huh?

I've been watching a lot of Grey's Anatomy this weekend. Any other day, I probably wouldn't admit that. But see, I've become addicted to this show not just because it's witty like Gilmore Girls, the one that you introduced me to. Nor just because it's full of medical jargon and mystery like House. But it's about the busyness of life, and learning how to juggle the drama and frustrations that life deals us. Sure, life isn't quite as scandalous as the TV show is, but learning how to deal with stress while still admitting that we are, in fact, still human and limited and sometimes majorly screw things up... That's what life is about, isn't it?

Seven years ago, I was in a new place, getting to know new people, thinking that I wasn't a person who had the capability to screw up relationships, break hearts, or walk away from people I cared about. But what did I know? I was young, idealistic, and life hadn't dealt me the lemons yet, so how was I supposed to know I should start looking for a lemonade recipe?

I always thought I was good with people. But four years ago, you went away. And I became afraid. Afraid of people, and afraid of getting involved with their lives again. And when relationships got tricky, I didn't know how to stick around and rough it out. Why would I, and why should I when life ends this quickly?

But that's all a part of the journey, huh? So maybe I did let go, I did walk away, I did give up.

But maybe I've now learnt how to make lemonade.
And maybe it's time to start making lemonade.

"From Every Mountainside, Let Freedom Ring"

"My country, tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing..."


No, I'm not American, nor while I try to claim to be one even though there are days, like spending 4th of July in Fritzlar, Germany last year instead of being at a cookout with friends like I have for the last 6 years.

But at the same time, last week when my family and I took a road-trip covering the major cities of the east coast, it dawned on me that I've been very intentional about making this country home. And when a place is "home," we don't think to do our own cultural, historical exegesis that I've got to do in some of my more significant travels in the last few years.

So while I know I should probably be blogging about life at the moment, or thoughts post-graduation, or giving updates on New Zealand, allow me a few moments to wonder aloud.

7 days, 10 states.
Niagara Falls, NY (via OH, PA)
2am Monday morning, after all the graduation festivities, we headed to Niagara Falls, NY. The time at the Falls itself was kind of a coming-full-circle for me because it was 7 years ago that I stood in awe of the same Falls, except on the Canadian side, thinking about life ahead. I just received news that I had been accepted at AU, even though I hadn't received my official acceptance letter. As I stood at the Falls 7 years ago, I remembered thinking, God if you can craft this majesty that's in front of me, you can craft my future even though I sure as heck don't think that being 18 years of life had equipped me enough to move halfway across the world. Little did I realise that was only the beginning.

7 years later, I stood in front of the same Falls as we were drenched standing in the Maid of the Mist, still in awe of the 7 years that have passed, and the 7... or however many more, that lay ahead. Another big move is about to happen. But the apprehension of 7 years ago is now replaced with an intoxicating feeling that, at this point, even the sky is not the limit anymore. So exciting, but also so intimidating.

And that, is the journey of faith.

Boston, MA
Next major city: Boston. As we walked the Freedom Trail, the sense of, "Wow, I'm walking where history took place" started to sink in. It was the similar feeling when we did the walking tour in Berlin the first full day of our arrival. This was the land where people came to, searching for freedom. And this is where it began.

New York City, NY (via CT)
New York City, in all its glitz and glamour, has really unfortunately become a place that needs to be redeemed for me. It has nothing to do with the glitz and glamour (I am, after all, a city girl). But my encounters with this city has, on too many occasions, brought to the surface ghosts from the past that make me question myself. And sadly, it has nothing to do with the city itself, except for the reminder that stressful organizational structures make people go crazy and react perhaps in ways that they know better than to react. Sounds strangely familiar huh, what with organized religion and all. Oops, did I really say that out loud?

Philadelphia, PA (via NJ)
I think this was where everything hit home for me. As I mentioned earlier, I might have lived in the US for the last 7 years, but most people don't think to do a cultural exegesis of "home". Yet as I stood in front of the Liberty Bell, all I could think of was the words, "From every mountainside, let freedom ring." Never mind that the only reason I know the song in its entirety is because it was often used in my music classes in undergrad. Still, the words rang true.

This is what this country stood for: from every mountainside, let freedom ring.

I'm not one for making political statements or judgment calls of whether a country is doing enough to reflect their political ideals. But yet as I stood there, it hit home that, if I had to make an agenda list of my ministry-goals (the thought itself makes me cringe just a little bit since goals are necessary but often pushed too far beyond what is most beneficial. But go with it for now--I'm trying to make an illustration here), liberation would rank fairly high. Yet at the same time, my experience in NYC just reminded me that I myself am not liberated. I still have ghosts from my past that are binding me down.

Freedom. Huh. What a noble concept.

District of Columbia (via MD)
If you've ever written an exegesis paper or a sermon, you know how you get to the end and you have to write the praxis part? This was kind of what being in DC felt like.

As I walked around the "American Indian" museum at the Smithsonian, I was reminded of Juanita, a girl on Pine Ridge Reservation in Allen, SD who asked me to teach her how to say "best friend" in Chinese so that that could be her name for me. 4 years have passed since I met her, but every once in a while, I like living vicariously through my friend Emily and the work she's involved with in SD. From time to time, I wonder about Juanita, and Star, and all the other kids I got to know on the trip. I wonder how they are now. I wonder what kinds of lifestyle decisions they have made given the circumstances they have to live with.

Their choice? I don't think I can answer that question.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And then there were words set in stone, quoted from so many of the political forefathers of this country. I wonder... I wonder how much of it they preached, and how much they practice. I wonder how much these words have been passed on to the next generation. I wonder how much easier it is for me to say to them, "hey you said that, but you didn't live that out" than it is for me to say it to myself.

I'm no politician, so I'm not going to pretend I understand the life of a politician. Nor do I understand much of politics in any way, shape or form.

But freedom... Hmm.
What a noble concept.

So This Is Life Without School...

This is what the first 24 hours of being back in Anderson post-Graduation and all its festivities have looked like:

0000 hrs: finally back in my own bed
0045 hrs: last time I remembered looking at the clock before I finally fell asleep
0330 hrs: up not-so-bright but early to take the parents and the baby sister to the airport
0530 hrs: checked in the flying crew and breakfast at McD's
0700 hrs: hugs and see-you-agains then driving back to Anderson
0815 hrs: called the vet to set up an appointment for Stormie
0830 hrs: finally at work only to find the network down so productivity = 0 since my working document is on Google docs
0930 hrs: left work since the network was still down. Made two social visits to a few friends.
1015 hrs: returned the key to my SOT mailbox
1020 hrs: stopped in at Church of God Ministries to visit former co-workers
1130 hrs: took Stormie to the vet
1230 hrs: lunched with Elizabeth
1415 hrs: decided not to get gas because I couldn't remember which gas station had gas for $3.85 instead of $3.99
1430 hrs: napped
1630 hrs: chiropractor
1800 hrs: got gas for $3.85 when it came down everywhere else and grocery shopping
1930 hrs: decided to make a big pot of chicken noodle soup
2100 hrs: finally sat down to dinner
2300 hrs: tried to start the visa application process but the website was down.

This is what the next 24 hours of being back in Anderson post-Graduation and all its festivities have looked like:
0000 hrs: finally went to bed
0800 hrs: went to work
1000 hrs: took Jason and his parents to the airport for their trip to San Fran
1230 hrs: stopped at home for a quick lunch and stopped in to check on Elizabeth and Stormie
1315 hrs: back to work
1700 hrs: went to the lab in the library because the computer at home was being stubborn.
Tried again to start the visa application process, but the website was still down
Tried to book my tickets to Portland, but Priceline was being stupid
Tried to work on a wedding gift I'm making, but I apparently didn't save it on my flash-drive
Ended up spending a couple hours ordering stuff on VistaPrint for the NZ ventures
2000 hrs: came home to slowly make dinner
2200 hrs: realised I need to start making a list of ALL the people I need to write to and/or see and the things I need to do in the next few months while trying not to scream. decided to procrastinate by blogging instead.

The rhythm of my schedule has been broken. There's not much of a routine anymore. But the schedule is still getting filled a bit too quickly by still trying to do life with people.

This week itself will see:
20 hours of work
3.5 airport runs
2 or 3 visits to the vet
2 appointments to the chiropractor
2 chunks of chill-time with friends
1 worship team rehearsal

And some time in between all of that, there's a family with 3 boys I need to see pronto, a curriculum dateline I need to meet, thank you cards to send, pictures to post, blogs to write, e-mails to reply to, German teens to harass... Oh, and eat and sleep.

Welcome to life with no more school. Things haven't actually changed that much.

Dear Keren #3 - Becky and the Church Part 2

Dear Keren,

My first conversation on campus with anyone this week (this being finals week) was with none other than Dr. Robert Nicholson himself. As much as I've rubbed shoulders with all the Church of God giants in my time here, I still get star-struck. This was, after all, Dr. Robert Nicholson, the one who has a building--one of my second homes, nonetheless--named after him. So the conversation went something like that:

Me: Good morning, sir.
Dr. Nicholson: Well, it is Jael! You're about done, aren't you? How does it feel?
Me: (What the ..... he knows my name??) Well, I have one more week... If I get through this week, I'll be ok, I think.
Dr. N: And how many other times have you said that of the weeks that have passed?
Me: Umm... A lot?
Dr. N: And you got through those?
Me: Well, I guess so...
Dr. N: Well, atta girl! You'll be able to get through this one as well. Not that you're a girl, more like a lady, but that's just an expression I use, you know?

Me: (What in the world just happened??)

I guess I should explain that Dr Nicholson is a part of that family/institution that contributed to that dark, dark year of my life. I don't know how much he knows about my story from that year, but the fact that he, Dr. Robert Nicholson, knew my name... That blew me away.

Ok, ok. So I've talked about "that year" for a while now. I guess I should explain what happened in that year huh?

Remember those times when you were unable to get a ride to The Mercy House on Sundays so you would end up showing up in that building because it was within walking distance? And after service was over, a bunch of us will head out to lunch together and it was always fun? Well, that didn't last for too long. Change happened, as always does and always will. A lot was happening within the walls of that building that was causing some amount of disgruntlement, unhappiness and division. Eventually, a big part of that after-lunch group stopped coming. I remembered at one point asking Pastor Randy if I could do my undergrad Church Music internship with him. We both ham-hawed for a bit and neither of us followed up on that so that was kind of dropped.

A year went by, and within that year, he and his wife were gone. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, except that change happens, and growth hurts, I guess. I was pretty upset because he and his wife were after all, amongst the first people to welcome me to Anderson when his son, Ryan, decided to borrow their car to take a bunch of us international kids to Walmart. You remember those days when going to the grocery store was a pain, don't you? We weren't sure who to ask for a ride so a lot of times we'll eventually end up walking to CVS to get the few things we needed. Then eventually one of the international upperclassmen would spot us walking and yell at us for walking and insisted on giving us their phone number so that we could call one of them.

Anyhow, Randy and his wife Rhonda (not to be mixed up with other Rhonda who got me involved in the worship team as I was telling you about in the last episode) and Ryan were amongst the people who made me feel most at home in that building. Granted it didn't really feel like "home" yet because I was still trying to figure out how to get into the traditional style of worship. But between them, and the Rhonda who got me involved with the worship team, I couldn't find enough reason to leave. Especially since, during the summers, Rhonda would always have me over to watch their son Victor so she could get things done around the house. She also got me involved with a bunch of different things that made me work with kids and children.

Now you have to know that it was only a few years ago that I actually started enjoying being around kids. For the most part, I felt like that awkward neither-grown-up-nor-kid person who never really had a childhood so I didn't really know what it meant to talk to kids. And I was still coming out of my "hide-behind-my-mother's-skirt" phase, so I was just REALLY awkward (not that I'm not still awkward now, but compared to a few years ago... oh boy...)

It's funny, you know, thinking about those years. Because those kids that I always felt awkward around, are the same kids that I would consider my BFFs now. A couple months ago when I was still debating about whether or not I should move forward with the New Zealand stuff, these were the kids that surrounded my table and taught me about the book that involved the 39 clues. (I don't remember the title). These were the same kids that, last Sunday at church, when they had prayer for all the graduates, stood behind me and prayed for me. I honestly didn't think I left that much of an impact on them, but perhaps it was me just being me, showing up at the summer musical rehearsals, going to their soccer games and hanging out with their parents that left an impression? And I'll be honest, I didn't show up to all these things so much because of them as much as... Heidi kind of talked me into it. Apparently I let Heidi talk me into a lot of things huh...

I guess I'm just realising that I didn't keep showing up to that building because it was convenient anymore. But people kept me coming and after a while, it didn't seem so bad anymore. I guess this was why the dark year seemed so dark. I know I'm still ham-hawing around that, but that's because I don't really know how to talk about it since that dark year seemed so long ago. At the same time, recent stuff that's been happening has been reminding me again that I should probably share more of my experience from that year than I do now.

But that will have to be for another time. The parentals are here for graduation (hey, as are yours!) and this house needs to be cleaned before I get to the chiropractor tonight.

Hugs,
Jael

Dear Keren #2 - Becky and the Church

Dear Keren,

Over dinner tonight, some Seminary friends and I were talking about how we've changed since our high school years and how even though we all still profess to be in relationship with Christ, some of our lifestyle habits have changed and people who have known as from back then may not think that we still believe in God.

Which got me thinking. There was one very, very dark year in the last seven that I've spent in Anderson that I haven't really processed much until more recently. I hardly told anyone until fairly recently how much that hurt, or how much that has changed my perspective of the institution, and how the institution had become the family that I needed a break from to help keep my sanity. And just because I don't talk about it or act too differently on the surface doesn't mean that underneath my attitudes have changed and I'm no longer the Becky in the Chris Rice song that I was seven years ago.

It all began the same weekend that I met you for the first time. Since I didn't know my way around the city of Anderson yet, I didn't know what other church options I had available. So I show up at this big church that I remembered attending a few months back when I was first in Anderson for my equivalent of visit day. The sanctuary itself was almost as big as the entire church building I grew up in. And I show up there again the following week. Right after service was over, I was approached by this spunky lady who introduced herself as Rhonda. She said she heard that I was a musician and that if I was interested, she could start putting me on their worship schedule. I got plugged in right away, and even though the very traditional worship style made me really uncomfortable, I was connected, and the ten-minute walk from my dorm room to the church was much more convenient than trying to find people to take me church-shopping.

Things were great the first couple years. Sunday after Sunday, the international kids who found no other church home would gather together at the back of the sanctuary to head out to lunch together. Sometimes it was Indian, sometimes it was the Chinese buffet place in town. Community came easy, and even though I wasn't exactly looking for it, it was there.

But that was all years ago now. Funny how much can change in seven years huh?

To be continued...


Miss you,
Me

Dear Keren: #1

This series is titled "Dear Keren" not because it's written only for Keren, but because Keren was friendship personified to me. I've learnt much not simply from her life, but the time that has passed since her death. This is dedicated to all the "Kerens" whose paths I've been privileged to cross over the last seven years here in Anderson, Indiana. Call it my chapter closing series, if you would like. We'll probably have a different perspective on some of these events that we were both at, but these are some of mine. These may not always be in chronological order, but I'll try to write in a way so that you know where things fit on a time-line.

Dear Keren,

The date was August 22, 2004. I remembered sitting across from you in that Admissions office that... morning? Or was it afternoon, I don't remember. Only two days before (or three, depending on which side of the world we're talking about) I had packed up my two suitcases of stuff and made the reluctant move halfway across the world.

I'll confess I'm still not sure of what the notion of romantic love looks like. But at eighteen years of age, I thought I was in love, and moving halfway across the world from this "love of my life" at the time felt like I was being asked to give up half of my heart. Ok, so maybe I was over-dramatic. But I was also eighteen.

I remembered crying most of the plane-ride over. In fact, I think I might have even scared away the guy who was sitting beside me because he asked for a change in his assigned seat. Ok, so maybe that might not have been completely true, but that was my perception at the time because I was miserable. Did you feel that way too? Or was it that you've already made a big change similar to this previously (well, you might have made that move with your parents, but still... It was a big change, and it counts) so this plane-ride over to this "glamorous" United States wasn't as much of a life-changing experience for you?

"Glamorous." Ha. That word makes me laugh because I'm reminded of that conversation we had on the way to Ivanhoe's that one time. I had just gotten off the phone with my dad and I was frustrated with the way my parents didn't seem to understand what it meant to live here. I was about to graduate from college, and my dad had just told me to not be too picky about what jobs to apply for here in the US. I don't remember his exact words, but he insinuated something along the lines of... we're Asian, don't expect to be treated too well.

Could I blame my dad for thinking that way? I guess not. After all, media hasn't done the US justice at all. But that was the beginning of the shift in my cultural identity. Little did I realise... I wasn't JUST Asian anymore. I was slowly becoming what we now joke about as "the banana" - yellow on the outside, white on the inside - an identity that would become increasingly frustrating.

Anyway, back to the plane ride. In the long twenty hours or however long the first segment of my flight was on that plane, I forgot how many times I cried till I dozed off then woke up and cried some more. In between, I remembered secretly thinking, maybe when I get off the plane, it wouldn't be that scary LAX (Funny isn't it? We've started calling airports by their airport code  like we're BFF rather than "the airport in Los Angeles." Funny what seven years can do to you.) where I would proceed to sit for eight hours before my next flights to MSP then to IND. Maybe, just maybe on the off-chance, it would be the same people that I just said goodbye to at SIN that would greet me at LAX. And then I would laugh at myself for being ridiculous.

At one point during that weekend, I remembered my mum telling me that the couple that would soon become my "Anderson grandparents" would be around when I got there, and that if I wanted to, I should go over and visit them. I remembered them living on the street close to the cemetary, but I didn't even remember where the cemetary was. So I walked around for a bit before I finally found their house on Maplewood. Hoping to find a friendly face where I would be "mothered" for a bit to ease my homesickness, I rang the doorbell several times. The face that greeted me at the door was... friendly, but not what I expected.

He was an Indian dude. I remembered asking myself, umm... Could this be their son here to visit? Or who was he? He proceeds to introduce himself, but as distraught as I already was at the time, I couldn't remember his name. He was going to be a student at the Seminary and was living with them for a few days until he got settled in.

As it turns out, he would very quickly become one of the persons I had great respect for. Between our food-fights in the dishroom of the Marketplace where we worked our first year in Anderson and other interactions, I found out his name was Caldwell Manners.

Well, that's all for now. A storm has been brewing for a while outside, and it's time to go home. More papers to write tomorrow. Also, I miss you. One of these days when I'm done with school, let's continue the conversation we never had the chance to have that day in August a few years ago, k?

Hugs,
Me.

I Wonder...

On the drive to Church for the Good Friday meditations with Doug Berky's masks work tonight, I allowed my mind to wander again.

I wondered about Paul and the other religious teachers.
How inconvenient was it for him to have taken a break from his studies to join the crowds in watching the events leading up to Golgotha.
I wondered about how much effort it would take for him to leave his work to join the crowds in mocking Jesus as he made his way through the crowds carrying his cross.
And when the ground shook, did it also rain?
How inconvenient it would be for him to have to dry off from the rain before going back to his studies again.

And then I wondered about Mary.
I wondered about what might be going through her mind as she stood there watching her son nailed to the cross.
Was she thinking back to the nine months of shame and embarrassment that she went through because she was having a child out of wedlock?
I wondered how much of what was happening did she understand.
Was she comforted that his journey was finally ending, or was she distressed because he wasn't going to redeem himself after all?
I wonder how much murmuring among the crowds went on as she stood there watching her "bastard child" not able to save herself.
Did she feel bad for Joseph too, because he had cared for him like he was his own?

And then I wondered about the disciples, and all the others who were involved in the "Hosanna, Hosanna"s from only a short while ago.
Were their hopes crushed because they are now back to their hopelessness again?
I wondered what it must have felt, thinking about the prospect of going back to their fishing jobs again. I mean, if they enjoyed their fishing jobs that much, it wouldn't have been that easy for Jesus to talk them into leaving those jobs, right? After all, Jesus didn't promise a better life. He only promised to make them fishers of men.


And so this day is over.
The man has died on the cross.
There is no King who will overthrow the Romans.
There is no hope.
There is no future.

Or is there?
I wonder.

Remember Me

I found myself outside again this evening. It had been a long time since I last took a walk by the sea. As the waves came crashing on my feet today, I felt the dirt that had accumulated from the day's walking slowly erode away. Ahh, clean feet. I wiggled my toes just a little. Something about the salt in the air and the smell of fish not too far away brought a calming effect after a long day.


Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him. That familiar silhouette out there on the water. Could it be? Had he returned? But no, it was all an illusion. They said absence makes the heart grow fonder. I guess this was what they meant.


I settled down on that one slightly bigger rock in the middle of the sandy shore. It had been a while since I last sat down and thought about him. But tonight, something about the sea, the fish and the water brought to mind so many of my favourite memories with him.


I remember distinctly that day when James and I were out at sea with Papa. It seemed like he had been watching us for a while before he finally came up to James and I. The words he said then did not make much sense, but for some strange reason, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people," seemed so much more appealing than spending the day out at sea with Papa. So James and I left with him.


...


And I'll never forget that day. It was Passover and he had given Peter and I specific instructions about that day's feasting. If I had only known what was about to happen, I would have made better effort to remember everything that he had said. All I remembered him saying was something about meeting a man with a jar of water. He dictated the instructions as if he already knew what was going to happen. Well... I guess he would have known. How many times had he tried to clue us in, but we never understood his "riddles"? Peter, James and I even once joked about his many riddles. If we had only known...


That night, we had all gathered in the room and were feasting. The Good Teacher was unusually quiet at Supper, but I had assumed it was because we had all had a long day. Halfway through the meal, he got up and left. Peter and I exchanged a look, but just shrugged it off as another one of his riddles.


When he returned, he had a towel tied around his waist. What happened next baffled me. We were still bantering back and forth about whether the bread should have been kept warm a little longer when the Good Teacher knelt down beside Andrew. Closing my eyes, I could still see the look of shock on Andrew's face as he looked between the Good Teacher and his feet, then around the table at the rest of us. He made his way all around the table and when he came to me, he looked me in the eye with his ever-patient gaze. And that was when I noticed his eyes were glassy. From time to time, he would look away, as if hiding his face from me, rubbing the sides of his cheeks against the sleeves of his robe. And was that a sniffle I heard? Something was up with him, but I was too exhausted that day to ask.


I allowed my feet to just graze the surface of the sea. It made me feel a little closer to him that way as I recalled the same clean feeling I had that night. As he slowly proceeded to wipe my feet with the towel around his waist and gently massaged it a little, I felt the aches and blisters being soothed away.


He didn't say much, but after he put everything away, he came back out and broke bread with us, saying something about eagerly desiring to eat this Passover with us before he suffered, and something about not eating it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God. I watched his hands tremble ever so slightly as he took hold of the bread, gave thanks then broke it and gave it to us. And as he lifted the cup and gave thanks, I was worried he was going to spill the wine from the goblet because he was shaking. Oh if only I had known the significance of that moment...


Then he led the way out to the garden, he looked each one of us in the eye and embraced us. And I noticed again the tears in his eyes. Except this time he didn't look away when he realised I had noticed those tears. Instead, the look was one of... of... "If only you would understand."


Oh I wish I hadn't been that tired and had kept watch with him. I don't know how many times he returned that night, rousing us from our sleep and asking us to pray as his anguish grew with intensity. But no, rather than staying up to pray with him, we fell asleep. Time and time again. Oh, if only I had known.


We finally woke from our sleep when the fuss they made from coming to take him away startled us. But instead of staying to protect him or try to do anything, we each ran away, trying to save our own skins first. For all that he had taught us about love, we still ran away when we had the perfect opportunity to demonstrate that self-sacrificing love he taught us about.


I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The guilt and anguish from that night had been riding on my shoulders for a long time now. For whatever reason, they had started calling me his "beloved" but yet I failed him. I FAILED HIM.


A sudden gust of sea breeze swept by almost knocking me out. And all of a sudden, that same look he gave me that night as he stood by the door leading to the garden... Then that image of his face drenched with sweat, tears and blood flashed through my head.


And then I understood. The greatest love he taught was what happened that weekend. I was his beloved not because of anything I had done. It was because he chose it that way.


-An interpretation of Matthew 4:18-22, Luke 14:1-6 and 22:7-46 (Excerpts from "John," from the Easter 2009 series)



His name was John. I woke up this morning thinking about him again, and how much my life this week probably resembles his back when he was actually living through the sacred events of this week.

There's the life stuff: finding ways to put food on the table, relationships that need to be worked on (papers to write, bills to pay...)

And then there's the celebration of tradition and the stuff that's supposed to be spiritual. How many times had John celebrated a Passover feast? How would he have known that this meal would be any different?

I guess John and I have both done a very good job of keeping the spiritual/tradition and the life stuff separate. Because when I woke up this morning, I felt like John... Like I had completely missed the point of this week because I had gotten so concerned with trying to figure out how to get to the man with the jar, and how to approach him without sounding completely ridiculous because I had no clue what I was doing. We were so busy trying to get things done that we couldn't see that something very, very sacred was happening in the midst of all this doing. So with Mark Schultz's "Remember Me" running on loop through my head, I resolved to find the sacred in the midst of everything else.

That resolve lasted... oh, maybe an hour before I went on with the rest of my day. Evening came and it was time to gather at church for Seder meal #1. I slip in a few minutes late because errand-running took up a bit too much time, and try to get my brain to settle down and get back into the "Remember Me" mode.

Right. Because that's how it works with spiritual things. You turn it on and off like there was a switch for it. Somewhere in the midst of all the liturgy-reading and meal-time conversation where (surprise surprise) I got flooded with questions about what plans are for after May, the switch went off again... Or maybe it was never really on in the first place; I don't know.

Anyhow, it wasn't till I was heading home after Round 2 of Seder-ing with the Red-neck Saints where road-kill was consumed and a good amount of blasphemy happened as we tried to solve the world's problems over table-fellowship, that I started thinking about that whole "Remember Me" thing again. And then I felt like John again, as if I hadn't taken the Seder meals seriously enough because we've joked around a little too much.

This was, after all, the night when blood, sweat and tears mixed as Jesus begged his disciples to stay up with him a little longer in Gethsemane as he suffered the anguish of knowing of his impending fate. If I may hazard a guess as to which moments Jesus felt most human in his human/divine state, this would probably be second only to the "ELI, ELI, LAMA SABACHTHANI?" moment. I'm not sure we can get anymore human than in those few moments where his anguish could not yet be revealed to his friends. The few moments when the emotions can be so overwhelming but you know you can't explain everything to others so they can carry part of the burden for you. I wonder if he just wished they would understand. But I wonder also, if he wished he could keep protecting them from what is to come.

But... Jesus didn't come to die just so the world's problems could be solved. The events of Cavalry didn't immediately provide physical sustenance for them for the rest of their lives. They still had their humanity and their sinfulness that they had to deal with that was hindering them from true relationship with others.

No, he came so that those who had a relationship with him would be set free from themselves, and into an authenticity that can change the world. Because I think if Cavalry was an end in itself, then that would limit Agape from truly manifesting itself -- which is the very reason for the existence of Creation to begin with anyway.

And it is because of Cavalry that we get to choose life, gemeinschaft, and authenticity.


Pardon the mild explosion of academic ramblings. I do wish I had the ability to write like that back when I was in Theology class with Greg. It would have made my second year of seminary a whole dang lot easier.

My Dead Friend Dietrich

Upon arrival in Anderson some three hours ago, I was greeted by a text message from my friend Emily that read:

"How was your dead friend Dietrich?"

I had to laugh.

It wasn't just that I was amused by Emily, but I was more amused by the fact that... I'm "friends" with a dead-white-male-theologian.

Yes, I'm giving you permission to judge me for my dead-man crush on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German pastor and theologian (and son, brother, friend, martyr... the list goes on). After all, I was the one who, just before I started my SOT application, told the guy who eventually became my theology professor that I was no theologian, nor was I interested in ever becoming one. I will have to applaud Greg Robertson and Arthur Kelly for their graciousness in not calling me out on how little I knew about theology to even decide that I wasn't a theologian.

So yes, I just spent the last two days at a conference where the theology of Dietrich Bonhoeffer was discoursed. And yes, my brain is exhausted from trying so hard to tear apart words like pneumatology, christo-ecclesialogy, and entering into conversations with folks like Foucault, Lacoste and Heidegger. But it's also wide awake with all these new pieces of Bonhoefferian theology that I hadn't thought about before.

Now we all know that as much as possible, I avoid blogging academia because God only knows how little I know about academia and how hard I try not to bore people with it. So if this entry gets a little weird and boring, I apologise in advance.

See, here's the thing. Aside from Luther, the next closest theologian that I would "categorise" Bonhoeffer with is Henri Nouwen. Granted I haven't had much direct interaction with either of those, but the God-Self-Community interactions that Bonhoeffer and Nouwen bring to the theological table draw similar parallels to my own theology of the Trinity. This was something that I pieced together tentatively in a paper for Strege's Constructive Theology I, way back in the day, but something I still stand by. I'm excited enough about this whole thing to want to get into this now, but I also need to be at work in a few hours and sleep is kind of a necessary part of life, so ask me about this another time.

But the slight differential I see between Bonhoeffer and Nouwen is that Bonhoeffer's attempt to live out his theology of God-Self-Community (I'm choosing the word community here rather than the word "other" because community is more inclusive) is more blatant. Nouwen's theology seem more... "Cognitive" (A word I learnt from Jacob Coppess, a friend I'm coming to appreciate more and more, this weekend) whereas Bonhoeffer's writings seem to be more of an interaction between the struggles of his personal experience and the decisions he has to make.

There were moments at this conference where I found myself thinking, I wonder what Bonhoeffer would think if he were present. I'd like to think he wouldn't so much be offended by the possible misinterpretations of his writing, as much as I wonder what he would have thought about a group of academics sitting around discoursing his theology.

I also couldn't help wondering about the social lives of the theologians at the conference. What kind of person would it take to be friends with, or be married to intellectuals of this degree? Or did they have a social life outside of academic theology? I did notice that most of them had rings on their ring fingers, so that, to me, was a little bit of a reassurance that they weren't all head and no heart. But I wondered about social-hierarchy, and if their lives brought them to points of interaction with persons from a different social class.

Because as it comes down to it, I'd like to think that Bonhoeffer didn't spend all his time only interacting with his family or other theologians. Sure, Life Together seemed to indicate his commitment to the monastic lifestyle of not just physical living together in community, but the togetherness of practicing spiritual disciplines. But if Bonhoeffer's understanding of gemeinschaft only took him to the point of practising social justice and reconciliation in the conspiracy against Hitler and not beyond that, then perhaps his interaction with Lutheran theology has not done him much good.

Also, I've come to really appreciate the German differentiation between kirche and gemeinde. Given the way my dealings with kirche have been in the last few years, it's easy to get the two intertwined and lose faith completely. But in the discoursing between kirche (the church) and gemeinde (fellowship/community), I'm reminded again that even if the reality of the kirche doesn't quite match up to my idealism, it doesn't mean that I should compromise on my standing with the gemeinde.

Which strangely, leads me to a piece that I was working on on the three hour drive up to the University of Notre Dame for this conference...


Dear You,


You taught me we were family, and that you were the one that set the rules for the way we worked as a family. But four years ago, reality taught me that the rules you gave us only caused much hurt amongst my brothers and sisters because we all interpreted your rules differently. I found myself asking, what have you done to our fundamental value of love?


Four years later, we are back here again. In the last four years, I've tried to let go of my feelings of hurt and move toward forgiveness and reconciliation. But here we are again. All these rules, all over again, reminding me of wounds that have been tended to for a little while, then left aside so that healing can take place following the course of nature. But with this new lashing out, can you blame me for wanting to give up and walk away?


Grace. If the Greater Being in the form of the Word were to be the example for which I should live, then I confess I am inadequate for grace is something I am greatly lacking in. For the Word became Flesh, and grace upon grace for all my inadequacies. And if that Grace in its humanity can be grace and grace again for me, should it not be within me to extend this grace to another?


But the Word become Flesh is not simply Grace upon grace, but also Jehovah Rapha, the Healer that lavishes Grace upon grace to heal the broken me and the broken you.


And so, grace upon grace to you. I'd love to walk away, and if not because we were family, I would have done so a long, long time ago.



I have a feeling this might be the first of many Bonhoeffer blog posts to come. Quite honestly, I still dislike being associated with theology, but if that qualification allows me to sound like a nerd write passionately about things that I really care about from time to time on my blog, then I'm really not all that sorry. And while my sociological approach to theology may not take me to a place where I can discourse with you on the likes of Foucault, Lacoste and Heidegger, I'd rather be understood by the common people that I'm used to living life with than be dressed up to the nines to have a conversation with some big-wigs.

Life at the Moment...

As promised, an update on the New Zealand process.

Here's the gist of what it comes down to. After the interview process was over, it was time to get to work to actually make this thing happen. Sure, the church said yes. Sure, I said yes. But there are still tricky things involved; the two biggest of which were finances, and visa.

With regards to the visa situation, we had talked about me applying for what is known as the Holiday Work visa.  But what we didn't realise was that this visa was unique to the immigration systems of different countries, which means that what is known as the Holiday Work visa for holders of a US passport is known as a Work Exchange visa for holders of a Singaporean passport. And one of the requirements for a Work Exchange visa is that you have to either be a current student in a university or polytechnic, or you have to have graduated from a university in Singapore. At least, that's what I understood about it.

Which... I don't fit into either of those. Which... Is a problem.

So we're trying to figure out if there's a way to get around this visa or simply try to apply for a different one. The other tricky part about this is that before I can proceed with anything else, I need to get my passport renewed. Which... If I were in Singapore, this would take a maximum of two weeks. I don't mean to brag about Singapore, but that's just how efficient they are. BUT because I'm here in the US, I have to drive to Chicago, where the closest Singapore embassy is to pick it up. Not that it's incredibly difficult, but it just takes a lot more time.

The financial piece, on the other hand, gets slightly trickier. Without going into too much details, we've been running into dead ends with the fundraising piece. The church in Auckland is young and small, and my personal belief is that these resources should be channeled to ministry rather than to supporting me. If a day should come where there is enough for them to support extra staff, and I'm still serving with them, then fine and good.

So we're trying to come up with more creative ways to fundraise. It just gets a little more stressful simply because of the fact that even as we speak right now, financial stress of the current day-to-day life is a burden. There are still days when I think, "God, you do realise that if I hadn't quit my job and gone to Germany when I did, life would be a lot easier now, you know? And I know Canaan is far better than Egypt, but right now in the wilderness, Egypt looks so much better." Especially after a week like this one that just passed, when one thing after another just smacked me hard in the face. And for as "high" as I've been, the rate of how quickly I crashed after some discouraging news this week is alarming. Mostly because it reminded me again that this battle isn't mine. And in the spiritual realm of things, this isn't about me as much as it is about my willingness and ability to be used as a pawn in the battle that's going on up there. (And for the record, by "up," I don't mean a physical heavenly place above the sky, as much as an "up there" that is WAY beyond me.)

And then I remember the words, "Go a little deeper and cast your nets." The words from Luke 5, the very words that inspired the existence of this blog. The words that my pastor back in Singapore commissioned me with when I left for the very first time to come to college here. The same words that echoed in my ear as I boarded the plane for Berlin, having no clue at all what I was doing. The words that remind me, "Jael, this is your walk of faith. Keep walking, and keep trusting me. I will show up for you."

And if I had the opportunity at all to go back in time, would I change anything from the last seven years? I think not. As much spiritual, emotional and mental turmoil as I have been in in the last seven years, the peace that I have now having gone through all of those struggles is something that I would never trade for anything in the world.

And that... is my life at the moment. If you're the praying type, say a prayer, would you? Thank you.

Love you all.