So a couple months ago I wrote about discovering I was becoming THAT churchy woman.
This weekend seems to be a test of my churchy woman superpowers.
Last night I put the chickens to bed and took out the fresh eggs.
Taking care of the domestics - check.
Finished putting together the last bits of today's worship service last night.
Lead worship - check.
Came up with emergency Plan B for kids' church today because Jonny's not up to it today.
Children's ministry - check.
About to put a dish of spanakopita in the oven for tonight's family dinner.
Contribute to the church potluck - check.
Will eventually finish loading up the van and head to church to unlock and set up.
I guess all I need now is for a male pastor to show up and sweep me off my feet so I can officially be certified pastor's wife to keep my conservative friends happy. (groan)
Or maybe I've just spent too much time with feminist literature recently...
22 July 2012
20 July 2012
On Colonialism and Nationalism
I have now lived in three different parts of the world where British influence has played a part in one way or another in nation-building. As I sat with my morning tea doing my usual scroll-through on Facebook, I was struck by the different levels of patriotism and national identity there is in each of these three parts of the world.
Before I write any further, let me throw out a couple disclaimers:
1) This post was not written with the intention of applauding or criticising one part of the world for being more nationalistic than another or vice versa. These are purely musings of sociological trends in each of these places.
2) This is also written for my own reflection, so only limited research has been done. This is NOT intended to be used for academic purposes.
3) The nationalistic voices addressed in this discussion is in reference only to a minority group, and is not a blanket statement of each society as a whole.
Colonisation
The fifteenth century saw the beginnings of European exploration that eventually led to the "founding" of colonies. The earliest of the three countries in question here to be colonised by the British is what we know today as the United States of America, dating back to 1607, where Jamestown was founded by the colonists of the London Company in Virginia. While the Brits remained the main colonial power in the New World, European interest continued, bringing a continual movement of migrants.
Fast forward about two hundred years, and we find treaties between the British and the natives in both Singapore and Aotearoa signed on the same day: 6 February (coincidentally, my birthday) in two different years: Singapore in 1819, and Aotearoa in 1840.
Three countries that while colonised by the Brits, continued to play hosts to migrants of other nations. Yet the voice of patriotism and national identity in Singapore and Aotearoa seem so much less obvious--even to the point of wondering if patriotism even exists in these parts--than in the United States. What's the difference? Allow me to make a few speculations.
The Two Centuries In Between
While the United States may not claim a spot amongst the older nations of the world like ones in Europe, the Middle East, or even India or China, the two hundred years between the "founding" of the US and the other two then-colonies would probably have played a part in the nationalism.
First, the world in the seventeenth century would have been a different place than in the nineteenth. Most significant events (for the purpose of this discussion) that took place in the two centuries in between would have been the industrial revolution, the fall of the Holy Roman Empire, the Enlightenment and the American revolution--all of which either put the British at a more advantageous position, or gave them something to think about what colonisation should look like.
Also noteworthy is that the American Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, years before the signing of the treaty with Singapore. Makes one wonder if Sir Stamford Raffles, the "founder of Modern Singapore" (as we have been taught to add to his title) had spent a few years thinking about what colonialism would need to look like now.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The "style" of colonialism was likely different in the two different eras, and one cannot help but wonder how much these "styles" in term affect national identity as each nation separated itself from the British.
The Natives
At this point, I'll admit that aside from the bits of research I've done here and there while writing this, most of my knowledge of American history came from the film, John Adams, as recommended by Jacquie Gross. Between that and the apparent need for Anglo-Saxon Americans to continually apologise to both the "Native Americans" and the African-Americans that I observed in my years in the US, I cannot help but wonder if the way the natives were treated were influential in the way nationalism plays out today. We'll get to the African-Americans (or more broadly categorised as "servants" for the purpose of this discussion) in a bit.
Since this was never intended to be an academic piece, I will not go into detail about the history of the natives in each of these three places. (And let's admit it, I may be nerdy enough to write this whole piece, but my attention span is also way too short to go into too much detail at one time.) What is worth noting is that "Native Americans" (I use this term loosely in recognition that they were natives before the land became known as America--and because there are so many different "native" tribes, the loose term will have to suffice for now.) today are now confined to specific parts of the country known as Reservations.
In contrast, the natives in Singapore, the Malays, are represented in parliament, and Malay is recognised as one of the two official languages ever since Singapore was declared independent in 1965. While I'm still trying to gain a better understanding of politics in Aotearoa, what I do know is that there is at least a Māori political party, the Treaty of Waitangi signed in 1840 has become an essential part of every day life, and there are at least conversations that still continue to happen concerning Māori land law--all while Aotearoa remains in the British Commonwealth.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
If we tied this back to the "styles" of colonialism, it might lead one to speculate that perhaps in the days where the natives were pushed into confined territories, there was more pomp and circumstance to lead into the nationalism factor. In saying that, the Anglo-Saxons remain a dominant group in the US (at least at the time this is written--sociologists are beginning to forecast a shift in the coming years)--and the ones who represent the nationalistic voice.
In contrast, while the Chinese migrant majority in Singapore played a role in the ousting of the British in post World War II Southeast Asia, the main reason for their presence on the island-city in the first place was for economic benefit rather than for claiming a stake in the competition for power. For this reason, they understand the importance of recognising native rights, and national identity is formed around the need for racial harmony rather than around the celebration of liberty. And just in my humble opinion, the celebration of liberty tends to be more boisterous than when groups have grown up doing little dances of celebration around egg-shells. Even when the day comes when they are sure the egg-shells of racial harmony have fossilised enough to withstand the weight of big parties, the dance around egg-shells have been written into the history books of the island-city like the waltzes, the allemandes, and the polkas.
Similarly, when the Treaty of Waitangi continues to play a part in the daily ethics of life in Aotearoa even till today, there is little room left for either parties involved to stand up in boisterous pride without causing a scandal that one might have possibly violated the Treaty. National identity is then shaped by the common stories of all coming from different places, each allowing the other to roam in a small part of the land.
The Servants
When the colonists arrived in the New World, they brought along with them slaves from Africa. While the scandal of slavery continues to mark American politics today, that is not the point of this discussion. The point is that... it happened. Ok? Ok.
On the other hand, the Indian servants that were brought in to Singapore were given minor government official jobs, which allowed them to integrate into society.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The bringing in of slaves reflect an attitude of arrogance that, one might speculate, forms a part of the DNA that reappears generations later in a much milder version seen in the form of national pride. On the flip side, because there was never strong resentment against the British presence, there was minimal fear or tension that life for the Indians in post-colonial Singapore would be made terrible by the other racial groups. Again, national identity in Singapore was formed around the need for racial harmony.
The Road to Independence
This is probably the biggest factor in this discussion.
The American Declaration of Independence was put together as a sign of revolt against the taxation without representation policies in the British parliament at the time. The need for representation--or the need to be heard--probably played a significant role in the push for the Declaration, and whether it is a valid cause or not remains a discussion for another time. At the same time, there were other causes that were being fought for, for which the Declaration became a sign of freedom and liberty. National identity became shaped even more by the experience of victory and liberation from the things of old.
"Independence" in New Zealand came in the form of the British withdrawal of troops in 1870 when they realised that to invest any further in a costly overseas war which was likely to continue indefinitely. Five years after the Treaty was signed, hostilities began between the Māori and the Europeans. Though inferior in number, the Māori proved to be formidable foe. Again, the Treaty sits today at a place that shapes national identity than it could have otherwise have been.
On the other hand, independence in Singapore came more peacefully, but not without bloodshed. In post-World War II Southeast Asia, colonial masters could no longer be trusted. The colonies suffered greatly in the hands of the Japanese as their colonial masters had their own wars to fight in Europe. One strategic political move after another eventually led to the ousting of the Brits in 1963, when Singapore merged with Malaysia. Due to distrust and ideological differences, Singapore eventually became an independent country of her own--the national identity still shaped by fear of racial conflicts.
Ok, So What?
I first begun mulling over these things about a year ago when I first moved to Aotearoa and noticed the similarities between the "Native Americans" and the Maori. In the course of the last couple of months, my focus shifted slightly and a hypothesis was starting to take shape concerning the sense of nationalism in the US that I sometimes found to be a little overwhelming.
The main reason for my spending all this brain space geeking over this is because I've been wondering if part of the reason for American nationalism is because of the sociological tendency to swing between extremes. (Hence why this is reflective writing rather than academia.) My hypothesis had been that American nationalism had been greatly influenced by the push away from all things of "The Old Country"--the Metric System, the fancy short spelling, you know the likes--and swung to the other end of pride in all things new.
I first began to notice these tendencies to swing between extremes in my years in seminary as we discussed Spiritual Formation. Christians raised in conservative homes go off to varsities that open their minds to different ways of thinking and suddenly they swing completely left-wing. And we are familiar with the stories of, "Oh, I was a sinful man until I met Jesus and he changed my life. Now I spend my life telling others about his amazing love and talk about nothing else."
If my hypothesis about swinging between extremes even at the macro level is true, then it might probably become easier for me to be more forgiving as I watch the pendulums swing between the extremes. It's difficult enough to bring moderation in an individual--I know because I'm guilty--what more if it's a cultural/societal tendency as well?
This might be the first and last I'm writing about this because my brain just about exploded. I don't think I'll ever draw a concrete conclusion on this hypothesis. And I think I can be ok with that.
Sources: New Zealand in History, The History Place - American Revolution, Wikipedia
P.S. If you've followed this post till this point, congratulations. I salute you.
P.P.S. If you've noticed factual discrepancies in this discussion, please feel free to (politely) point them out. I really would like to understand more about the historical/political/sociological side of things.
Somewhat relatedly, I think Mr Chua, my history teacher from way back, would be proud of my essay-writing ability... But maybe not so much my research skills. Oops.
Before I write any further, let me throw out a couple disclaimers:
1) This post was not written with the intention of applauding or criticising one part of the world for being more nationalistic than another or vice versa. These are purely musings of sociological trends in each of these places.
2) This is also written for my own reflection, so only limited research has been done. This is NOT intended to be used for academic purposes.
3) The nationalistic voices addressed in this discussion is in reference only to a minority group, and is not a blanket statement of each society as a whole.
Colonisation
The fifteenth century saw the beginnings of European exploration that eventually led to the "founding" of colonies. The earliest of the three countries in question here to be colonised by the British is what we know today as the United States of America, dating back to 1607, where Jamestown was founded by the colonists of the London Company in Virginia. While the Brits remained the main colonial power in the New World, European interest continued, bringing a continual movement of migrants.
Fast forward about two hundred years, and we find treaties between the British and the natives in both Singapore and Aotearoa signed on the same day: 6 February (coincidentally, my birthday) in two different years: Singapore in 1819, and Aotearoa in 1840.
Three countries that while colonised by the Brits, continued to play hosts to migrants of other nations. Yet the voice of patriotism and national identity in Singapore and Aotearoa seem so much less obvious--even to the point of wondering if patriotism even exists in these parts--than in the United States. What's the difference? Allow me to make a few speculations.
The Two Centuries In Between
While the United States may not claim a spot amongst the older nations of the world like ones in Europe, the Middle East, or even India or China, the two hundred years between the "founding" of the US and the other two then-colonies would probably have played a part in the nationalism.
First, the world in the seventeenth century would have been a different place than in the nineteenth. Most significant events (for the purpose of this discussion) that took place in the two centuries in between would have been the industrial revolution, the fall of the Holy Roman Empire, the Enlightenment and the American revolution--all of which either put the British at a more advantageous position, or gave them something to think about what colonisation should look like.
Also noteworthy is that the American Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, years before the signing of the treaty with Singapore. Makes one wonder if Sir Stamford Raffles, the "founder of Modern Singapore" (as we have been taught to add to his title) had spent a few years thinking about what colonialism would need to look like now.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The "style" of colonialism was likely different in the two different eras, and one cannot help but wonder how much these "styles" in term affect national identity as each nation separated itself from the British.
The Natives
At this point, I'll admit that aside from the bits of research I've done here and there while writing this, most of my knowledge of American history came from the film, John Adams, as recommended by Jacquie Gross. Between that and the apparent need for Anglo-Saxon Americans to continually apologise to both the "Native Americans" and the African-Americans that I observed in my years in the US, I cannot help but wonder if the way the natives were treated were influential in the way nationalism plays out today. We'll get to the African-Americans (or more broadly categorised as "servants" for the purpose of this discussion) in a bit.
Since this was never intended to be an academic piece, I will not go into detail about the history of the natives in each of these three places. (And let's admit it, I may be nerdy enough to write this whole piece, but my attention span is also way too short to go into too much detail at one time.) What is worth noting is that "Native Americans" (I use this term loosely in recognition that they were natives before the land became known as America--and because there are so many different "native" tribes, the loose term will have to suffice for now.) today are now confined to specific parts of the country known as Reservations.
In contrast, the natives in Singapore, the Malays, are represented in parliament, and Malay is recognised as one of the two official languages ever since Singapore was declared independent in 1965. While I'm still trying to gain a better understanding of politics in Aotearoa, what I do know is that there is at least a Māori political party, the Treaty of Waitangi signed in 1840 has become an essential part of every day life, and there are at least conversations that still continue to happen concerning Māori land law--all while Aotearoa remains in the British Commonwealth.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
If we tied this back to the "styles" of colonialism, it might lead one to speculate that perhaps in the days where the natives were pushed into confined territories, there was more pomp and circumstance to lead into the nationalism factor. In saying that, the Anglo-Saxons remain a dominant group in the US (at least at the time this is written--sociologists are beginning to forecast a shift in the coming years)--and the ones who represent the nationalistic voice.
In contrast, while the Chinese migrant majority in Singapore played a role in the ousting of the British in post World War II Southeast Asia, the main reason for their presence on the island-city in the first place was for economic benefit rather than for claiming a stake in the competition for power. For this reason, they understand the importance of recognising native rights, and national identity is formed around the need for racial harmony rather than around the celebration of liberty. And just in my humble opinion, the celebration of liberty tends to be more boisterous than when groups have grown up doing little dances of celebration around egg-shells. Even when the day comes when they are sure the egg-shells of racial harmony have fossilised enough to withstand the weight of big parties, the dance around egg-shells have been written into the history books of the island-city like the waltzes, the allemandes, and the polkas.
Similarly, when the Treaty of Waitangi continues to play a part in the daily ethics of life in Aotearoa even till today, there is little room left for either parties involved to stand up in boisterous pride without causing a scandal that one might have possibly violated the Treaty. National identity is then shaped by the common stories of all coming from different places, each allowing the other to roam in a small part of the land.
The Servants
When the colonists arrived in the New World, they brought along with them slaves from Africa. While the scandal of slavery continues to mark American politics today, that is not the point of this discussion. The point is that... it happened. Ok? Ok.
On the other hand, the Indian servants that were brought in to Singapore were given minor government official jobs, which allowed them to integrate into society.
How this factors into the discussion on nationalism...
The bringing in of slaves reflect an attitude of arrogance that, one might speculate, forms a part of the DNA that reappears generations later in a much milder version seen in the form of national pride. On the flip side, because there was never strong resentment against the British presence, there was minimal fear or tension that life for the Indians in post-colonial Singapore would be made terrible by the other racial groups. Again, national identity in Singapore was formed around the need for racial harmony.
The Road to Independence
This is probably the biggest factor in this discussion.
The American Declaration of Independence was put together as a sign of revolt against the taxation without representation policies in the British parliament at the time. The need for representation--or the need to be heard--probably played a significant role in the push for the Declaration, and whether it is a valid cause or not remains a discussion for another time. At the same time, there were other causes that were being fought for, for which the Declaration became a sign of freedom and liberty. National identity became shaped even more by the experience of victory and liberation from the things of old.
"Independence" in New Zealand came in the form of the British withdrawal of troops in 1870 when they realised that to invest any further in a costly overseas war which was likely to continue indefinitely. Five years after the Treaty was signed, hostilities began between the Māori and the Europeans. Though inferior in number, the Māori proved to be formidable foe. Again, the Treaty sits today at a place that shapes national identity than it could have otherwise have been.
On the other hand, independence in Singapore came more peacefully, but not without bloodshed. In post-World War II Southeast Asia, colonial masters could no longer be trusted. The colonies suffered greatly in the hands of the Japanese as their colonial masters had their own wars to fight in Europe. One strategic political move after another eventually led to the ousting of the Brits in 1963, when Singapore merged with Malaysia. Due to distrust and ideological differences, Singapore eventually became an independent country of her own--the national identity still shaped by fear of racial conflicts.
Ok, So What?
I first begun mulling over these things about a year ago when I first moved to Aotearoa and noticed the similarities between the "Native Americans" and the Maori. In the course of the last couple of months, my focus shifted slightly and a hypothesis was starting to take shape concerning the sense of nationalism in the US that I sometimes found to be a little overwhelming.
The main reason for my spending all this brain space geeking over this is because I've been wondering if part of the reason for American nationalism is because of the sociological tendency to swing between extremes. (Hence why this is reflective writing rather than academia.) My hypothesis had been that American nationalism had been greatly influenced by the push away from all things of "The Old Country"--the Metric System, the fancy short spelling, you know the likes--and swung to the other end of pride in all things new.
I first began to notice these tendencies to swing between extremes in my years in seminary as we discussed Spiritual Formation. Christians raised in conservative homes go off to varsities that open their minds to different ways of thinking and suddenly they swing completely left-wing. And we are familiar with the stories of, "Oh, I was a sinful man until I met Jesus and he changed my life. Now I spend my life telling others about his amazing love and talk about nothing else."
If my hypothesis about swinging between extremes even at the macro level is true, then it might probably become easier for me to be more forgiving as I watch the pendulums swing between the extremes. It's difficult enough to bring moderation in an individual--I know because I'm guilty--what more if it's a cultural/societal tendency as well?
This might be the first and last I'm writing about this because my brain just about exploded. I don't think I'll ever draw a concrete conclusion on this hypothesis. And I think I can be ok with that.
Sources: New Zealand in History, The History Place - American Revolution, Wikipedia
P.S. If you've followed this post till this point, congratulations. I salute you.
P.P.S. If you've noticed factual discrepancies in this discussion, please feel free to (politely) point them out. I really would like to understand more about the historical/political/sociological side of things.
Somewhat relatedly, I think Mr Chua, my history teacher from way back, would be proud of my essay-writing ability... But maybe not so much my research skills. Oops.
10 July 2012
Quiet Strength
Today I witnessed again the strength of two beautiful women I'm blessed to call friends.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
03 July 2012
On One-Anothering
"you better be at church tomo or imma be mad with you :D" his message on Facebook said.
It was Saturday night. I was still trying to get my brain out of my jet-lag funk and trying to put together my lesson for Kids' Club as well. I was tired and cold, and worrying that there would be too many rascaly kids the next day for my first Sunday back at Kids' Club.
And then came his text.
Hayden is one of the rascaly guys who started coming to youth about a year ago when Robert was still around. He and the other boys in youth group are like the pesky little brothers who love to hassle me only to turn around and be all nice and sweet when I have food.
His Facebook message that night was the reminder I needed of why I came back to Auckland. Yes, I was burning out real fast before I left, and I was appalled by the person I was becoming as a result.
But Hayden's message reminded me of what it means to be the family. It reminded me of the numerous times over the last ten months of how WCF so quickly became family. I could say that I clung to them as family as they were the only people I knew in a new land, but they chose to care for me as well.
A couple years ago in Germany, I stumbled across the term, "one-anothering."
Love one-another.
Serve one-another.
Take care of one-another.
The term assumes mutuality.
We have to love and be loved.
We have to serve and be served.
We have to take care of and be taken care of.
One of the difficulties for my personality in ministry is that I always expect that because...
... I'm a Christian and they're not
... I'm "in ministry" and they're not
... I'm privileged spiritually/financially/emotionally/etc. because of Christ
... meant I always had to be at the giving end.
And for that reason, while I celebrate how the WCF has one-anothered me, I recall the conversation with the BFF that included the reprimand (the BFF is much more mild-mannered than I am, so a reprimand from her becomes more like a "wake up your idea" than just a simple nudge) of why I still allow the ones who have worn me down continually over the years to continue to do so.
Of why I don't stand up for myself and walk away when conversations are driven by one-sided agendas.
Of why I don't say, stop trying to care for me on your terms when you don't listen long enough to know what I'm really needing.
Of why I avoid draining personalities for a long time only to succumb again eventually, instead of confronting in love.
And so I'm learning to speak up and take care of myself.
Sometimes they come out in little outbursts of emotion.
On my better days, they come as peaceful confrontation.
But I'm learning.
After all, as my ray of Sunshine, Jenny often reminds me,
"There's only one you. If you don't take care of you, you won't have anything left to give anyone else."
After all, in the words of Jim Hawkins, "Pace yourself for the marathon so you don't sprint too fast and burnout before you're done."
It was Saturday night. I was still trying to get my brain out of my jet-lag funk and trying to put together my lesson for Kids' Club as well. I was tired and cold, and worrying that there would be too many rascaly kids the next day for my first Sunday back at Kids' Club.
And then came his text.
Hayden is one of the rascaly guys who started coming to youth about a year ago when Robert was still around. He and the other boys in youth group are like the pesky little brothers who love to hassle me only to turn around and be all nice and sweet when I have food.
His Facebook message that night was the reminder I needed of why I came back to Auckland. Yes, I was burning out real fast before I left, and I was appalled by the person I was becoming as a result.
But Hayden's message reminded me of what it means to be the family. It reminded me of the numerous times over the last ten months of how WCF so quickly became family. I could say that I clung to them as family as they were the only people I knew in a new land, but they chose to care for me as well.
A couple years ago in Germany, I stumbled across the term, "one-anothering."
Love one-another.
Serve one-another.
Take care of one-another.
The term assumes mutuality.
We have to love and be loved.
We have to serve and be served.
We have to take care of and be taken care of.
One of the difficulties for my personality in ministry is that I always expect that because...
... I'm a Christian and they're not
... I'm "in ministry" and they're not
... I'm privileged spiritually/financially/emotionally/etc. because of Christ
... meant I always had to be at the giving end.
And for that reason, while I celebrate how the WCF has one-anothered me, I recall the conversation with the BFF that included the reprimand (the BFF is much more mild-mannered than I am, so a reprimand from her becomes more like a "wake up your idea" than just a simple nudge) of why I still allow the ones who have worn me down continually over the years to continue to do so.
Of why I don't stand up for myself and walk away when conversations are driven by one-sided agendas.
Of why I don't say, stop trying to care for me on your terms when you don't listen long enough to know what I'm really needing.
Of why I avoid draining personalities for a long time only to succumb again eventually, instead of confronting in love.
And so I'm learning to speak up and take care of myself.
Sometimes they come out in little outbursts of emotion.
On my better days, they come as peaceful confrontation.
But I'm learning.
After all, as my ray of Sunshine, Jenny often reminds me,
"There's only one you. If you don't take care of you, you won't have anything left to give anyone else."
After all, in the words of Jim Hawkins, "Pace yourself for the marathon so you don't sprint too fast and burnout before you're done."
27 June 2012
Becoming Human Together
I'll confess that when it comes to my brothers and sisters who go to a mega-church, I often am less than gracious with them. So when the City Harvest saga broke out, I'll admit that I quickly jumped to conclusions that, of course, they would be guilty.
But that's not the point. The point is that regardless of whether or not they are guilty, there's a part of the Family that is hurting. Regardless of whether they provided the spiritual leadership they should have, there's a part of the Family that is asking questions. Regardless of why they did or didn't do what they were accused of, there's a part of the Family trying to make sense of what has happened.
I'm learning again what it means to stop older-brothering the prodigal. It's so easy for me to jump on the self-righteous bandwagon. And so, in light of the City Harvest saga, I'm reminded again that, mega-church or not, we all belong in the body of Christ. And when one member of the family is hurting, it's only fair that I try to push aside my self-righteous judgement and hurt with them.
It's part of the experience of becoming human together.
But that's not the point. The point is that regardless of whether or not they are guilty, there's a part of the Family that is hurting. Regardless of whether they provided the spiritual leadership they should have, there's a part of the Family that is asking questions. Regardless of why they did or didn't do what they were accused of, there's a part of the Family trying to make sense of what has happened.
I'm learning again what it means to stop older-brothering the prodigal. It's so easy for me to jump on the self-righteous bandwagon. And so, in light of the City Harvest saga, I'm reminded again that, mega-church or not, we all belong in the body of Christ. And when one member of the family is hurting, it's only fair that I try to push aside my self-righteous judgement and hurt with them.
It's part of the experience of becoming human together.
26 June 2012
Celebrating 11 Years of Laughter
Every time I'm back here, I feel like I can be a kid all over again.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
I have the best friends in the world.
Friends from way back, talking about stories from way back.
It's like we're all still sixteen and seventeen and things haven't changed.
We still find the same things ridiculously funny.
We still kaopei (literally translated: curse father) about the same types of things.
Bunz, as usual eats a lot.
Juan, as usual is always late.
Ivy, as usual is trying to keep up with everyone else.
But there's always the subtle reminders that these are no longer our green pinafore days.
Lisi is getting married.
Bunz and Ivy are talking about raising families together since they're going to be neighbours.
Everyone is nagging at Juan about the same old business.
And it always ends with the usual, "So when's the next time you're coming back?"
Life isn't as simple as the green pinafore days anymore.
The world isn't only about our kangkong eating habits anymore.
Or hyperventilating over maths formulae anymore.
Life has become about paying bills, switching jobs, planning weddings, travelling, heartbreaks and the other things that seem to indicate we're supposed to be grown-ups.
But put the six or eight of us together in one room and it's like nothing has changed.
Bunny may have switched jobs a few times.
I may have moved around the world a few times.
But that we still laugh every year at the fact that we're anything but moribus modestus makes me thankful for these girls.
Thank you for reminding me to take time to laugh.
 |
| Celebrating 11 years of laughter |
I have the best friends in the world.
20 June 2012
The Wax House
She stood watching, with tears streaming down her face. Too many years had passed since the last time she played an active role in the hustle and bustle of activities in that old house.
She visited the old house every year since she left. It had become like a ritual for paying homage to the role the old house played in her life. Some of her old friends had left; others that stuck around noticed the different energy with the new faces that came. Most seemed excited about the different energy, and she hoped it was for the best.
Then one day she noticed the paint starting to peel away. The flowers looked thirsty, and she wondered if she was the only one who noticed. She could water the flowers, but she didn't have enough time to start the paint job. She left and again, she hoped it was for the best.
The next year, the garden was parched, and the paint had become even more splotchy. She wondered again if she was the only one who noticed. Again she watered the garden, and as she did, she began to see an image of what the old house would look like if nothing changed. She shuddered and wondered if their little old house was about to become like the story of the lighthouse that she heard not too long ago. She told a friend of that wax house she saw in that image. It looked like someone had made it into a candle with wax slabbed around rusty iron poles and set the whole thing on fire. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to do. That old house had been her stomping ground as a child, but there were others running the place now.
Not too long ago, she made another visit. The energy again felt different, and again she hoped for the best. There were new flowers in the garden, and they asked if she would help water the garden. But how could she when she had just given immense amounts of energy starting a different garden from scratch? And besides, it still bothered her that nothing had been done to change the soil or to create a better environment for the flowers to thrive better.
Still she did what she could while she fought to ignore the voice that said, "Change doesn't come with a new garden, or a fresh coat of paint. Remember? Real change never comes from the top down or the bottom up. It comes from the inside out." She found her own way to make a difference, ways they may never recognise as anything of significance, ways they will probably see as rebellious. Not that she really cared anymore what they thought. She had spent too many hours grieving the loss of too many flowers to care.
But still she wept. She wept for the old house that didn't feel like the house she grew up in anymore. She wept for the years gone by and the flowers that faded away. She wept for how the old house was starting to look more and more like the image she saw way back when. She wept for the flowers that told her to leave them alone. She wept for how she had just spent so much of her life in that land elsewhere putting pieces back into place for other old houses that have been down that same road. She wept for her own fears of being sucked back into those dark places when she grieved the other old houses.
And then he came and took her by the hand.
"My child, it's time for you to leave now. You came for rest but you found you had to hide your face. Your heart cannot be broken for so many places and this is not a house for you to grieve over anymore. Let it go. Let the flowers go. I am still in charge. Remember that lesson from way back when? Feed my sheep. But they still are MY sheep."
She visited the old house every year since she left. It had become like a ritual for paying homage to the role the old house played in her life. Some of her old friends had left; others that stuck around noticed the different energy with the new faces that came. Most seemed excited about the different energy, and she hoped it was for the best.
Then one day she noticed the paint starting to peel away. The flowers looked thirsty, and she wondered if she was the only one who noticed. She could water the flowers, but she didn't have enough time to start the paint job. She left and again, she hoped it was for the best.
The next year, the garden was parched, and the paint had become even more splotchy. She wondered again if she was the only one who noticed. Again she watered the garden, and as she did, she began to see an image of what the old house would look like if nothing changed. She shuddered and wondered if their little old house was about to become like the story of the lighthouse that she heard not too long ago. She told a friend of that wax house she saw in that image. It looked like someone had made it into a candle with wax slabbed around rusty iron poles and set the whole thing on fire. Beyond that, she wasn't sure what to do. That old house had been her stomping ground as a child, but there were others running the place now.
Not too long ago, she made another visit. The energy again felt different, and again she hoped for the best. There were new flowers in the garden, and they asked if she would help water the garden. But how could she when she had just given immense amounts of energy starting a different garden from scratch? And besides, it still bothered her that nothing had been done to change the soil or to create a better environment for the flowers to thrive better.
Still she did what she could while she fought to ignore the voice that said, "Change doesn't come with a new garden, or a fresh coat of paint. Remember? Real change never comes from the top down or the bottom up. It comes from the inside out." She found her own way to make a difference, ways they may never recognise as anything of significance, ways they will probably see as rebellious. Not that she really cared anymore what they thought. She had spent too many hours grieving the loss of too many flowers to care.
But still she wept. She wept for the old house that didn't feel like the house she grew up in anymore. She wept for the years gone by and the flowers that faded away. She wept for how the old house was starting to look more and more like the image she saw way back when. She wept for the flowers that told her to leave them alone. She wept for how she had just spent so much of her life in that land elsewhere putting pieces back into place for other old houses that have been down that same road. She wept for her own fears of being sucked back into those dark places when she grieved the other old houses.
And then he came and took her by the hand.
"My child, it's time for you to leave now. You came for rest but you found you had to hide your face. Your heart cannot be broken for so many places and this is not a house for you to grieve over anymore. Let it go. Let the flowers go. I am still in charge. Remember that lesson from way back when? Feed my sheep. But they still are MY sheep."
Faith and the Human Experience
I was talking to an old friend, Ben, recently. Apparently his existential crisis has hit an all-new level that would be his personal best so far. This was, of course, curious to me because the Singaporean society seemed like the least likely breeding ground for the ideologies of post-christendom. We may have a first-world economy, but our theology is still very third-world. Which is perfectly fine, until we stumble upon a little "trouble-maker," like my friend Ben.
Strange timing also, that I stumbled upon a chapter of my life from ten years ago when life was simple and "Jesus" was the answer I would give because that's what I thought people wanted to hear. I go through phases where I long for the days when the good old christian girl in me could just as easily have been the star of the Chris Rice song, Me and Becky. I still grieve that those days are long-gone because I didn't have to bear the responsibilities I carry now.
But the reality is, those days are gone. Ten years is along time, and to pretend that all the junk that happened in the last ten years didn't exist would not only be marginalizing my story and my grief, but also the creativity of the Redeemer that weaved all these pieces together. And I cannot go on pretending the hurt in the world doesn't exist, or that Grace did not surprise my conventional definitions of the Creator's imagination when it weaved its way in to redeem all these broken pieces.
And then I stumbled upon the idea of "faith and the human experience" -- something I have no doubt I would have already figured out if I had only paid more attention to Dr. Overstreet's Faith and Human Development class in undergrad.
Human experience is wondering how falling sick from alternating between the steaming hot dish-room that was my first job in college and the unbearable (remember, this is the girl from the tropical island-city) Anderson winters four days a week was an appropriate response from god to my attempt to answer my call to ministry.
Faith is the realisation that the ministry of washing dishes is essential for table fellowship (a big part of the Church of God tradition I claim as heritage).
Human experience is trying to make the best of a $35/week income by humbly accepting your parents' help with rent while surviving on $2/day (Taco Bell's $1.89 bean burrito can make for a filling lunch AND dinner if you're willing to ride your bike out) when savings ran out.
Faith is the realisation Someone's always looking out.
Human experience is facing the temptation every year to give up all this "call to ministry" nonsense for a better material life in the home-country where the economy is still one of the most stable in the world.
Faith is the realisation a dream happened nearly ten years ago about things to come, and that Someone already knew way back when.
Human experience is coming face-to-face with human trafficking, and the sobering realisation that it could just as easily have been me.
Faith is the realisation that because Someone cries for each oppressed minority voice, and Someone has cared about me, I should care about what Someone cares about as well.
Human experience is the daily battle with existentialism and the constantly evolving world.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ is.
Human experience is what social scientist Maslow would probably hashtag as #firstworldproblems -- controversial religious/spiritual debates.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ already defied all of the above with the simple, "I am".
Greg, my professor of theology at AUSOT once explained it something like that: To simply live in the human experience is an obvious negligence of the Christian faith. But to simply use faith to explain away suffering, whether physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, and the human experience is to belittle Jesus' own human experience. If the human experience can be simply explained away by faith, then it would not have been necessary for Jesus to exist as both completely human and completely divine at the same time. And if that were true, then the Christology of Church tradition will have to be completely reconstructed.
As with most things human, it's often difficult for two extremes to co-exist in tangent. We swing between conservative and liberal, traditional and contemporary. Neither extremes are completely right or wrong, but once we realise there's a bit more in the world than the box we were raised in, it's easy to be completely disgusted by the old box, and want to have nothing to do with it. But even after Jesus redefined what "mother" and "brothers" meant, he still made sure Mary was taken care of as he hung on the cross.
And yes, I know. We're not Jesus. Everyday I'm reminded of how unlike Jesus I am. And so we continue to struggle in our humanity between the extremes. But as Henri Nouwen pointed out, there are the unhealed wounders, and the wounded healers. I can only wish that in our struggling between the extremes that we always find room for a little bit of grey areas, and a lot of room for grace.
These are initial thoughts that I've been itching to write down in a more cohesive space than on the notepad on my phone since I've been away from a computer. There's been a whole lot more that I want to write about, but as usual, I get distracted way too easily, so we'll see if this gets revisited.
As always, I'm open to conversations. My only request is that you extend me at least as much grace as you feel you're receiving from me.
Also, extend grace to my poor grammar. I've had one too many days of one too many languages.
Strange timing also, that I stumbled upon a chapter of my life from ten years ago when life was simple and "Jesus" was the answer I would give because that's what I thought people wanted to hear. I go through phases where I long for the days when the good old christian girl in me could just as easily have been the star of the Chris Rice song, Me and Becky. I still grieve that those days are long-gone because I didn't have to bear the responsibilities I carry now.
But the reality is, those days are gone. Ten years is along time, and to pretend that all the junk that happened in the last ten years didn't exist would not only be marginalizing my story and my grief, but also the creativity of the Redeemer that weaved all these pieces together. And I cannot go on pretending the hurt in the world doesn't exist, or that Grace did not surprise my conventional definitions of the Creator's imagination when it weaved its way in to redeem all these broken pieces.
And then I stumbled upon the idea of "faith and the human experience" -- something I have no doubt I would have already figured out if I had only paid more attention to Dr. Overstreet's Faith and Human Development class in undergrad.
Human experience is wondering how falling sick from alternating between the steaming hot dish-room that was my first job in college and the unbearable (remember, this is the girl from the tropical island-city) Anderson winters four days a week was an appropriate response from god to my attempt to answer my call to ministry.
Faith is the realisation that the ministry of washing dishes is essential for table fellowship (a big part of the Church of God tradition I claim as heritage).
Human experience is trying to make the best of a $35/week income by humbly accepting your parents' help with rent while surviving on $2/day (Taco Bell's $1.89 bean burrito can make for a filling lunch AND dinner if you're willing to ride your bike out) when savings ran out.
Faith is the realisation Someone's always looking out.
Human experience is facing the temptation every year to give up all this "call to ministry" nonsense for a better material life in the home-country where the economy is still one of the most stable in the world.
Faith is the realisation a dream happened nearly ten years ago about things to come, and that Someone already knew way back when.
Human experience is coming face-to-face with human trafficking, and the sobering realisation that it could just as easily have been me.
Faith is the realisation that because Someone cries for each oppressed minority voice, and Someone has cared about me, I should care about what Someone cares about as well.
Human experience is the daily battle with existentialism and the constantly evolving world.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ is.
Human experience is what social scientist Maslow would probably hashtag as #firstworldproblems -- controversial religious/spiritual debates.
Faith is the realisation that Some____ already defied all of the above with the simple, "I am".
Greg, my professor of theology at AUSOT once explained it something like that: To simply live in the human experience is an obvious negligence of the Christian faith. But to simply use faith to explain away suffering, whether physical, emotional, mental or spiritual, and the human experience is to belittle Jesus' own human experience. If the human experience can be simply explained away by faith, then it would not have been necessary for Jesus to exist as both completely human and completely divine at the same time. And if that were true, then the Christology of Church tradition will have to be completely reconstructed.
As with most things human, it's often difficult for two extremes to co-exist in tangent. We swing between conservative and liberal, traditional and contemporary. Neither extremes are completely right or wrong, but once we realise there's a bit more in the world than the box we were raised in, it's easy to be completely disgusted by the old box, and want to have nothing to do with it. But even after Jesus redefined what "mother" and "brothers" meant, he still made sure Mary was taken care of as he hung on the cross.
And yes, I know. We're not Jesus. Everyday I'm reminded of how unlike Jesus I am. And so we continue to struggle in our humanity between the extremes. But as Henri Nouwen pointed out, there are the unhealed wounders, and the wounded healers. I can only wish that in our struggling between the extremes that we always find room for a little bit of grey areas, and a lot of room for grace.
These are initial thoughts that I've been itching to write down in a more cohesive space than on the notepad on my phone since I've been away from a computer. There's been a whole lot more that I want to write about, but as usual, I get distracted way too easily, so we'll see if this gets revisited.
As always, I'm open to conversations. My only request is that you extend me at least as much grace as you feel you're receiving from me.
Also, extend grace to my poor grammar. I've had one too many days of one too many languages.
11 June 2012
Eat.Pray.Love. Days 1-3
Taking a three-week break from the real world for an Eat.Pray.Love. sabbath. These are the chronicles.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
05 June 2012
Service Project
This post is really about a week late...
Two weekends ago, we took the kids out for a service project.
If you remember, we had thought about getting the kids to do a service project with Hospice West Auckland over the Easter weekend, but it didn't work out. We then found out that the Hospice needed baked goods so of course, the logical thing to do was to get kids together to do some baking. The younger kids, years 0-3 in school (aged 5-8) were going to help do grocery shopping while the other kids, years 4-6 in school (aged 9-11) would do the baking at Auntie Enid's.
To be frank, I had reached the point of exhaustion and grumpiness where I simply wanted to get the service project out of the way. We had told the kids we would try to do something aside from Sunday gatherings at least once every term, so this was going to be the one thing we did this term. So I really didn't have too many expectations of how it would go. As long as it wasn't a completely disaster, we didn't get kicked out of the grocery store and Auntie Enid's kitchens weren't completely trashed, I would have considered the project a success.
And of course, the kids surprised me.
Not only were there no stares from strangers at Countdown, or food fights in the kitchens, the kids all did a great job working in teams. The baking got done in a lot less time than I expected, and no one got grumpy or cranky.
On the drive back from Auntie Enid's, we launched into the, "what did you learn from this?" conversation. Again, my only expectation was that as long as they didn't drift off down some rabbit hole as we were talking, I would be content.
And again, they surprised me.
They each had a spiel about loving and serving one another, which was what we were doing with the baking. Knowing my own tendency to take the social service rather than the gospel train in these conversations because it was easier, I tried to steer it back toward Jesus. To my surprise, Stella remembered what we talked about early in the year about the body of Christ and how we each had a part to play. Woodrow talked about team work, and Jesse talked about Jesus feeding the five-thousand.
These kids... You just gotta love them.
Two weekends ago, we took the kids out for a service project.
 |
| Listening to the lady at Hospice explain what they do and how we are helping them. |
 |
| Auntie Enid with Stella and Hannah |
 |
| Imparting the all-important life-skill to Woody: How to beat an egg |
 |
| Rebecca and Jesse working hard |
Not only were there no stares from strangers at Countdown, or food fights in the kitchens, the kids all did a great job working in teams. The baking got done in a lot less time than I expected, and no one got grumpy or cranky.
On the drive back from Auntie Enid's, we launched into the, "what did you learn from this?" conversation. Again, my only expectation was that as long as they didn't drift off down some rabbit hole as we were talking, I would be content.
 |
| Auntie Enid served up hot chocolate milk for a well-deserved break |
They each had a spiel about loving and serving one another, which was what we were doing with the baking. Knowing my own tendency to take the social service rather than the gospel train in these conversations because it was easier, I tried to steer it back toward Jesus. To my surprise, Stella remembered what we talked about early in the year about the body of Christ and how we each had a part to play. Woodrow talked about team work, and Jesse talked about Jesus feeding the five-thousand.
 |
| Awesome chefs! From left: Jesse, Woody, Rebecca, Auntie Enid, Stella, Cassidy, Hannah |
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