Where We Come From: The Institution and The Reformation

Jen posted this question to our group of friends yesterday and invited us to respond:

WHY IT IS COOL TO LOVE THE INSTITUTION OF THE CHURCH AND TO STAY COMMITTED TO IT EVEN WHEN THINGS SEEM DIFFICULT.

Forgive me that this is a much longer post than usual. My attention span isn't usually long enough for me to sit still to write such a long piece, but I was stuck on a plane for half of this. This is a culmination of thoughts from several years of a love-hate relationship with the institution of the Church. It might as well be time for me to share the nerdy-side of why I still choose to be committed.

Preface:
Most folks who know my story know that a big part of who I am today is a result of several years of wrestling with the institution that we as “Christians” call “Church”. As much as I’ve felt let down by the institution, there are reasons for why I’m still sticking around. Admittedly, a small part of that reason is a foolish loyalty to this highly dysfunctional family that I cannot seem to work past.

It began some time in 2005. My picture-perfect understanding of the Church as an institution had just begun crumbling, but there was always something that said, “Hold on, this is family. Don’t quit.” Over the years, the more I got involved in the Church, the more I felt let down by its structures. At times, “This is family. Don’t quit,” no longer stood as strong enough reasons for me to not leave. I needed something more.

By 2010, my disgruntlement with the Church as an institution had hit its peak. That was when I got involved with a ministry project in Berlin. Maybe it was being in Germany where some of the theologians I had the most respect for came from. Maybe it was having the time to step away from the institution for a bit. Whatever it was, the 3 months in Berlin caused a seismic shift in the way I understood "The Institution". This is the story.

Definitions:
First, a few definitions:
Institution – a system that provides lifestyle structure, law, boundaries and/or guidance that are socially accpted by a specific group of people.
Reformation – a time period dedicated to questioning the identity, vision, mission, values, and structures of a specific group of people, specifically addressing its relevance to the current culture and context.

Why Institutions Part #1:
Even as children, structures, rule books, boundaries or guidance help groups of people feel safe. In a social science experiment, children were put in a compound where there were no fences surrounding their play area. The group of children played close together. When fences were put in later to surround the same play area, the group of children spread themselves out to the limits of the fences. There was safety in having structures in place.

Whether we are looking at churches, schools, corporate organisations, politics or international relations, some form of institution is necessary to help groups of people navigate what it means to work or live together. We might say that institutions are necessary evils, but I think that is only because even the most free-spirited human being need some form of institution—even if it’s as simple as, “I will not hurt any living organism.”

So if those assumptions were true, (and for the purpose of this piece, let’s assume they are) how do we explain the increasing disgruntlement toward institutions, and specifically toward the institutionalized Church? To begin, I’m not convinced this disgruntlement is anything new. It might be helpful to examine what institutions looked like through history.

While I’m fairly certain the ideas presented in this piece are relevant to most institutions whether religious or not, because my academic background focused mainly on the sociological and religious fields, it is through these lenses that I present these ideas.

The Early Church:
For most church historians, the beginning of the institutionalized church is often defined by “The Early Church,” or “The Acts 2 Church”. Jesus had just been on the cross on Golgotha and been raised. The spiritual morale was on an all-time high even while persecution continued. Believers gathered together to share their belongings, break bread and fellowship. All was nice and rosy, right?

But “The Early Church” institution didn’t last for long. Barely a few chapters later in Acts, that institution was falling apart. Yet even today, we paint idealistic pictures of what it must have been like to live in the times of “The Early Church”. We look to that model to figure out how to create Church institutions today, perhaps because we choose to only remember the moments of the spiritual high reflected in the early Acts chapters. It is much easier to idealize what community life can be like if we default to some historical structure.

Historical Perspective:
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the study of history, or Scripture for that matter. In fact, I think there is much we can learn from the overall historical narrative of Scripture—and not just because I'm a history buff.

For the purpose of this piece, let’s begin with Moses—not because there’s nothing that can be said or learnt between the time of Adam and Eve up to the story of Joseph, but because it is during the time of Moses that the idea of institution really began to become clearer. Prior to Moses, the collective identity of the people of Israel had been exactly that: they were the people of Israel. It was as if because they wore the last name, “Descendants of Adam and Eve,” they knew exactly how the household ran.

Fast forward to the time between Joseph and Moses. By this time there were so many of them, and the “Descendants of Adam and Eve” last name no longer held water as they now lived under Egyptian authority. The Egyptian institution of making them all become slaves was put in place to help create some sense of order by an authority that felt threatened by their presence.

Fast forward a few more years to the period of exodus. We find a group of people whose institution was once defined by a common last name, then by an authoritarian figure now wandering in the wilderness without a sense of direction or common identity anymore. Enter the Ten Commandments and the other Mosaic laws as an institution to help navigate forty years of wandering.

Fast forward a few generations. This same group of people now live in the Promised Land and have been guided by judges. But it was no longer enough for them. They got disgruntled (sound familiar?) and asked for a king. And so King Saul became a part of their institution. And then King David. And Solomon...

Fast forward to the New Testament. We find Jesus himself saying that he came "not to abolish the law, but to fulfil it." (Matthew 5:17) And soon we begin to find more practices that help define "institution". Like Passover or Communion, baptism and footwashing.

Institutions. These things that help us function together as a people group. They're necessary even if we don't always agree with everything about them.

The Problem With Institutions:
The thing is, these all happened even before "The Acts 2 Church" developed as an institution. And yet when we default to the "Acts 2 Church" whenever we look for guidance on how to create new institutions today. Maybe it's because the Acts 2 model is the beginning of life after Jesus' death and resurrection. We understand that things had to be different after the first Easter, so we take on the first "radical" institution that came into existence as the main/right model for doing Church as an institution.

So what went wrong? Why are more and more people having issues with the institutional Church as we understand it today?

Maybe it's the simple reality that we don’t live in Acts 2 days. The first apostles probably had to tell themselves the same thing, that they didn't live in Exodus days either. Too often we get caught up in trying to keep things the same according to "the original version" of our institutions that we lose track of the spirit behind these institutions in the first place. If Jesus had been as caught up with the "original version" of the law of Moses as we sometimes can be today, fulfilling the law would not have led him to Golgotha.

Yet as frustrating as they might be, we as humankind default to institutions for various reasons. It might be that institutions provide safety, or because we love organizing things, events or people, or simply because we crave structure. Even for those of us who want to break away, it usually isn’t because we don’t want structure, as much as we have become disillusioned by structures that are not working. The reality is that as frustrated as we can get with institutions, breaking away from structure isn't going to solve anything. Why? Here are my reasons:

1) Humankind defaults to structure. We may try to break away from one structure, but we still end up swinging toward another structure. Migrants leave political structures of one nation, but they end up in another institution. Corporate workers who leave their jobs to set up their own businesses find that they have to create their own institutions as well. Radicals revolutionise only to eventually set up another governmental institution. Folks who want to, or have left institutionalized Church find themselves in other institutional structures as well--even home churches need structure: where are we meeting, what time and what are we doing when we meet?

2) We are made for community. The major world religions can differ greatly in theology, but there is a common thread through them all: the betterment of the community we live amongst. We may have differing opinions of Buddha, Allah, Jesus or Brahman, but we all know that we don't push each other on the playground, and we share our pencils to those in need. As followers of Christ, particularly, we do not, and cannot exist alone. And where there are folks gathered, a way of doing life together is formed.

The Reformation Response:
So if institutions are necessary, how do we make them work? How do we move forward together, and where do we go from here? Allow me to share with you a little bit about the heritage I inherited as a daughter of a reformation movement.

The Church of God Reformation Movement, through which I inherited my Christian heritage, has had a history of priding itself as a progressive movement. In a time where the universal Church struggled with denominational differences, we prided ourselves for preaching the message of Holiness and Unity, in an effort to restore Christian unity.

The problem is that too often, as sons and daughters of a reformation movement, we assume that the work is done. We assume that DS Warner and his kindreds did all that there is and can be to do for the cause of the gospel message in their reformation work. As a result, we simply settle into the institutions of those who have gone before us. But we don't live in the days of DS Warner anymore, nor do we live in the time of the Acts 2 Church. And we forget that even before the Church of God Reformation Movement came into being, the fathers and mothers of our Christian heritage had already been a part of this reformation work.

Jesus himself set out to reform the institution of the synagogue.
Martin Luther saw the great disparity between the institution of the Catholic church and the community they were supposed to be living with, and helped plant seeds for the Protestant reformation.
And after Warner, Nora Hunter reformed the missionary sending institution of the Church of God.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, through his writings, reformed the institution of the Church that had been corrupted by war.

What makes us think it ever becomes time to stop living and breathing our reformation heritage? I don't mean that we need to hold on to all "the original versions" of Luther, or to all of DS Warner's original teachings. I mean we continually seek to live out our reformation heritage.

We speak for injustice as Martin Luther did.
We break down barriers that hinder Kingdom work as Nora Hunter did.
We refuse to sit with status quo and easy answers as Dietrich Bonhoeffer did.
We uphold the essentials of all that is sacred as Jesus did.

Why Institutions Part #2:
As a part of the Church of God Reformation Movement, we become inheritants of a reformation heritage, but no just because of DS Warner. We don't worship DS Warner because of what he stood up for, but uphold his spirit of continually living out that reformation heritage. We call ourselves a "reformation movement" because that is exactly who we are supposed to be--reformers that keep moving forward with the times to create new institutions that continually remain relevant to the culture and context in the world we live in. I don't mean that we need to tear apart all that has been established by those who have gone before. I simply mean we need to continually exegete our culture and context to continue building on the foundation they laid.

So maybe you don't claim the same reformation heritage that I do. And maybe you don't have the same foolish loyalty to a highly dysfunctional family institution that I do. But I think we owe it to each other to keep speaking into the institutions that have become a part of our communal heritage as followers of Christ--not simply for the sake of keeping these institutions alive, but because these institutions are what feed our sense of community.

My friends, Joe and David have become very important people who have helped me be a better person in spite of my frustrations with the institution. They have each written separate pieces about how these institutions feed our sense of community, so rather than try to re-write what they have done, I invite you over to their posts.

Click here for Joe's thoughts
Click here for David's thoughts

Whirlwind Summer Treasure Trove

4 weeks. 4 incredible weeks.

They have been incredible not because I got to check out of real life for a while.
Not because I got to be on vacation.

No, because of the people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

To you that provided a place for rest in between the scurrying--whether in Portland, Anderson, Edgewood or Denver, thank you.

To you that shared your family--whether your great-grandkid, your newborn, your partner, thank you.

To you that provided me transport everywhere, thank you.

To you that was present in some of the lowest moments of the trip--whether by a Facebook message, a text, or staying up late to talk, thank you.

To you that kept pushing me to a better good--whether for my own spiritual well-being, or for communal good, thank you.

To you that allowed me to wallow in the parts of life that involve a small dose of cynicism, thank you.

To you that laughed with me as I found harmless ways to rebel break the rules work around the systems, thank you.

To you that said you will continue to walk this crazy, whirlwind journey with me, thank you.

To you that agreed to support one more chapter of my unpredictable life and ministry, thank you.

To you that believe in me so I can believe in myself again, thank you.

To you that sat with me through all the Mexican food, Sno-Castle, IHOP, Olive Garden and other meals that I've missed and craved, thank you.

To you that gave hugs, thank you.

To you that gave me grace for not having the time to catch up, thank you.

To you that allowed and pushed me to confront myself, thank you.

My life is better because of each one of you.

4 weeks of incredible people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Jamie and I were talking about how we never quite expected to run into each other, especially not after only a few years have past, much less in Denver, of all places. But here we are.

We'll see each other again, I'm sure.
But until then,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)

I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye.

"Welcome Home"

I never know what to do with you

When we first met, you felt like the odd great-uncle
Your manners reminded me of a jaded war-veteran
Full of grandiose and pomp

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

You felt ancient, troubled and quirky
Yet someone said, stick around
These are good people

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

I resisted for a long time, but you grew on me
The melodies you sung and the liturgies you spoke
And the people...

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

We fought some tough battles together
As my days of prodigal wandering began
And you struggled to find your place in our family

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

You felt distantly close as my days of wandering continued
But when night fell and darkness tried to overwhelm
You became the familiar nursemaid from childhood

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

Soon the time came to leave home
Others didn't know what to do with me
But you said, "Go, we love you"

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

You had become friend, confidante and accomplice
You embraced me as a grandchild
And nurtured me to be likewise for others

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

I look back on the years we've been family
Our relationship has been weird and awkward at best
But we've learnt to embrace each other with all the love we have

They spoke of stories you had to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from

I never know what to do with you

All I can say today is, thank you
For teaching me to fight, and for teaching me to love
For giving me space to ask questions, and for allowing me to wander
For fighting with and for me, and for believing in me
For the hard questions, and the questions that matter
For giving me permission to be my honest, politically-incorrect self
For pushing me to be unto others what you have been to me
For telling me to go, and for arms always open to say "welcome home"
....
I never know what to do with you

They speak of stories you have to tell
Stories of our people, our past, our heritage, our tradition
Stories
Rich stories of where our people came from, and where to from here

Dear Park Place Church,
Thank you for letting me be a part of this weird body we call family.
Thank you for loving me well, and sending me well.
Thank you for always being home no matter where I've wandered.

The hardest thing about being home is knowing the time will come when you have to leave again.
But we are a people on mission.
We go knowing we have family that sends us.

Dear Park Place family,
Thank you.

Dear Keren: The Re-Entry Post

Dear Keren,

You must forgive me for being rambly and having disconnected thoughts in this one. If you were sitting in this room with me, this would have been like one of our heart-to-hearts that go down some rabbit trail, rather than you sitting there listening to me pour my heart out the entire conversation.

Larry asked the other day if I would share the story of the influences of my ministry to the missions committee at their church. It made me stop in my tracks because it was at that moment that I realised I hadn't really thought far enough ahead to figure out how I'm going to process re-entry into the US.

I guess I had been so exhausted prior to this trip that all this meant to me at the time was a vacation. But when Larry asked how Singapore had influenced my ministry life, I realised again how much the seven years in Anderson influenced me--not because Anderson was a better environment than Singapore, but because my world views were being expanded and I was given permission to think outside the box. And Anderson had been the home that most influenced my theology and ministry.

Being back in Anderson this time made the, "Where are you from?" question even harder to answer. It was the Global Gathering after all, and most folks don't have more than five seconds to wait for the answer to that question. And how do you explain, "Well, I was born in Singapore, live and work in Auckland, New Zealand. Those places are both where I'm from, but home for me is Anderson, Indiana--at least, at this point in my life"?

Getting off the plane in Portland, I knew to expect that things would be different now. I've done the re-entry thing enough times in the last nine years to know that. But seeing Judy in what would have been the driver's side of the car in New Zealand made me go, "Wait, I knew things were going to be different, but I didn't think it would be THAT different that Judy would be driving now."

I should have known then that as much as I can acknowledge that things are going to be different, I'm not going to fully understand just how different until I experience it all over again.

Like how there's now this strange addition on I-69 with a special exit ramp for Noblesville and Fishers to accommodate the population growth in those areas. Or why Qdoba and Panda Express have to have such bright store signs on Scatterfield as opposed to the old, rundown operations that used to occupy that space. And then there are the familiar quirks that stick around that make me smile. Like Anderson city water that shouldn't be consumed. Or the wider driving lanes and parking spots, AND the potholes.

The high-energy of the Global Gathering hadn't given me much time to think about re-entry. All I knew was, I was visiting Anderson to hang out with old friends, connect with churches and folks that have been supporting my ministry in New Zealand, and clearing out the rest of my stuff that had lived here the last two years. Two weeks wasn't going to be enough, but I was determined to make the most of it.

Kristin once said to me a few years ago as I was processing your passing that I shouldn't try to over-rationalize everything and give myself permission to feel as well. Jen told me it was ok to give myself permission to grieve having left Anderson. I thought I had been doing that in small doses enough to give myself space to breathe.

But it isn't until all the dear friends leave after the annual Mecca pilgrimage and you're driving around town back to the old haunts that it hits you. The ability to navigate around town makes it feel like it's still home, but it really isn't anymore--at least, not by real world definitions. I don't have a house, car or job here, and I really am only a visitor. I may still have a few boxes of very nerdy books and some momentos, but otherwise, I live out of a suitcase.

So today I made myself stop. In the breaks between the storms today, I took the few minutes to hang out at your tree. Not because I still live in the time of your passing six years ago, or because it's any special occasion. No, it's simply learning to visit with old friends while realising that things change over time.

I found myself telling Mike the other day, that as much as I tell people I was born in Singapore, it really is Anderson that I find myself most comfortable and at home in--at least at this point in my life. In the last few years, going back to Singapore hasn't felt like a home-going anymore. Sure, I go back to visit family and friends, but there are now too many new shopping malls I don't recognise, and lifestyle patterns that I'm finding harder and harder to follow.

And maybe someday Anderson will feel like that. Even this time, things have changed. The weather remains predictably unpredictable, but parts of the city look different, just as friendships have also changed. For some, distance has brought about a stronger bond; others have been hurt by the proximity. All the same, when we find ourselves in the same room, it's like no time had passed in between.

Today I went out and got boxes to start packing up the rest of my material life in Anderson. It's time to let go a little bit more and move on a little bit more. All the same, we hold on to people, and we carry their hearts, and hope that they would do the same.

Arthur says your tree grows; that it's a tree of remembrance.
As Chuck from Elizabethtown says, "Life and death right next door to each other."

A part of me died with you nearly six years ago, but it made room for and gave life to a sense of adventure.
A part of me died with my existential crisis some four years ago, but it made room for and gave life to a sense of awe for the God of grace.
A part of me died with the things that got ugly two years ago, but it made room for and gave life to a desperate desire for reconciliation and Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.

All the same, we sift through the ashes of the hurt and the broken, and find the beauty to pack away in the boxes. And we carry those pieces with us--the friendships, the pieces of home, the love and grace of Creator God that shone through the ashes--and we pack those away in the boxes we carry with us to new places and new adventures.

Dear Keren, I wish we could have another one of those semi-serious conversations about living in so many parts of the world--finding home in each of these places and learning not just how to go but how to leave behind.

Dear Keren, hey, I know it'll be a while before we get to talk again. But someday we'll pick up right where we left off hey?

Love,
Me.

Where We Come From: Holiness and Unity Part #3

One of the first things I had the privilege of being a part of when I arrived in Anderson last week was the unveiling and dedication of the Church of God Interpretive Center. The Interpretive Center has been the dream of outgoing (and now former) General Director of Church of God Ministries, Dr Ron Duncan for as long as he has been in the office. To see it completed and unveiled just before his retirement is, as Ms Martha, his wife, says, "a dream come true".

Dr Merle Strege, the historian of our movement and one of the brains behind the Interpretive Center, said at the unveiling that, "We, as the Church, are a story-telling people. To know where we are going as a movement, we have to tell the stories of where we came from."

And so we continue to tell our stories. Not because we should live as if D.S. Warner were still alive, or in fear that he would flip in his grave. But because we are a reformation movement, and the spirit of reformation should continue to move us forward.

So we fill the pages not simply with words that help us remember the historical events, but with acts that remind us to live out the spirit of reformation. We continue to tell stories about holiness and unity, not just as narratives to pass on to our children, but as intentional decisions to keep moving forward.

Because that's where we come from. We are people of a reformation movement, and we are people who continue living out our theology of holiness and unity.

On Depression

After my last post where I talked very briefly about my depressive tendencies, I had a few concerned friends ask me about it, so I thought I'd share a bit about that here.

Jenny and I used to talk about how her treatments for Crohn's sound frightening and terrible to others but they hardly faze her anymore. Not because they aren't frightening and terrible, but because this is a new normal she lives in, even if it's not the most desirable normal. My depressive tendencies are kind of like that.

Since high school days in TKGS, I've always known I had a melancholic temperament. I don't know if there was ever a specific incident that triggered my depressive tendencies, but events like the grief of moving halfway across the world, or a break-up that shook the lenses through which I saw the world made me realise that as a melancholic, I wallowed really well. I've never actually been officially diagnosed with depression, but having worked through pastoral care and counselling classes in seminary, I knew enough about depression symptoms to know I needed to be careful.

At my best, I cry, write, and then feel better. At my worst, I don't manage to get out of bed till about 10 or 11 (for a while after Keren died, it wasn't till midday), and eat half a meal a day. On one occasion, the thought crossed my mind that it wouldn't be such a terrible thing if I got in the car and crashed it on the drive home. Eventually after Keren's death, I began to realise that if grief was to become a normal part of my life, I needed to start finding healthy ways to deal with it.

So I began to make rules for emotional health. And seminary taught me to lean into community. So every time I moved into a new environment, whether it was starting a new job, starting seminary, or moving across the world, I made sure there was at least one person I told about my rules.

When I moved to Anderson, I told Melissa that when I get stressed, homesick or upset, I don't eat. In the weeks I was most homesick, she checked in to make sure I was still eating.
When Jenny started seminary, I told her that if she and I were to be friends, she needed to know that I go through these cycles and to make sure that I talk to her.
When I moved to New Zealand, Kathrin found out about my rules.

I have a list of people I text or email when things happen that could potentially lead to a spiralling down.
I force myself to make meals I enjoy.
I avoid alcohol unless I'm in a responsible environment with family or friends.
I schedule things early enough in the morning that I have time to wallow in bed for a while, but still eventually have to get up and get going with life.
I write and share my stories because whenever I write, I always hear Mum saying my stories have to end with the hope that I believe in and hold on to.

And I cry.
And listen to my collection of Selah's hymns and Rich Mullins' music on loop.
And pray and yell at God a lot.

Depressive tendencies probably shouldn't be normal, but they've been my normal for quite a long time now. I don't live in that state as a constant on most days because I believe in the Creator of Hope and Light. But it doesn't mean I can pretend darkness is non-existent in my life or in the world. And it isn't something that I would want to pray away because
1) it isn't something that can be simply prayed away (trust me, I tried it my first week in Anderson when my pillow got so wet from crying myself to sleep every night).
2) it keeps me in touch with what is real.

Shobek asked the other day what good does it do anyone to only have sad stories to tell the world. As I tried to answer his question, I realised then that because of my own journey, I've gained an appreciation for sadness and brokenness. Because I believe eventually there is beauty from ashes simply because of the fingerprints of the Creator all over the imperfection--even if beauty doesn't rise from ashes until we arrive at eternity.

And for that reason, even when everything is simply not ok, I eventually find my way out of the darkness.

"For darkness will not overcome the light..."

Christmas Eve 2011

I know it's seven months too early to use the "C" word in titling a post, but bear with me.

I'm aware I've ranted several times in the last few months about being emotionally exhausted, but this week I hit an all-time low. Close friends know that I have depression tendencies, and in the more recent years, I've learnt to catch the symptoms early enough to talk myself through them and call a friend.

Well, I started spiralling down this week. So I called a friend. Two friends, actually. Janice and Kathrin basically ordered me to check in with them at certain points during the day to make sure I was still dealing healthily with things, and we made plans for me to crash at their place this week.

Sometimes, when you've hit that low-point, all you can say through the tears and wanting to hole up away and disappear is "ok" to friends who order you around to take care of you because you don't have the resolve to fight for independence anymore.

Yesterday morning, as I woke up on Janice's couch, I thought of the last time I crashed on her couch. It was the Christmas season of 2011. I was living with Kathrin and Stefan at the time, but with their family in town and Janice being back in Australia for the holidays, we decided it was easiest if I stayed at Janice's for the ten-or-so days.

In the last few years as I was finishing up seminary, I began to dream of a time when I would get to start my own Christmas traditions. Knowing that working in a church usually meant I won't get to be back with family in Singapore, I dreamt of Christmas Eve, and welcoming friends to Christmas dinner in my own place. I dreamt of Christmas morning done at my own pace, with my own tree (my last two years in Anderson, I stopped fussing over a tree because I would be spending most of Christmas season in Singapore anyway), and coffee and Christmas brunch...

And as I woke up on Janice's couch on Christmas morning back in 2011, it occurred to me my first Christmas by myself wasn't quite what I imagined it to be. I only just found out a few days prior that my visa had been approved to stay in New Zealand, so I was barely getting settled in. I didn't have my own place, much less my own tree.

Sometimes, life just doesn't go the way we think it would.

In the last month or so, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on all that has been and all that is to come. My visa expires at the end of the year, and I'd like to already have plans for what is to come after this year.

But life doesn't always work like that.

Instead, we're thrown curve-balls, and walk down paths we never quite expected.
We learn that just because we have the ability to do things doesn't always make us the right people for the job.
We go through doors and jump through hoops, wanting to run away yet willing ourselves to keep walking because of this thing called Faith.
We are challenged to speak, yet we doubt our own voice.
We discover the things that get us going, the things that make us get up every morning and decide we can do our small part to change the world.
And we find joy and sorrow, laughter and tears through the process of approaching this God that loves beyond human comprehension, and we plead for Kingdom come.

One of my favourite things about the rainy seasons in New Zealand is that we often end up experiencing all four-seasons in a day. And the beauty of the rainbows that show up between the rain and the sun. And I'm reminded of a God that is faithful through the seasons; a God that will bring beauty out of the discomfort of the in-between times.

This morning, I caught a recording of Carissa's AhMa (grandma) singing, "主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我" (Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so). And I can only say in the words of Rich Mullins, "Ok, alright, uh-huh, amen" because I no longer have the resolve to fight.

主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我
Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so

What If... ("But we have this treasure in clay jars...")

"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."

What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?

What if we strip away the smiles we hide behind
The pretence of laughter
The outer layers of a rose-coloured, picture-perfect world...

What if after all the tears have been shed
After all the nights of crying out, "God, deliver us"
After all the questioning and doubt
After all the words have been said

What if all that's left is a very raw sense of pain?


"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."

What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?

What if we all just got along
What if we never had to say goodbye
What if innocent children didn't have to suffer

What if...
What if we simply stopped pretending

No more "she'll be right"
No more "it's all good"
No more "I'm fine"

Will we get through it?
Or will we run away from that very raw sense of pain?


"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."

What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?

What if love isn't the answer
Or what if love has run out of strength to hold on
What if love no longer has patience to wait for healing
Or what if love means letting go

Will the very raw sense of pain be too much?


"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."

What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?

What if all we have left to live on is simply the prayers of a scattered community
What if we find ourselves on our knees, face to the ground
What if morning and evening, we can only cry, "Lord, have mercy"

Will we make it?

But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.
- 2 Corinthians 4:7-12

What if we simply lived on the prayers of the scattered community
What if we simply get on our knees with our face to the ground
What if we simply cried out morning and evening, "Lord, have mercy"

What if that's enough?
"For we have this treasure in clay jars..."

Mothers' Day

Yellow and orange carnations.

That's what I think of every Mothers' Day. Because that's what I remember about every Mothers' Day growing up. Dad would wake my brother and I up early, and we'll go to the market to pick out flowers for Mum. We would try to hurry home so we'd be back in time to make breakfast for Mum.

Except for the two times that we were in the same part of the world because the family had come to Anderson for graduation, the last nine Mothers' Days have been celebrated by a text or phone-call. Anderson, Auckland and Singapore were just a little too far away to make the trip.

Maybe because I've never been too eager to be a parent myself, Mothers' Day has always been about Mum, Grandmas, and all the mums I've adopted in various parts of the world. Over the years, I've read posts about being inclusive (especially in church) when celebrating mums, and I've always nodded and agreed. But it had never been personal, maybe because I still saw myself as a little kid pretending to be a grown-up.

Until this year.

We usually do a themed family style pitch-in dinner after service each Sunday, and this week's theme was Mothers' Day. Men and kids were encouraged to be the ones to be responsible for bringing the food (we were willing to accept take-aways too) this week instead so that the lady of the house didn't have to cook.

My gut reaction, as usual, was to think about the people in our church who might have been excluded because of that demographic--those who either didn't have a husband or kids... And realised, I was the only one in our tiny community church that fit into that demographic.

Then I remembered the words a dear friend once jokingly said, "Pastors don't count, remember?" So I sucked it up and didn't feel the need to speak up for myself.

I went ahead and made my share of the pitch-in anyway (because that's what good clergywomen do). When I took it into the kitchenette at church, one of the kids came up to me and said, "Why did you make food? I thought only the men and the kids were supposed to do it?"

Usually when folks try to convince me to either find a guy or think about having kids, my usual comeback is, "I simply don't have the time, energy, or really care enough to do that." But that few seconds in the kitchenette with Hannah's innocent question, I felt like I was less than human because I didn't have a man or kids, so I had to spend the morning in the kitchen.

Before this turns into a "woe is Jael" story (because that's not the point), let's just end here with this gentle reminder to consider a bit more inclusivity, especially in our church language. I know the intention wasn't to make anyone feel left out, and we may never fully include everyone, but let's remind ourselves again each day to at least try.

Big love to you all. Oh, and if you're a mum or grandma by birth or adoption, or a spiritual or foster mum and grandma, I celebrate you. Thank you for your love.

The Lion

She took another bite of the apple as the rain drops continued to tap against the windscreen. She had been watching the clouds all day, debating whether there would be enough of a gap between each spurt of shower for her to make it out to the water.

The drive out had provided enough of the quiet she had been thirsting for, and she was ready to simply turn back and head home since she really wasn't wanting to talk. "You're already here. Just get out of the car and go."

Sighing, she grabbed her bag of sour patch kids, got out of the car and headed for the water. She got to her usual spot and plopped everything down in the sand. Her mind drifted back to the conversation she had with her BFF a while ago, where she was trying to explain that rather odd relationship she had.

"Maybe you should talk to him about it..."
"Well, he and I aren't really talking at the moment. I mean, it's kinda like, I text him to report about the job since he's the CEO, but he's also wanting to be BFF. I just don't really have time for the BFF thing at the moment."
"How can he be your CEO AND BFF at the same time? That just complicates too many things."
"Well, I don't really get it either. But I guess if I did, I would have humanized him too much."

Lion Rock, Piha

Shaking her head as if it would help clear the clouds, she reached for another handful of sour patch kids. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the bright shades of yellow and orange.

She smiled to herself. She was used to being surprised by him now, but she wondered how she hadn't figured out the form he was going to take on today. His steps were graceful as always, and he made his way over to where she was and sat down beside her. His mane shone in the evening sun and they both sat in silence for a while--her in awe, him watching the water and waiting for her to speak.

She reached for another handful of sour patch kids as they sat watching the waves crash for a while. Finally, she tilted her chin slightly toward the water and asked, "That big?"

He gave her a sideway glance and raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right? I MADE those, obviously I'm bigger than that."

"I know, show-off," she muttered quietly. "I was just trying to make conversation."

Deep inside, she knew they both knew she wasn't there to talk. They continued sitting in silence for a while, and she absent-mindedly began scooping up handfuls of sand and covering her feet with the fine grains. She wondered if he was going to speak.

"You've changed, you know..." he finally said.

Keeping her focus on the sand, she took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Look at you. Of all places you chose to meet me here where we can be close to the ground, to the water, to the dirt."

She sighed. "If you're insinuating that I'm no longer the prissy city girl that can't get her feet dirty, yes. I've changed. Don't make a big deal of it. A little bit of dirt doesn't hurt anyone. Besides I can always take a shower later."

He was right. She had changed. Life was no longer about the pretty faces, the bright lights and keeping the distance from strangers. There was work to do to get things growing where the mud and dirt was, and she had found life to be more abundant in those places. Oh, there was plenty of work where the bright lights and the pretty faces were too, but she could no longer shrug away the realisation that when the shiny and pretty were completely stripped away, all that was left was dirt--the same dirt she had gotten used to digging her hands into, the same dirt that she had found beauty and life in.

She leaned over and rested her head on his back. That was when she noticed the coffee cup in his paws that was obviously too small for him to drink out of. He simply had it perfectly balanced on his paw.

As if reading her thoughts, he stated very matter-of-factly, "I don't drink coffee. I only have that cup because you asked if we could have coffee. I had to pretend so you didn't feel awkward."

She smiled to herself, grateful for the friend that was also father, mother, boss and protector of her life.

They sat in silence for another few minutes; silence that she found to be so comforting.

"Where to from here, Raiona**?" she finally asked. When she finally realised he wasn't going to answer, she smiled, packing up her things and walking back to the car. She already had her answer.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

** Maori for lion