I’m paraphrasing what Andy Stanley said to a room full of church leaders at a conference recently.
Sure, it’s a bit dramatic. And perhaps overly generalizing.
But there is truth in that sentence.
Churches spend a great deal of time and effort in creating a meaningful worship experience. Pastors spend countless hours crafting and preparing a sermon. The choir director spends hours preparing what songs would fit into the worship service. The organist spends hours of practicing. The choir members give their time to make sure practice can get as close to perfect as possible.
And the youth are sitting in the church sitting through all this bored out of their minds, thinking they can’t wait until they can get out of here and/or can’t wait until they get to college so that they’re not dragged along on Sunday mornings.
That was something else Andy Stanley said in the same session. But, I also lived it. I was part of a church where the youth group absolutely hated to go into worship because they didn’t want to sit through “funeral music.”
I was part of a church where youth ministry wasn’t as important in practice as it was spoken. They just wanted to keep the kids out of the adults way. The adults would barge in the middle of youth worship, just so that they can set up for lunch. And they would view our worship as an inconvenience to their setting up for lunch. Feeding the adults were more important than the feeding of the souls of youth through Word and Worship. Yea, the youth ministry was really important to them…
There are countless of places this conversation can go. Worship style. Preference vs. Purpose. What is being relevant?
But, what I want to ask today is have we tried all that we can; exhausted all the possible options we can come up with to make worship relevant to this generation, all the while maintaining our identity in Christ? Or, do we dig our heels into the ground and say, “This is what we’ve done for years, and what we prefer” and threaten to leave the church if it’s no longer the church that we have become accustomed to?
Summarizing his final point, when young people decide to leave the church, it should be because of a personal choice they made through experiences and personal revelation.
They shouldn’t leave their because the local church chose to invest all their resources in keeping yesterday’s generation of Christians happy and pleased.
Some time in 2012, I knew that my time at my former church was coming to a close. I was sure of it, because my DS (District Superintendent) had told me so. I wasn’t in any trouble (that I know of) but, outside of what she had informed me, I also knew in my heart that a time of transition was coming. To where? I had no idea. The DS told me that she couldn’t say anything but to be in prayer and know that there is a plan.
So, I remained in prayer and tried to form my own plan, naturally.
I had it in me that I wanted to return to the Korean church. I had been (am still) so critical of the Korean church. It was time to shut up and put my money where my mouth is. I couldn’t help but think of the parable of the Prodigal Son, where I was playing the part of the son returning home — the Korean church. But instead of the father running towards with open arms ready to embrace and kiss me, I envisioned running towards, as Jesus put it, weeping and gnashing of teeth. I kid. Well, sort of. And yes, I realize how egotistical it was of me to think that way.
And then — a position at a Korean church opened. I thought that this was more than a coincidence. Intern Dae once asked, “Do you think you could ever go back to a Korean church?” At that time, I answered, “If I ever were to go back to the Korean church, I’d like it to be at [the Korean church mentioned at the beginning of this paragraph]. It’s never going to happen, though. I don’t think that pastor’s leaving any time soon.”
So, I figured this was God’s way of telling me that I may have to, for lack of a better
cliche´, put my money where my mouth is.
So I contacted the pastor. He wanted to meet. I drove out to meet him. We talked. I got excited. He got excited — except that the position I wanted was being filled, but they were looking for a college pastor and would I be interested. I always wanted to try college ministry, so I said yes. Then he told me to come to the church and meet with the SPRC.
So my wife and I drove to the church to see what the church was like. Secretly, I went there ready to say ‘yes.’ I figured, this was what God wanted me to do. All the door seemingly just opened.
Only, after the meeting and the tour of the church, something in my heart nagged at me saying, “What are you doing?”
That inner dialogue was echoed by my wife, “I don’t think this would be a good place for us.”
But something within me really wanted this to happen. I really thought this place would be the next chapter in my life. However, there was enough hesitation and resistance (something I didn’t expect) within me to realize that I needed to figure out what was going on and pray on it.
After much prayer, and many conversations with trusted friends and family, it was what my wife said. She wondered if I was trying to force my way into this church, for whatever reasons because it was me that initiated everything from day 1. I was letting the DS know what was going on, instead of waiting for the Cabinet. And I realized, perhaps, this was a good time to not be so proactive, but a good time to wait. To pray. And to trust.
So, I told the pastor of the Korean church that I couldn’t go.
I told the DS that I would pray for the Cabinet and be patient as I possibly could, sort of apologizing for hijacking the whole process.
After what felt like years, I was told that an introductory meeting was set up for me in Santa Barbara.
My initial reaction?
“Oh. Santa Barbara? Okay… Well. Yea. Thanks.”
I wasn’t too thrilled. I was paying attention to the possible appointments, and I secretly hoped that Santa Barbara wasn’t one of the places. Why? Because we lived there when I was in jr. high to early high school. I just wasn’t excited.
But, I wasn’t going to refuse this introduction meeting.
So my wife and I drove north to Santa Barbara. I was a bit apprehensive and went to the meeting expecting the worst. I just didn’t think I’d be a good fit for the church and for Santa Barbara.
But. As soon as I sat down. There was a strange warming in my heart. I wish I was making that up. I’m not saying that to be a good Methodist. There really was a strange warming within my heart. And everything felt …. right.
After the meeting, the wife and I drove to State street to have dinner. We talked about the meeting and she asked, “What did you think?”
I told her that I think that this was it.
I also shared with her, had I felt any inkling of what I feel now for the Korean church, I would’ve jumped at the chance. But, I knew that I had dodged a bullet going to that Korean church. I’m not saying that the Korean church was a bad church or whatever. But, I knew that I would’ve made a huge mistake if I had gone to that church. Consider that my Tarsus, if you will.
I honestly think, the outcome would have been that both the church and I go our separate ways, both damaged, hurt and scarred.
Of course, that Korean church brought in great people for their ministry, which I think is a great fit for them.
And God brought me to Santa Barbara.
I am 100% certain of that. And, honestly, I’m glad that I’m 100% certain of that, because it’s that knowledge and faith that will pull me through when we encounter uncertainty in the process of ministry. And, I know that this is a great fit for both church and myself.
I have no idea what God intends to do with me and St. Mark UMC. But, I know that it’s going to be something great and amazing. And, there’s no other option, because God is involved — especially if we continue to have God lead us, instead of us dictating God.
There are so many times in my life where I just want things to happen on my time, in my way. More often than not, I want to say, “God, this is what I’m going to do. Please bless it.” And move on forward.
But I need to continually remind myself that God knows what he’s doing.
And, more importantly, that I’m not God.
While there are times where I need to be active in my faith and not just sit around and wait for things to happen, there are times where I need to be patient, wait, discern and pray that God’s will be mine, not the other way around.
I think it’s more than fair to say, life is a bit more manageable and makes a little bit more sense when we live out God’s will for us.
We recently started volunteering at a local rescue mission here in town.
On the 2nd Tuesdays of the month, we lead the chapel service at the rescue mission, where my wife shares the Gospel.
We've been there, now, 3-4 times and are slowly starting to get to know the people there — their names, their stories, etc.
The first time we volunteered, we got placed in the dinner line to serve food.
It was (and is) quite a sight seeing all the people getting food and eating in the cafeteria and then seeing them hanging out in the courtyard waiting for their turn to shower.
You see all sorts of people going through the food line. Some who were well dressed, some who looked like they were on the streets longer, some who were sharp as people come, some who look really broken, some who look like the toll of being on the street has become too much — a variety of folks.
As I was serving people food, exchanging small talks, and just observing and watching them pass by me, there was a feeling that was sinking deeper and deeper into my heart.
Yes, my heart was breaking for them, but I couldn't quite put a finger on what exactly I was feeling.
It wasn't until a few days ago where I was finally able to put an English word behind what I was feeling as I was hanging out with the folks, doing whatever I was told to do by the person in charge: “Pity.”
And I hated the fact that was what I was feeling; that I felt pity for them.
I know there are many ways to describe the word and emotion of “pity.” But the first thought comes to my mind when I think of “pity” is feeling sorry for someone else.
And there's truth in that. I felt a bit sorry for the folks there at the rescue mission.
But the reason why I hate that feeling is because, for me, if I feel pity for a person, if I feel sorry for that person, it is coming from a place where I am, for a lack of a better word, “better” than that person. I know more. I am at a different level– a higher level of life, education, career, etc.
For me to feel sorry for someone, it means that I am at a better point in life than they are.
Maybe that's a bit extreme. And perhaps you'd take a completely different approach to the word “pity.”
But, that's how I feel. And if that's how I feel, my actions and interactions with folks may come from the source of feeling pitiful for them. Which is not what I want. At all.
Besides, those men and women? They don't need my pity. Not at all.
I want to come from a place of compassion; a place of grace and love; a place of support.
I want to truly be their friend, as much as I possibly can. But, I don't think I can do that with the wall of pity shielding me from them. And there really shouldn't be a “me” and “them.” But an “us.”
I am their brother in Christ. And they are my brothers and sisters. And friends.
I am not loved any more by God than they are loved.
As someone once said or wrote, “the ground is level at the foot of the cross.”
I think a problem that some Christians and churches run into is that they are doing homeless folks and organizations a “favor” by “serving” (volunteering?) them. Maybe that comes from a feeling obligation or, perhaps, pity. Maybe that's why some folks will donate what they were originally going to throw away to the homeless, because they might need it. It being trash.
They are not an obligation. They do not need a favor from any of us. Nor do they need our pity.
But they are our friends. They are our brothers and sisters in Christ. They are the very ones Christ would be “caught” hanging out with. He'd hang out with them more than you or me, I presume. They are the ones who Christ said, Happy are they… for the Kingdom of God is theirs.
I should not volunteer because I feel obligated to, or feel like I'm doing someone a favor, or to check off a item on my “doing good” list and certainly not just out of pity but I (should) serve because I feel compelled by God's love to share the very grace and love God has graciously shown me; because I am called to serve the people God loves, not just those I love; because Christ modeled a servant leadership.
Mainly, people are more vocal (or open) about their political affiliation, especially on Social Media.
And then Christians get involved, and the worst offenders are the ones who think you're a Christian only if you vote a certain (read: their) way.
I'm also in the line of belief that one can't be black and white, completely. You can't be Republican on ALL issues and neither can you be Democratic on ALL issues. Or maybe you can. But life is too complex to be black and white.
Besides, politicians (generally) are trying to win votes and follow-through on requests made by their backers. And, as it has been clearly displayed, politicians are willing to lie (or not let fact-checkers get in the way of their campaigns) to get people's votes.
You can't aim to win people's approval AND serve God. A lot of times, those will be the opposites of one another.
This is going to be another busy season of how God is supporting one candidate and not so much the other.
But, the key question should be, “Whose side are we on?” I mean, are we really living to serve God as a Republican, a Democrat, a Libertarian, a non-affiliated citizen? Or are we trying to bend God and scripture to fit our agenda and purpose?
For those candidates who are quick to invoke God and Christ in their campaign (and for everyone else who are Christians), Jesus' mission statement, or “campaign” if you will, went like this:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.
If that was Jesus' mission statement, as followers of Christ, shouldn't it be ours, too?
God loves the people on the other side of the debate just as much as God loves you. Even if you are “right.”
The video is from a TED talk entitled “Embrace the Remix.” It’s about 10 minutes long, so check it out if you have time. And want to.
Kirby’s main argument is that everything is, basically, a remix. Creativity comes from without more than within. We’re influenced by the things out there. Henry Ford invented the automobile building upon the work of others before him. Kirby quotes Steve Job quoting Picaso saying that “good artists copy, great artists steal.” Unless, someone steals from you. Kirby then has a quote from Jobs vowing to destroy Android for stealing from Jobs.
Years ago, I decided that I needed to take preaching a bit more serious. In seminary, I was a notorious procrastinator. I still am, but not as bad nor notorious. On top of the school work, I had to preach weekly, too. I used to wait until Saturday evening to start my sermon prep. Praying for the Spirit to inspire me and take over so that the words would just flow. I lied by telling myself that I work best under pressure. I mean, there’s some truth to that. But more often than not, the outcome of the pressurized work wasn’t the greatest.
Still years ago, my computer crashed before I backed any of it up (including some valuable/memorable/important pictures. Oops). But one thing I don’t miss is the sermons from that period of my life. I cringe thinking about what kind of sermons they were (I can’t really remember, except for a few), and can’t imagine my response from actually reading those sermons.
I begin to realize that I was doing God and the people listening to me a huge disservice by procrastinating on my sermon, thereby making it an afterthought in my life. So I decided that I really needed to work on this craft.
I so desperately wanted to be original and creative in my preaching.
You want to frustrate yourself endlessly? Try forcing and stressing yourself to be something you are not.
I’m not that creative. I’m not that original. I’m not that much of a scholar. I’m not that innovative.
But here I am, stressing myself out completely by trying to figure out how to present something in a fresh and new and unique and memorable way to the people.
I have a few sermons from that chapter of my life, but I dare not to read it, either. The cringe-worthy level is probably a 9 (out of 10).
My sanity would betray me if I kept forcing myself to be something I am inherently not. By then though, I discovered something. Though I may not be that creative, original, innovative, yada yada, I did know (and do know) that I’m a decent story teller. (One of my favorite stories to tell is Johnny and his 2 pink ping pong balls. Consequently, it’s my wife’s least favorite. And that’s putting it mildly. She leaves the room when I start telling this story. So remind me to tell you, one day.)
And here’s something else I discovered: Not everyone’s a church nerd like me. At least within the congregation. These kids and people didn’t spend their work and free time perusing the Bible and other resources for sermon ideas. The stories I’ve heard 100 of times through other preachers, books and classes – the people I was preaching to would’ve heard them for the first time.
It was also during this time, I started discovering great pastors and speakers around the country.
I realized that I could (re)tell their sermons very well. So started a point in my life where I would shamelessly (and I mean shamelessly) use other preacher’s sermons (like Adam Hamilton’s). Word for word. And my delivery would be different, based on who I was stealing from. If it was Adam Hamilton, there was an Adam-ness to my preaching. If it was Francis Chan, my voice inflections would mimic his. If it was Rob Bell’s, my pauses would be more exaggerated. Although, to this day, my pauses are still long and exaggerated, much like his. Actually, there’s a lot of my delivery that has been influenced by Bell. I used to be annoyed that I couldn’t stop doing it, because it was so engrained in me. It felt like organic, like it was me. So, I embraced it. Who knows, maybe I would still do those certain things, even if I have never watched him.
The sermons were pretty good, of course. But after a while, something inside me started gnawing at me. Call it the Spirit or a bad burrito, but I couldn’t ignore it. Not only was I being a fraud, but I was blatantly stealing. It would be one thing to give those preachers I shamelessly stole from credit. But I didn’t. I passed it as my own. I knew that I couldn’t live with myself if I kept desecrating the integrity of speaking, and particularly the mind-daunting task of preaching God’s words, by relentlessly stealing and pretending these words were from me, inspired by God when it was Adam’s (or Francis’ or Rob’s or Erwin’s) God-inspired words.
These days, I feel like there’s a good blend of ideas from within and without. But, even those ideas from within me, I know they came from somewhere else. Reading. Listening to other people of faith. Blogs. My wife. My parents.
And, now, when we do borrow sermon series from other pastors, I don’t use their sermon word for word, but use their sermons as a spring board for my own line of thinking.
I’m okay with thinking that all of my great ideas aren’t 100% my ideas (that is, when I feel like I have some what of a great original idea), but have been influenced by others who have gone before me or my contemporaries.
Recently, our ex-intern called me and asked what I was preaching on. I think it might’ve been my last sermon at my former church. And after I told him what the sermon was about, he said, “Dude. Cool. I’m going to steal it.” And I replied, “Go ahead. I’m pretty sure I stole a lot of it, too. But I’m still going to charge you.” (I don’t know if he ever used it, but since I never got paid, I assume he didn’t. )
While this can raise a lot of ethical questions, for sanity’s sake, let’s not go there, please. At least not now. Feel free to start your own blog post on the ethics of using other people’s sermon, though. I’ll read it.
I am still learning about my voice and who I am as a preacher. I am still trying to, if you will, “master” this craft of preaching and story-telling. I’m very much a student, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the master. And I’m totally okay with that.
I’m also totally okay with the notion “there’s nothing new under the sun.” But we can take things that we already know and remix it, adding our own flavor and personality into it– and maybe try to present an old idea in new or modern or your ways, which is what many of the Christian authors and preachers do, anyhow.
The greatest story ever told has… already been told… so embrace the remix.
“Proud to be an American” is a sentiment I never really felt nor really uttered.
“Grateful to live in America?” Yes. “Thankful to be a citizen?” Most def. But proud? I don’t know.
I mean, during world events, like the World Cup, I’m heavily invested in how the South Korean team does more than what Team USA does.
I think part of it may have to do with the fact that I was never led to feel I was “American.” Growing up, I was led to believe that Americans were ‘white’ and since I wasn’t white, which people went out of their way to point out (I mean, dude, I don’t need you to remind me that I’m not white…), I was not American.
When someone asks me “Where are you from?” They’re not really satisfied with my answer.
“I’m from Hawaii.”
“Oh. Did you live anywhere before that?”
“Yea. I used to live in California before Hawaii.”
“Oh. So… were you born in California, or did you move to California?”
“Oh, we moved to California when I was like in 6th grade.”
“I see. Where did you move from?”
“South Carolina.”
And it becomes a fun game for me, because I know they want to know where my motherland is.
If I were viewed as “American,” I feel that the answer of Hawaii or California should suffice. But, it was very evident, throughout my life at least, that I was something dash American. Korean-American. Asian-American. Never just American.
But I think I can say that I am proud of my heritage. So much so, I worry how un-Korean my children will be because I am so Americanized. I want to keep our heritage (and language) alive through generations to come.
Oh, and I own a Korean flag somewhere in my home, but I have never owned an American flag.
This is where some people will start shouting, “Well, go back to your country then!” Right.
So, I think, more than not, this plays in to what bothers me when Americans try to claim God as their own. I think one of the more offensive images I’ve seen of Jesus was Jesus ascending (descending?) to (from) heaven with an American flag draped around him (not the image shown above). I don’t know who the artist loved more: Christ or ‘Merica. And also, why I get really annoyed when Jesus becomes about “truth, justice and the American way.” Which, by the way, is a motto attributed to Superman, not Jesus.
I don’t know how else to say this, but Jesus is not American. And God does not belong to America. I hate to break it to you, Americans aren’t God’s ‘chosen’ people. And to further upset a few: to some Americans, Jesus’ real skin tone was probably a lot darker than they wished it were, because Jesus ain’t white.
Therefore, I always wondered why the American flag had to be present in our sanctuaries throughout our country. And always wondered if other countries have their flags in their sanctuaries.
I mean, we live in a smaller world, meaning that, we have more cultures and countries represented in our pews today than ever before. With technology and the Internet, we are more connected than ever before. And with the melting pot that America is becoming, there are more than just “Americans” present in worship. I’ve always felt that we either have all flags of the world or no flags displayed in our sanctuaries across America.
God is bigger than America. We are doing a sinful thing if we try to contain God within our borders and make him American. We, then, are no longer the created, but become the creator, as we have re-created God’s image after our own.
God’s blessings goes further than America. Yes, God bless America. But, man, America’s been blessed. That’s why regardless of what you may have gathered, I am grateful and thankful that I live in the US of A.
But, when do we start asking, How can America bless God?
Remember, Abraham was blessed to be a blessing to others.
I believe that we are blessed to be a blessing to others and God as well, both individually and collectively, as a nation.
God’s love and grace has no boundaries or borders. It is not limited to one group of people or one country. Christ died for all and loves all. And all means all.
If that makes me unpatriotic and un-American, I can live with that. I’ve been called far worse.
Sorry for the misleading title, but this post is not going to be about Katniss or Gale or Peeta or the love triangle of Galniss vs. Keeta (the other possible combination of names never mind).
The picture you see is of my dad, 6 days in to his fast.
Every time he fasts for a lengthy period, he wants to take frequent visits to grocery stores (particularly Asian ones, because they have live fish/seafood) to stroll through the aisles and take in all the sights and sounds. He lost his ability to smell when he was a child, so he doesn’t have to worry about being overwhelmed by smells.
We went to see him and also to celebrate Mother’s Day a day earlier, which my dad insisted that he’ll come to dinner with us to converse with us and watch us eat (which is another one of his favorite things to do while fasting).
He wanted to go to the stores to see if they carry a certain “product” that he can cook and eat when he is able (I don’t want to let you know what it was because even I was a bit grossed out. I guess that’s why we went to Asian grocery stores. And no, it’s not dog).
My mom usually go on these outings to entertain him. She said after all these years of fasting, he never once cooked or prepared the things he was craving when he was done with the fast.
When I fasted here and there, the Food Network would consistently fascinate me. I’d just sit and watch the likes of Bobby Flay or Guy Fieri do their thing. I’d think, “Man, I should learn to cook like that.” And, “Man, I don’t even like fish, but dang that salmon looks good.”
And much like my father, after the fast, I never followed through, either.
When you’re hungry, everything changes. The food looks better than ever. You sit there and watch the cooking shows, and you swear that aroma of what the chef is preparing is coming through the TV screen.
I started making plans – a food schedule, if you will – of what food to consume and in what order, when I am able. Burgers, fries, pizza and Mexican food usually tops the list. Oh. Ice cream. Pie.Cereal. Oatmeal. Cake. And the weird thing is, outside of ice cream, I don’t even like the stuff on the second list. But, during the fast, I would crave them.
But once I was able to eat, those pangs would fade away rather quickly. Time spent watching the Food Network would decrease dramatically.
It’s a different story, now that my hunger has been satisfied.
While watching my dad make plans of cooking that he’d never follow through on, I started to wondering if this generation (mine included) could be one of the most idolatrous generations to date.
Because, we Christians may hunger for God, but we end up filling up on something else completely. It’s like you’re at a great steak restaurant, but you ate so much of their complimentary bread, by the time the steak comes out, you’re too full to enjoy that great piece of meat (vegetarians can substitute steak and bread for what y’all consider as great and yummy as steak).
Some of us may just be too blessed to realize that all blessings come from God and slowly start replacing God with ourselves; that my security and success came from my hard work and my talents. And we look ourselves in the mirror, and give ourselves the credit for looking so darn good.
Others of us may go to church to worship God, but the god that our hearts chase after is altogether something else like fame, fortune, love, acceptance…
So, we go day to day to day replacing God with human created things (sometimes purposefully, sometimes unintentionally) and we start rationalizing and justifying for the things that are slowly replacing God.
I don’t want to make light of the deep problem of addiction, but the root of the problem with addiction, I heard a pastor say, is that we are trying to replace what only God can provide with something else.
I’ve been mentally taking notes (and also writing things down here and there) of how I spend my day – what I do, for how long, etc. And it was a sad (and shocking) realization of how much time and energy is invested in things that are not going to bear any fruit. I spend a heckuva lot more time in doing mindless screen watching of various forms, than spend time in prayer.
We’re all hungry for something deeper, but we all make the mistake of searching for satisfaction elsewhere. Instead of turning to God, we turn to something created by human hands. And we think we find comfort. We think we find satisfaction. Yet after a while, our hearts are restless again.
Our new house isn’t big enough.
Our new car isn’t fast enough.
Our new job isn’t paying enough.
This new relationship isn’t fulfilling enough.
A drink is no longer enough.
And the Truth is, God is the only source that can satisfy the this hunger.
As St. Augustine once wrote, Our hearts are restless until they find rest in God.
So what may be some things you have tried to unintentionally (or intentionally) replace God with?
How have you been trying to satisfy your hunger for something deeper?
There’s a lot of pruning that I need to start doing in my life…
If there’s one lesson that I learn from my dad is: Take everything to prayer.
For me, the picture next to Prayer Warrior would be of my father. The man is a man of prayer. And God has blessed him through his prayers.
One of the earliest memories I have of living in America is having a family communion after my dad finished his first ever 40 day fast. We had just moved to the States from Korea. I was only 6, so I didn’t really comprehend what was going on with my dad. But my dad didn’t have a church to serve. He was a pastor without a church. He shared with me that he was so desperate that he thought of going to work at a dry cleaners to support his family.
He was compelled by the Spirit to go on a 40 day fast. And he did. I don’t really remember any of the fast of itself. But I do remember that day he broke the fast. Because it was the first time I saw my dad cry. I don’t know if it was candlelit or the lighting of our apartment, but my dad led us in a family worship in, what I recall, a very dimly lit room. He handed my mom piece of bread and then juice. Then he turned to me, with tears in his eyes, offering bread and juice. And of course, seeing my dad cry at the age of 6, I was automatically going to cry too.
Then after our family worship, he broke his fast (well, I guess he technically broke it with the minuscule piece of bread he took). He had plain porridge, the official meal after a fast (at least in my family). And I remember him eating it ever so slowly, ever so gently, not in a manner of savoring the food, but more because it seemed like it hurt to eat.
3-5 months after he ended the fast, we got a call to move to Columbia, South Carolina because there was a church for my dad. So we moved to Columbia in 87 and then later, my little brother would be born. The first American citizen of our entire ancestory.
My dad went on another 40 day fast when I was a freshman or sophomore in high school. This time, I was more aware of what was going on. The Gido Won (literally, a prayer house) that he did his fast was about two hours away from our home and up in the mountains (where gido wons traditionally are). We would frequently visit my dad, Mom more often. Sometimes, she’d drive up in the middle of the night to help him out, be his moral support, then be home early enough to take us to school.
On our visits, Dad was nothing but smiles. I think he was genuinely happy to see us, as if we were some moral boost or something. The further he got into the fast, the skinnier he would be and the more his face would be drawn. I remember near the end, his calf would be as thick as my forearm. He had found a huge stick during one of his walks around the forest that he used as a staff. And when it was time for us to leave, he would walk us out and lean on that staff as we drove away. I would watch from the sideview mirror, my dad getting smaller and smaller, but his smile brighter than ever. I would always be wearing my sunglasses when we parted because I didn’t want anyone to see me cry as the image of my dad faded away from the side mirror. Though, I’m sure my mom noticed. For her credit, she wouldn’t start a conversation with me until we were well on the freeway.
My dad would go on two more 40 day fasts. Once when I was in college in Hawaii. Then once more when I was in seminary, also in Hawaii.
He always said that he wanted to do one more 40 day fast before he physically couldn’t do one.
Well, last year, my dad was appointed to a (notorious) Korean church as the interim pastor. This year, he will be reappointed to that church, but no longer as an interim. A part of me worries about the effect that this church will have on my parents’ health, because it’s not the healthiest of churches. Since he will no longer be the interim pastor, my dad is viewing this as God’s way of saying that this is the church that God has given him, that he is to be their leader and shepherd led by God’s grace.
So, he said that he needed to pray and fast for the ministry God has gifted him with and for the church.
Starting yesterday, my dad embarked on a 20-day fast. I knew that his intentions were 40 days, so I asked him why 20 instead of 40. He responded that this is one of the bigger and busier churches that he’s ever ministered at. 40 day fast will take him out of commission for far too long. While it’s important to fast, he felt that it wouldn’t be wise to not be at 100% for more than 6 months. It takes a long time to recuperate from these fasts. You can’t just jump into the food. You have to work your body into it. So, for about 20-40 days after the forty day fast is over is when you start introducing fish into the diet. (Someone once told me that you should eat porridge for the length you fasted for.) And you ever so slowly start introducing more and more into your diet. I think it’s about after 6 months (maybe longer) when you can start eating fairly normal. At least, this is my experience from watching my dad. He felt that he would do the church more harm than help if he were out of commission for more than half a year.
Growing up with a dad like that, I have no excuse to be as lazy as I am in my prayer life. I know, understand and have witnessed the power of prayer. Yet, it’s a discipline that I take for granted. Or just am inexcusably lazy at. A part of it could be because I know I have people like my parents and my parents in-law praying over us. But that’s simply an awful, awful, awful excuse to not pray.
I’ve been thinking nonstop about my dad since yesterday. While I have a deep concern for his health and well-being, my dad has gotten me to have a deeper concern for my personal prayer life. I simply don’t pray enough. And, admitting, I have heard, is the first step towards change.
If you can, please keep my dad in your prayers. And my mom. Fasting can put enormous amount of burden on the spouse as well. The GidoWon that my dad is staying at is about an hour away from my parents’ residence. I’m pretty sure that my mom is going to make daily trips to be there for my dad. So please, if you can, keep my parents in your prayers.
I hope that God will strengthen my parents in these 20 days and beyond as my dad is probably in his last appointment before he retires from being a professional clergy. And I pray that his church will join him in this journey of prayer and that God will bless the church as they live out God’s vision for them, all the while striving for unity, grace and love that will overflow from the walls of the church and into the community.
And I hope that I wake my ass up and start following the example my dad has set in front of me.
I don’t remember being as nervous as I was this past Sunday over a sermon.
I tossed and turned the night before, not being able to sleep. I kept going through the words, wondering if I’ll be able to do this.
It’s not that I was going to say something damning or going to preach some sort of brimstone and fire type of sermon. It’s the way the sermon was prepared and the way it was going to be delivered that made me (quite literally) sick to my stomach. I didn’t think I was going to be able to pull it off, and it was far too late to change my mind. Or change anything, for that matter.
I had a lot of time in airports to prepare for the sermon. We’re currently on a sermon series called “No Worries” and the sermon was to be about how we can live a life of “no worries” in the midst of all the things going on in the world. And how we can bring hope to others so that they can live a life of “no worries” as well, going along with the last passage of Isaiah 40.
I coudn’t get any thoughts down. And I was getting nervous because it was Thursday. Usually by Thursday, the sermon is pretty much done. But, I was just starting. All that kept repeating in my head was the beginning of the chapter, “Comfort, comfort my people” and the repetitive “Do you not know? Have you not heard?”
I kept hearing a song. I kept hearing a poem. And a crazy thought occured to me. (100% positive that it was the prompting of the Spirit). I started youtubing all sorts of spoken poetry. My brother, years back, told me about Def Jam poetry and I started search on youtube for Def Jam poetry readings.
I started thinking, “What if I delivered my sermon in spoken word poetry style?” followed, immediately, by, “Ain’t no way I can pull this off.” But I couldn’t get away from it.
So I went along with the gut prompting within me. I was very surprised how fast the sermon was written, which made me even more worried. How can this be any good if it came to me so fast? How am I going to actually do this? And no, it wasn’t lost on me that I was preparing to preach about not having worries.
On Friday evening, I went to see how the sermon felt out loud and not just on paper. After the first run through, I had no idea what to think of it. And I felt a panic rise from deep within, because I knew that it just may be too late to change my mind.
On Saturday, for the first time ever, I asked my wife to come and preview the sermon. I also had lost all confidence in that I could memorize the whole thing. So I put the sermon on power point and had it projected on the rear projector alone, so that on Sunday morning, I’d be the only one (well along with the choir and praise band) able to see the words.
My wife gave me affirmation and encouragement, but more importantly critical suggestions. “Don’t sneak looks at the projector. Either look at it fully or memorize it.” “Smile with your eyes. It’s a thin line between being intense and coming off angry. You don’t want to come off angry. At least not this time.”
I still had worries that this was not going to end well. Earlier in our marriage, I must’ve gave some awful sermon, because my wife said to me (before we even got into the car), “Today, not only did you waste my time, but you wasted God’s time.” I was absolutely terrified that this would be one of those days where I would waste not just church’s time, but God’s time.
All throughout Saturday, I was saying little prayers here and there. Saturday evening, I came to church to do one more run through, but more to just sit in the sanctuary and be in God’s presence, and trying my best not to worry.
I woke up early on Sunday morning with butterflies I’ve never felt before. And I was still in bed and just wanted to stay there. But I got up and mustered a prayer saying, “It’s not about me. May you be glorified today” and went to church.
I think things went well. It wasn’t disasterous as I thought it would be. My only regret was that I didn’t have it memorized.
But I knew that the Spirit was moving in me and that God was speaking through me. And I knew that this was all God’s doing. I would’ve never thought of preaching in a spoken word poetry manner. And I don’t really see myself doing it again any time soon. But it’s amazing to see how the Spirit moves you into directions that you never thought of.
After it was all said and done, I was exhausted. And relieved. There wasn’t a sense of, “Man I did a good job” but more of a “Man, I’m just glad I didn’t get in the way.” Because, at the end of the day, I fully am aware that, again, this was all God’s doing.
I do have a new semi-obsession now: spoken word poetry. One of these days, I want to perform a stand-up comedy routine and now, a spoken word performance. But I don’t think I’m gifted in that manner. But on the bucket list they go.
(note: this was written for the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference’s young adult resource magazine Shift)
So there I was, hanging out at the gift shop of Homegirl Cafe, when a heavily inked man, twice my size comes up to me with the warmest smile, holding a copy of Tattoos on the Heart.
“Bro, you should buy this,” he says through an infectious smile.
“I already have a copy.” I replied, sheepishly.
“You read it, yet?”
“Not yet. But it’s sitting on my stack of books to read.”
“You gotta read this. Now.”
“No, yea. I’ll read it real soon.”
“You should. It’s real good. Promise.”
If it was not for his gentle nudging and the urging of my wife (who works with the California prisons through her non-profit organization, The Center for Restorative Justice Works), the book would probably still be somewhere in the tower of books to read.
Gregory Boyle, or “G” as the homies call him, shares stories of the people in his life about their struggles, failures, triumphs, and redemption. He tells his stories straight forward with language that may be NSFC-E (never safe for church–ever)
In one story, G shares about La Shady, a female gang member. Her man and baby’s father was killed in a fight with a rival gang. G was on his way to set up a peace treaty between female members of her gang and the gang that killed her man when she comes up to his car, holding her baby daughter in her arms and telling him about a dream she had. In her dream, she is in G’s church and sees him standing next to a tiny baby’s coffin. G is beckoning her to come closer so she wearily approaches the coffin. She finally reaches the casket and before she can get a full view of the casket, a dove flies out of the casket, circles the insides of the church and finally finds its resting spot on Shady’s shoulder. Then she wakes up.
“What’s it mean, G?” She asks.
“Well, everyone knows that the white dove stands for peace. And so God is asking you to move toward forgiveness and healing and peace. And everything’s going to be fine,” G explained, taking advantage of this moment. “But here’s the only thing that matters, kiddo. How did the dream make you feel?”
She began to cry and explained that at first, she was scared because she thought the casket might be her daughter’s. But once she saw the dove, “I only felt peace and love in my heart.”
“God only wants you to feel those things, mijita– love in your heart… peace. You’re okay.”
Perhaps this conversation would be a turning point for Shady where she realizes a real possibility of forgiveness within her, a possibility of peace and grace, and more importantly a possibility of a real future for her and her daughter. We never know because the midnight following that conversation:
Shady is crammed into the middle seat in the back of a car filled with gang members. They’ve driven well out of her barrio, and the guys in the car are from a neighborhood not her own. They drive, and hand signs get thrown out the window at rivals standing on some street corner. The corner guys yell and scream all manner of foulness at the car, and Shady and the gang squealrubber out of there, laughing. Not a block away, a corner vato finds his gun. Shady slumps in the backseat. Only one bullet entered the car that night, and it happened to find the back of Shady’shead.
This story stuck out for me. Perhaps because the reader will never know how Shady’s journey would have played out. Or perhaps because Jennifer, Shady’s daughter, is now without her mom and dad. The story is evidence of how dangerous and short the gangster life can be. It is possible Jennifer may end up being a gang member like her parents. No one may be around to show her a different way of living; no one may be around to invest in her, to show her the image of God that she was created in, because there are more people who are afraid and prefer to keep a good distance from everyone involved in this lifestyle than there are people like G, who lives in the very community he wants to transform with the message of the Gospel.
The book is filled with compelling stories that draw out various emotions. G’s experiences show that these people are just that, people; people who have emotions, hopes, and dreams. He illuminates the humanity of people many may have discarded as “animals.”
There is a story about Chico and how the emotions of burying Chico, G’s eighth person in three weeks, was finally getting to him. He is crying underneath a tree near the burial site when the mortician unknowingly intrudes on his sacred moment. To break the silence, G whispers to his intruder, “Now that was a terrific kid.”
And, “In a voice so loud and obnoxious that it turns the heads of all the gathered mourners, [the mortician] says, ‘HE WAS?’”
Many of us may find ourselves in the shoes of the mortician. How can someone “good” live a gang banging life? But Christ did. He sees the heart of the people. He did not see prostitutes, degenerates, tax collectors, sinners, lepers– no, he saw children of God and had compassion on the people he was walking with, even those who would later crucify him.
As Christ followers, we are called to show the kind of boundless compassion G describes as, “A compassion that can stand in awe at what the poor have to carry rather than stand in judgment at how they carry it.”
Discussion Questions:
How do you define/view “compassion?” How does your definition of “compassion” compare to the compassion that Jesus embodied?
The Dolores Mission Church, the parish that G serves, is a part of the community. The neighborhood knows that G is the priest. G, his parish and Homeboy Industries are working hard to transform their neighborhood and the lives that live within it. The people of that community know who G is and know where they can run to in time of need. What is the relationship between your neighborhood and your church? What are the ways that your church is engaged in transforming the community with the irresistible and powerful message of God’s love? If your church were to close its doors, what affect, if any, would it have in your community?
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