There are many things about my personality and who I am that I need to work on and change for the sake of ministry (and to be a better person). One of the more pressing one is that I need to start liking people. Er, talking to people. Or to be more specific, talking to church people outside of church.

It’s weird. I have no qualms of running into people (both strangers and people I know) at coffee shops, like a Starbucks. Maybe it’s because I think of Starbucks as an extension of my office. So I’m still technically “working.” And I don’t ever recall, since college, where I went to Starbucks to not “work.”

So the other day, I was walking to get some lunch by myself when from a distance I saw a parishioner. What did I do? Turned around and went the complete opposite way. Why? I have no idea. I mean, it’s not like they were going to ask me to join them for lunch. It would’ve just been a “hey, how’s it going” and “have a great lunch” and maybe even “what are you eating/going to get?” type of short exchange. But I completely avoided them.

But I do that. All. The. Time.

And, I never get caught. Why? Because I’m Asian. And much like how all of us have taken some form of martial arts at some point of our lives, we are also born with some innate ninja skills. Some more than others. Like myself.

I’m a master of hiding behind aisles and displays at a grocery store. I have mastered (from an early age) of hiding behind people and things like trees, cars, shopping carts, and any other inanimate object. (I have to admit, as I got taller, I had to get more creative. Or get a lot lower…)

I may have perfected these innate skills growing up, as I spent a lot of my teenage years avoiding my dad’s church members everywhere I went. I mean everywhere. I would always keep a peripheral view of my surroundings to make sure there was no church member. Why? Because they were always so nosy. And annoying. If I were with a girl, they’d call my mom and who that girl hanging out with me was. Sometimes, I would “forget” to tell my mom who I was hanging out with. So naturally, she’d be really curious who that girl was. And the conversation would always end with, “Is she your girlfriend? You can’t have girlfriend right now. You have school. Is she Korean? You marry only Korean girl.”

If I were wearing some ragged clothes or what not, they’d somehow think that they’re my mother and start criticizing what I wear. And then, of course, they would tell my mom what horrible outfit that they saw me in. Not only would they tell my mom, they’d start telling everyone about my shennigans and what not. And for those who didn’t like my dad, I would serve as their ammo to go on a tirade about how out of control the pastor’s family is and if he can’t control his family, how could he run the church, yada, yada, yada. (Do any other ethnic PKs [pastor's kids] have to deal with things like this?)

So running into church people would always be so annoying and taxing.

Unless we were eating. Because church members would often pick up the pastor’s tab. Which made my dad not want to go out and eat at places that were popular amongst the church people. Actually. You know, my dad doesn’t like running into church people outside of church, too. Although, it may not be as extreme as me.

It’s just painfully humorous the lengths I’ll go to hide from church folks in the middle of a Wal-Mart. And, sadly, I’m equally proud of myself when I am successful. (And I’m always successful. I never get “caught.” I just sometimes decide that I should man up and go say “hi.”)

While I know that I can’t be the only clergy who feels like this, I know that I may be one of the few who actually goes out of his/her way to hide. And I need to start really working on that.

Maybe a part of it is because I don’t want to always be in “pastor mode.” Maybe I just want to be goofy and inappropriate and laugh at tasteless jokes and watch questional movies that I know will have me laughing, but might not be appropriate for a “pastor.” And, when I see someone who knows me as a pastor, there’s an invisible switch that needs to be flipped on. Or maybe, I’m just lazy (a known and proven problem).

Whatever the reason, I need to put my ninja skills to a different use instead of hiding from parishioners. There’s no harm in talking to parishioners outside of the church.

Heck, it’s possible that they’re avoiding me as much as I’m avoiding them. But each moment can be a holy and God moment. And I shouldn’t go out of my way to avoid such moments.

As I’m writing this, outside of my favorite Starbucks, I just made eye contact with a church member who was at the store next door. Whoop. And now they’re walking over.

God, you’re real funny sometimes.

In case you’re wondering, this has nothing to do with any outcome of the General Conference 2012. I tried to get excited for it, but I couldn’t. I even tried following along with the live feeds. But when people were presenting amendments to the amendments, I couldn’t endure it. I’m waiting for someone to post cliff notes of all things General Conference 2012 soon.

But from local churches to the General Conference, I feel like many of us are sitting around and talking until we see eye to eye on everything before we do anything (from John Perkins). That’s never going to result to anything. There’s not a single community (secular or religious) that exists where everyone sees eye to eye on everything 

I think what bothers me the most, from my limited view and experience, is that many of our struggling local churches make the mistake of trying to be without doing (also from John Perkins). We put all the energy and breath into what we think we should be. But when it comes to doing something about it, well, it never happens. A lot of times, a subcommittee is created to do more talking about the ideal being. Then disagreements happen. Someone hijacks the committee’s vision and brings his or her own agenda. Sometimes another task force needs be created to deal with the disagreements. We have amendments to the amendments and a task force or a sub committee for every new amendment and eventually, everyone’s confused and/or there’s too much to clarify and organize. Either way, the end result is that nothing really happens.

And because of all this talking about how we should be, we’ve slowly lost track of what year it really is and the reality of the culture and community we are surrounded by. The culture is decades ahead of our church, so much so, that walking into some of our local churches is like experiencing time traveling. And it frustrates me to no end that churches do not use media technology, especially in SoCal, arguably the mecca of media technology. I mean, Hollywood is our backyard. (A quick side note, projecting the lyrics to the hymn on a screen helps everyone. First, people look up and can see everyone else’s face. Second, it’s easier for many to read (the bigger) words projected on the screen than strain to look at the small type in the hymnal. Third, it never hurts to incorporate media like pictures, video clips to enhance your sermon, once in a while.)

Every year in our ordination exams in the Cal-Pac Annual Conference, this question is asked:
You are seeking to join an annual conference that has experienced more than three decades of decline and has scores of struggling churches? How will you address this reality in your ministry as a Deacon or Elder?

I answered that I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to change anything within the Annual Conference. Simply, it’s big and vast and too much to think about bringing any chance to the Annual Conference. I told them that my goal is to do the best that I can by and through God’s grace for the local church and the community that I am appointed to.
They pushed back asking about our connectionalism and that we’re called to serve the Annual Conference and not just our local church.
I responded with, How’s that working out for us? We’re still declining. How long are we going to wait for change to come from the top down? There are too many differing opinions and thoughts within our Annual Conference. While the diversity is beautiful and necessary, we’re going to spend so much energy and time arguing about how things should be that change doesn’t really happen. In the history of the church, it’s always been a small group of people that made drastic changes for the entire body of Christ. The 12 Disciples. The Apostles. The Desert Fathers. Martin Luther. I strongly believe that some of our local churches will start hitting a grace-filled stride that results in effectiveness, healthiness and growth and other local churches will notice. And because we tend to be a copycat church, when one UMC does something that is effective, other churches will start trying to translate the methods of the effective church into their own setting. And maybe they’ll be enough of a ripple effect that makes the entire conference notice.

I didn’t pass that year my ordination exams that year. I could tell from their response that many of them didn’t like my answer. And I’m not saying that it was a good answer or that I was right. I mean, still today, I don’t even know if I answered the question correctly.

But I still believe in what I said though, that effective change always seem to have come from the down up. To wait for the General Conference and the Annual Conference to make the necessary changes is not productive use of time, gifts and energy. By the time we get this massive ship that we call UMC to make important shifts and changes in direction, we’ll already be years too late.

I believe that our local churches have no excuse to be dying. Check that. I believe that we have no excuses of dying without putting up a fight. I say, if we’re expecting to close our doors in the next two years, let’s go out with a bang. Let’s throw a banquet and invite the poor and the sick and the migrant workers and have a taste of what heaven would be like. Let’s make our presence felt and known in our community. Let’s be like Jonathan and his young armor bearer in 1 Samuel 14 and, well, “just do it.”

Perhaps I am still too young and naive to understand how everything works. A clergy at a district gathering once said to me, “Just wait until you get to my age, and you’ll see.” What I’ll see, I have no idea. But I’m sure he was talking about how young and naive I appeared to be and how out of touch with “reality” I was. I don’t know.

But what I do know is that we can’t afford to spend too much more energy and breath talking about how we should be and how things should be. As John Perkins writes, “Being is not complete until doing.”

We need to start putting our faith into work.
All of our local churches has the potential to bear fruit.
All of God’s churches has potential to make some sort of difference in our community.

We just need to stop talking about it and start putting our money where our mouth is.

Related articles

• Fruitless Living: How to Bear Fruit! (yhhs.wordpress.com)
• Raising up Methodist preachers (johnmeunier.wordpress.com)

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…

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 dread the time of my life when I have to start burying my friends. Don’t even get me started about the inevitable day where I have to face my life without my parents being physically around. But, I am not looking forward to the day where it’s a who’s still living “contest” amongst my friends.

And I know it’s a bit silly to worry about those things now. But, what can I say? I’m a worrier. I try not to be. I’m trying to take heed our sermon series that we just wrapped up called, “No Worries.” I get anxious a lot too. Over things worth getting anxious for and over more trivial things. Like, the days ahead where I’ll be looking at my kids growing up or hitting another milestone in my life and just wishing my parents were alive to see it. I know it’s not trivial. However, it’s not worth thinking about it now. Especially not worth getting worked up about it. But that’s just me. I don’t want it to be. But I’m a bit neurotic. I easily get nervous and anxious. Maybe that’s why I can relate to Woody Allen’s earlier movies, like Annie Hall.

Last night, I was watching the Clippers-Grizzlies game when I was scrolling through my Facebook feed when I saw that Adam Keefer, a friend from seminary, had suddenly passed away. At the age of 31. We were fairly close in seminary. We took a lot of classes together, particularly youth ministry classes. I would frequently swing by his dorm room and hang out with him and his roommate, Andrew. He was a great guy and fun to be around. His hair color would constantly change. We’d sit in class and he’d just say, “I’m done with green. I think I’m gonna color my hair blue when class is done.”

We once had a sub for Church History. And, my oh my, the professor had a hard time keeping our attention. Well, at least mine and Adam’s, who was sitting next to me. I gave me him a gasp of dread and desperation combined with an exaggerated eye roll. And we were only 10 minutes into, what I recall, a 3 hour class. What the heck were we gonna do for the next 2 hours and 50 minutes? I knew that we wouldn’t be able to endure the entire class. So he whispers, “I have Pirates of the Caribbean with me.”

He didn’t need to repeat himself. I immediately gestured for him to hand it over. Why it was in his bag, I didn’t need to ask. Nor did I care. Johnny Depp was going to serve as some sort of savior for the next 2 hours. So we spent the first half of class watching Pirates of the Caribbean (volume off, and subtitles on, of course) on my laptop and the rest of the class scrolling through stupid Internet stuff. Later in the semester, I’d be stuck in another boring class (Western Sacred Music) and decided to pop in Spider-Man 2 in my laptop. After the class, I got an email from the professor asking, “If you can explain what Spider-Man 2 has to do with Sacred Music, you won’t get into that much trouble.” I’m pretty sure it was the professor’s daughter who ratted me out. It was “take your child to work day” for her kid and the daughter went around where I was sitting to get outside the room to use the restroom or something. Either way, I know it was the daughter that snitched on me. My fault for not being more careful. Anyway, next semester in all the syllabi for our courses, there was a new rule to be found. “Computers are to be used only for note taking. Surfing the web, watching movies, or any other activities not related to the course is prohibited.” Or something like that. Adam dubbed it as the “Joseph Yoo” rule.

I talked to him once or twice after we graduated from Wesley. I heard that his brother had a pretty bad accident. And I heard that his family was on an episode of a TV show that helps with home renovations.

If I can just remain a bit self-centered a little bit longer… It’s an odd, odd feeling knowing that Adam is gone. I don’t think it hasn’t quite set in. And, I know it’s weird that I just said “odd” and not “sad” but sadness and grief over Adam’s passing is a given. I just can’t believe it. I mean, I always figured that down the road, I’d meet up with my seminary colleagues here and there, after all, we Methodists are connectional. At least theoretically. I got to hang out with Adam’s roommate at Kansas this past October. Got to see another colleague in Dallas before he moved out to Seattle. I got to see some more colleagues through the Lewis Fellows program. I’d figure, one day, I’ll have a reason to be in Pennsylvania and could call up Adam to hang out for a cup of coffee. But, that’ll just have to wait until I get to see if I make it into Heaven. (Not a given, for me…)

I… I just don’t know what to say.

Life is far too short. And life is too far precious. But life is far too damn easy to take for granted.

My heart and prayers go out to the Keefers.

Adam was a great guy. Passionate for life, Christ and youth ministry. Hilariously hilarious and, don’t be fooled, he was just as much of a troublemaker as I was in seminary, except he was smarter and less obvious. His smile was always bright as his hair color of the week.

The world lost a great guy.

Rest in peace, friend.

I used to wear hats all the time in high school and college. I had a vast pool of hats that I could choose from, usually of the sports teams that I supported.

My collection of hats now have dwindled to one. Most of the hats got lost in various places- movie theaters, planes, subway, beach. The last hat that I held onto for years was a Superman hat that is in the twilight of its life. It’s more than falling apart. It looks dirty and just raunchy, but I refuse to wash it. (It would wash away all the character the hat accrued during our tenure together). But I couldn’t ignore the fact that this hat needed to be retired and that I needed to go hunt for a new hat.

I haven’t had to buy a new hat since, I don’t know, 5 years? So I went hat shopping, only to find that I couldn’t find any hat that spoke to me. And, when did hats become so expensive? Were they always that expensive and that I didn’t care when I was younger? And I’m very peculiar with my hats. One, I don’t like the adjustable hats, I need to get fitted or the flex fitted, one size fits all, type of hats. Second, the thing that really put a wrench in this hat search was the bill of the hat.

When I was in school, the first thing we did when we bought baseball caps was to roll the hell out of the bill so that it’ll curve. And I mean roll the hell out of it. Some of my friends would roll it up, and put a rubberband around the rolled up bill and leave it over night. I remember constantly having to adjust the bill so that it’ll remain curvey.

But today’s hats? The style is to wear it with a straight bill. And bill of the hats are flimsy and couldn’t handle the abuse that we would give it as teenagers. And frankly, I think I’d look ridiculous trying to rock a hat with straight bills with the label still on them.

I knew I hit a new stage in my life when I was standing in Lids (a hat store) and held a New Era hat in my hand and said to my wife, “Back in my days, the hats were much better and had more character.”

After months (and I mean months) of searching, I finally settled on a hat with a thick bill that I could curve. Some of you may ask, “Why not just stop wearing baseball caps anymore, now that you’re over 30?” Well, to you I say, “Go away, you’re not my mom.”

That was a very long and unnecessary intro to what I really wanted to write about: change. We pastors and leaders seem to love change. That may be due to the fact that part of our job description is to vision for the future. And we see this plan that God has for the church and we’re excited and we know that this is where God is leading us. But we’re met with resistence from our church members, and a lot of times, we get frustrated and think that these stiff-necked people hate change and would rather “die.”

But here’s the thing. When I said that we pastors love change, that’s half true. We love implementing change. We’re not immune to hating change. We’re just as resistant to change. It’s human nature. We just don’t realize it, because we spend most of our time fighting to implement and bring change.

I mean, for me the style of hats changed. I don’t like it.

For many, we hate the changes that Facebook makes. We cry bloody murder when Facebook changes its layout. I still hear people griping about timeline. “Why change something that was working?” “Facebook changed again? Argh! Why? I hate the new format!” “I never said I wanted timeline!”

Sure, there are some that adapt easier to change, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they like change.

My point is, when we try to “change” the culture of our local church, it takes time, prayer and grace. In change, everyone loses something and they need time to mourn that change. Change is a form of loss. Even if change is necessary and required, nevertheless, it’s a form a change.

We can’t just come into a church as its newest family member and say, “This is changing now!” and get rid of a sacred cow that, in the big picture, has no right or purpose of being there. Then be shocked and angry that so many people are resisting this absolutely necessary change.

We need to bring people on this journey of change from the beginning. Yes, I know that God has placed in our hearts a vision for this ministry. But we have to remember that this vision is for the entire church, and not just us leaders.

Maybe we don’t really take into account the fear that comes with change. Uncertainty, fear, and anxiety are Change’s best of friends. Like many of you, I felt that anxiety and uncertainty when I graduated from high school. I couldn’t really mess around no more. I was legally an adult. I felt anxious and uncertain when I graduated from college, because now I had to grow up. I felt even more anxiety, worry and uncertainty when I graduated from gradute school, because now I really had to grow up. I’ve felt all sorts of anxiety when I was getting married, because you know, now I really, really, really had to grow up. I’ve felt uncertainty when I had to move churches. I’ve felt anxious when I turned 30, because, now I had to be grown up. I’m in my 30′s for Pete’s sake. No more excuses. No more laughing a pre-pubescent jokes. I’m mean, I’m no longer in my 20′s. And I’m sure the anxiety and uncertainty will hit me again when God blesses us with a baby. (I mean, that’s it, right? I have to really, really grow up when that happens…)

Fear comes with change. We can’t ignore that. The best of leaders aren’t the ones that forcefully drags people to the place where the leader already is standing. No, I think, the best of leaders start on that journey together with the people, from the beginning, standing in the front serving as a visionary and guide when she needs to be. Or standing in the back of the pack and being the encourager and giving them a graceful push when he needs to. Or walking side-by-side with the people. The leader doesn’t always have to stand in the front of the pack.

We need to soothe the fears that come with change. Let them know what is changing, what isn’t changing, why it’s changing. And we owe them that because the vision that God has is for the entire congregation, and not just for the implementer. We also need to give them space to let the change sink in, to mourn the loss if you will.

I can’t speak from personal experience. But this is what I’ve gathered from listening to stories of those who’ve gone before me, from books about vision and leadership, and from my time as a Lewis Fellows.

I don’t know much, but what I do know is that change is difficult for everyone. And I hope that knowledge will help me be more empathetic when the time calls for me to be the implementer of change.

In the mean time, I’ll always prefer my hats fitted and with a curved bill. And, I’m less ashamed to rock my Redskins hat today, because we have a new hope in the form Robert Griffin the Third.

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.

I don’t think the regular lay member or people outside of ministry understand just how lonely ministry can be. I don’t think some people realize how hard ministry is, either and how much a pastor has to endure. Every time a youth has come up to me inquiring about going into ministry, my initial response is to try to talk him or her out of it. Ministry isn’t a job. It’s a calling. And if you’re not called into ministry, when crap hits the fan you have nothing to ground you. When you’re called, there’s a deep sense of knowing that, despite all that stuff, God has called you.

I’m currently sitting at an empty gate in the Atlanta airport, waiting for my flight to Los Angeles, which won’t board for another hour or so. I just wrapped up my year as a Lewis Fellows. There are countless things I’ve learned through this program and am looking forward to the day when I can really start applying things I’ve learned here. But more than the workshops, what I truly value is the friendships that were formed throughout the year.

It’s nice and reassuring to know that there are other people crazy like me, serving in ministry, and more importantly, people who are my age. It’s not a secret that a lot of times, in UMC clergy gatherings, people have decades and decades on me (us).

Our last gathering in DC, we visited a baptist whose lead pastor is a female (and so is their associate). I know, right!? It was really cool to hear the journey that this church has been under her leadership. But things weren’t so easy. A huge conflict within her church ultimately put too much strain on her marriage. She endured through the conflict within the church, and she endured through her personal life’s situation. I can’t (and don’t really want to) imagine how painful and lonely ministry could’ve been for her.

And no one tells you that. Okay, no… people do tell you that ministry’s going to be hard. But you don’t quite understand how hard and how difficult it is until you go through it and experience firsthand how much joy and life ministry and Christ’s body can suck out of you.

That’s why it’s always important to remember that you’re never alone, and you shouldn’t be. The pastor of the Baptist church was a Lewis Fellow, and she said that the program saved her life. It’s good and important to have a group of friends who are not part of your local church. It’s important to have people in your life who you can just unload on, vent, and rant without the fear of somehow, someway this rant ends up in the ears of the people of your church.

I know that when things get rough, I’ll have people who I can call upon.

I think many clergy are eager and willing to drop everything to help someone in their congregation (or people in general) who is in need… but for some reason, we’re a bit more hesitant to ask for help, even when we know that we need help. We should give ourselves space to allow ourselves to receive the love and grace that we show others.

It’s thoroughly important to remember that God has called us into ministry, because that calling and God’s grace is the foundation of who we are as pastors and as persons. But, we’re created to be in relationships; to be in communion with other Images of God. We’re not meant to live alone and isolated. Therefore, we’re definitely not meant to live in ministry alone and isolated.

(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?

I just also want to say that my dad is perfectly fine and is healthy and strong. I didn’t want people to start thinking something happened to my dad or anything like that, as I reminisce on the affects he had/has on me. Like I said, I wanted to test out blogging purely from the iPad yesterday and that frog story jumped out in my head. Same reason today.

I also want to remind you that we’re from a different culture–a culture where disciplining your children was expected and a sign of good parenting. There was a Korean saying that stated “Give the kids you hate candy and the kids you love the rod.” I’m always hesitant sharing stories about the ways (often creative ways) my dad disciplined me to my white friends, because more often than not, the stories are met with awkward laughter. I think they feel obligated to laugh because I’m telling it in a humorous way. But often they’ll respond with, “Your dad really did that to you?” And instantly, I regret telling them the story, because that was NOT the reaction I was looking for.

But amongst my Korean friends, we exchange stories of our being disciplined. “Your dad did that? That ain’t nothing! Let me tell you what my dad did” and back and forth we go, laughing to hide our deep pain. I’m totally kidding about the last part.

Anyway, I once got into real big trouble. I can’t remember how old I was, but I was fairly young. I had done something bad and gotten into trouble for it, but not big enough trouble to get a spanking. As my parents were using their stern voice on me, it started to rain. And my dad says, “See? You made God cry. So don’t do that again.”

I can’t tell you how I reacted to that piece of information. But I’m pretty sure, whatever it is I did, I never did it again. At least, not where my parents could find out…

I also remember when I was young, we were at the beach listening to the waves and my dad turns to me and says, “That’s the sound of God breathing…”

Looking back on my childhood, I really had no chance to escape from ministry…