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Faith & Entertainment Series | It’s Okay Not to be Okay

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By Serena Lee

I swore to myself 10 years ago I would never watch Korean dramas because I thought they were ridiculously melodramatic. But, given the current global pandemic, the presidency of a imbecile, social unrest and injustice, various natural disasters, wars, famines, corruption…and an unforeseeable end to “social distancing” in America…what we would have generally regarded as melodramatic in the past is now just our reality. Basically, I started watching Korean dramas during the quarantine and now that’s all I watch… quarantine changes people, okay? In all seriousness, I am excited to share with you what I’ve been learning about God having watched the new Korean drama called “It’s Okay Not to Be Okay”!

Short Synopsis: The story surrounds three main characters who have faced vastly different traumas and experiences in their childhoods. The protagonist Moon Gang Tae works as a mental health care worker in a psychiatric hospital. Gang Tae centers his life around his autistic older brother, Moon Sang Tae, whom he has been the only caretaker for more than half his life. The Moon brothers grow an unlikely relationship with the famous children’s author Ko Mun Yeong, who has often found that her antisocial personality traits isolate her from intimacy with others. In their growing friendships, the three of them inevitably push each other to accept the pain of their pasts, discover healing for their inner wounds, and seek connection and meaning in their lives.

The Zombie Kid: Without spoiling too much, I will share with you a snippet of what I believe to be one of the most powerful and pivotal moments of the whole show. Mun Yeong had just released a new children’s book, which was heavily criticized for its grotesque illustrations and cynical writing. Gang Tae still cannot understand why his innocent, child-like brother Sang Tae could love Mun Yeong’s every book, though everything she writes is dark and depressing. It is not until Episode 4 that Gang Tae finally reads her book, “The Zombie Kid” and realizes that her books tell her story, as if they were her secret attempt to find connection with others. The story goes something like this…

“Once upon a time, a baby boy was born in a small village. He had pale skin and large eyes. As the child grew, his mother eventually realized that the child had no emotions whatsoever. All he had was a desire to eat, like a zombie. So his mother locked the child in the basement so that the villagers would not see or pry about him. Every night, she stole livestock from her neighbors to feed him. That’s how she raised him in secret. One night, she would steal a chicken. The next day, she would steal a pig. After many years living like that, a plague broke out in the village. It left all remaining livestock dead, and many people in the village died. Those who managed to survive all left the village. But the mother could not leave her son all alone. And to appease her son crying of hunger, she cut off one of her legs and gave it to him. After that, she gave him her arm. In fact, she gave all her limbs. When she was left with nothing but her torso, she embraced her son for the last time to let him devour what was left of her. With both his arms, the boy tightly held his mother’s torso and spoke for the first time in his life. ‘Mom…you’re so warm.’ So what did the boy really want? To satiate his hunger? Or to feel his mother’s warmth?”

It's Okay to Not Be Okay | Episode 4 Epilogue | Netflix [ENG SUB] - YouTube

The Zombie Kid

This troubling ending ushers Gang Tae into a state of grief. As he cries, Gang Tae’s feelings of jealousy, rejection, and sadness resurface as he recalls memories of his mother’s affectionate embrace towards Sang Tae, a reality he never experienced. Gang Tae can only recall his mother’s harsh reprimands and reminders that he was born to take care of his brother. Gang Tae had no choice but to abandon all his dreams and desires at a young age for the sake of Sang Tae’s well-being after their mother’s passing. It is cathartic to watch Gang Tae express all these emotions because he has played the role of the zombie kid his whole life until this point. Though Gang Tae has uncovered years of repressed anger, resentment, and grief, it is the only way for him to slowly unlearn the habit of running away from vulnerability. Mun Yeong’s book ultimately catapults Gang Tae onto a journey of healing, where he discovers not only the joy of uninhibited living, but also his genuine desire to be loved as he is, not for his usefulness.

As the author, Mun Yeong too identifies as the zombie kid. Unlike Gang Tae, however, Mun Yeong is impulsive, demanding, and loud. She eats a copious amount of food and drink. She dresses extravagantly and drives recklessly. She appears cold and unbothered by pain. In reality, Mun Yeong uses an intimidating persona to hide her inner vulnerable child whom all her life had been regarded by others as “a monster.” In other words, her antisocial personality traits have hindered her from making any meaningful connections with other people due to her seemingly heartless and twisted nature. Hence, Mun Yeong’s external appearance is at first incongruent with the depth and weight of the hidden messages in her books. But it becomes quite obvious that her stories represent her search for nurturing love, a warm embrace, or any sign that might refutes her label of “monster.” Gang Tae’s appearance by her side at the end of this episode provides that first spark of hope that perhaps she is not so monstrous after all. If even Gang Tae, a seemingly quiet and people-pleasing person, can share a silent moment of solidarity and authenticity with her, then maybe she is capable of connection, and maybe even being loved.

It's Okay to Not Be Okay Episode 4 Recap | amusings

It’s Okay Not to be Okay – Episode 4

Our Greatest Telos: I cried for over an hour after watching this episode because it felt like I was watching my inner world being played out by Gang Tae, Sang Tae, and Mun Yeong. I have always struggled to separate my worth from the fruits of my labor. For me, it is difficult to believe that I could be lovable even if I were useless; or in other words, no one would love me if I wasn’t useful. In this way, I relate to Gang Tae. Perhaps it was how I grew up that I learned I am not enough unless I do something that benefits others. My low self-esteem sometimes pushed me to sabotage good things in my life. Maybe it was my own anxiety that convinced me I ought to hide the monster in me with good deeds. That way people won’t see who I really am or how I really feel. In this way, I relate to Mun Yeong.

As I reflect on my insights about myself and the story of this show, I can’t help but think about the miserable, aimless lives we would live if not for our God-given telos. That is, humans were created to love and be loved. I am convicted that we have no greater purpose than this. Yes, callings, service, passions, family, community, happiness, etc are certainly wonderful purposes and probably necessary for a fulfilling life. However, when all is stripped away, before creation and after the new, what permeates past the dimensions of time and space and limitations of human understanding? The answer must be Love.

For love, we were created. Through love, we now breathe. In love, we now can be. In realizing that loving and being loved is our ultimate telos, we become more like God because we become more human. That is, we are human beings because God himself, who made humankind in his image, is the Greatest Being (…also the greatest at “being”). Even before time began, God was literally just being in love. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit danced in perfect harmony as they shared love among each other. God was never in want, so creation had no utilitarian purpose. We were not created for our usefulness, but for us to be invited to join in holy communion with the Triune God.

Gang Tae and Mun Yeong discover this ultimate telos in their journey together, holding space for each other’s baggage, messy pasts, and deep internal wounds. When they both accept the invitation to heal, they find freedom to be their authentic selves and all their broken parts because no one is running away out of fear that they are too broken to love. Like them, we as the Church have a unique gift of walking with one another in the Spirit of Christ! We can be broken, wounded, and just all around crappy, and still there is room at the Table for you, even when you’re useless.

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Onward, John 14 and What It Means to See God

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WARNING: If you have not yet seen Onward SPOILERS AHEAD!

In John 14:1-14, the Gospel passage from this past Sunday, we are given a glimpse into Jesus’ last conversation with his small company of disciples. He tells them, “If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

One of the disciples, Philip, doesn’t quite get what Jesus is trying to say. He isn’t sure who this father is that Jesus has been talking about. So he asks, “Lord, can you explain to us who the father is and that will be enough for us.”

It’s hard to know whether Jesus is hurt by this question or whether he is exasperated by Philip’s cluelessness. Maybe it’s a little of both. In any event, Jesus answers, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father?”

What Jesus asks Philip reminded me of a question that Carissa asked me a few weeks ago after we had finished watching the Pixar movie Onward. The movie tells the story of a son who desperately wants to see his father. The son in question is a teenage elf named Ian Lightfoot (voiced by Tom Holland of Spiderman fame), who never had a chance to meet his father because he died of a terrible illness just before he was born.

We are introduced to Ian on his sixteenth birthday. We quickly learn that he is struggling as an awkward teen, trying to figure out who he is without the loving guidance of his father. At school he is a bit of a loner, unsure of himself and timid. During a chance encounter with one of his dad’s old college classmates, he learns that his dad was charismatic, gregarious and most of all bold. Ian wants to be all those things, but he feels lost without someone there to help him find his way.

Later on that day, Ian’s mom gives him a special gift. It is a gift that his dad, before he died, had prepared for Ian to open when he turned 16. It consisted of a staff, a gem and a spell. Together these promise to bring back Mr. Lightfoot for one whole day. So Ian, with some encouragement, nervously casts the spell and…it works! Well, sort of. It literally only works half way. Before the upper half of his father’s body is conjured the gem explodes, breaking the power of the spell so that all that is brought back are the legs. Everything from the waist up is missing, waiting to be formed.

And so Ian and his older brother Barley (voiced by Chris Pratt, Holland’s Marvel buddy) begin a grand and glorious quest to find another gem that will allow them to complete the magic and bring back the other half of their father. As they set out with great expectation, Ian writes a list of things he wants to do with his dad:

  • Play catch
  • Take a walk
  • Heart to heart
  • Laugh together
  • Driving lesson
  • Share my life with him

The whole story points towards the moment when Ian is able to complete the spell and finally meet his dad. At the same time, there is a ticking clock. The spell is only good for 24 hours. Even if they have the gem in hand, once the allotted time passes, Ian and Barley won’t be able to bring their dad back.

Will the brother be able to finish the quest in time to see their father?

Here comes the spoiler: Time runs out and Ian doesn’t get to see his dad. So far as it goes, the brothers do finally secure the gem, but there is only a brief window in which the father will be resurrected and Ian decides that Barley should be the one to talk to him (you’ll have to watch the movie to find out why).

You expect the whole film that Ian will eventually get to see his dad. But no, that’s not how it ends. And this would have been a monumental let down had it not been for the epiphany Ian has, which happens at the lowest point of the film — when all seemed to be lost. The time for the spell to work had almost completely run out. They couldn’t find the gem and had no where else to look. Ian had just harshly blamed Barley for screwing it all up, at which point he ends up going off by himself to sit with his dad on a ledge overlooking the ocean. He had given up all hope and all he could think of doing was to spend whatever time he had left with his father, even if it was with just his legs.

He opens up his notebook and looks at his list of things he wished he could do with his dad. Turns out he won’t be able to do any of them. Won’t be able to play catch with dad. Won’t be able to take a walk with dad. Won’t be able to have a heart to heart with dad. But as he continues down the list, something begins to dawn on him. We begin to see flashbacks of Ian with Barley. We are taken back to a hilarious moment in the film when Barley had been shrunk down to a 6-inch version of himself by a spell gone awry. And we see Barley giving Ian a crash course on how to drive on the freeway as they are escaping a hive of overly-belligerent fairies.

Driving lesson. Check.

Slowly Ian begins to realize something. As he reviews his list and looks back at who his brother has been for him, not just that day but throughout his whole life, he realizes: Barley has always been for him the father he never had. It is a powerful scene. What began as a story about one son wishing desperately to see his father turns out to really be a story about a son who has always known the father because of another son who has made the father known to him.

What Carissa asked me when the credits rolled was, “Wait, so Ian never gets to see his dad?”

Well, yes and no.

Ian doesn’t get to see his father in the way we expect, but of course, he does see his father in another way, a way we didn’t expect — that is, through his older brother, Barley. Barley acts as a kind of sacrament in the movie. A sacrament can be understood as a visible sign of an invisible grace. The invisible grace, in this case, is the father. The visible sign is Barley. Barley makes visible the father. In the Christian faith, all sacraments echo the Incarnation, in which the invisible Father is made known through the visible Son, the person of Christ. And so Barley becomes a kind of Christ figure. Not perfectly but in kind. A son who makes known his father, pointing us toward the true Son who makes known to us the truth of the Father.

This is precisely why Jesus asks Philip, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father?”

Onward thus paints for us an illuminating picture of what it means for us to “see” God. It is not about a literal seeing of God in the physical, but neither is it a vague, sentimental seeing that is entirely abstract. It is a figurative seeing of God in the tangible experiences we have with those who embody the character of God through the work of the Spirit within them. In the trinitarian language we find in John’s Gospel, Jesus, the Son, makes known the Father through his earthly ministry. But when his earthly ministry comes to an end, he promises the Spirit who will live in and among those who believe in him. Through this Spirit the life of those who have put their faith in the Son are enabled to become “icons” of the Father. Like Barley they make known the Father. And we like Ian, if we have eyes to see, can come to the realization that we too have come to known the Father in a very real way.

As Christians, there are times when we play the part of Barley making known God in and through our lives (perhaps often unbeknownst to us). At other times we are like Ian, realizing that we have come to know God through the faithful witness of others (those we might call the communion of saints). The scene of Ian sitting on a ledge overlooking the ocean is a helpful reminder to us of the way this knowledge often comes to us. It provides a way of understanding what it means to say that we know God. That faith, belief, trust in God requires these kinds of “small” epiphanies — quiet moments of realization where the various experiences of our lives come together in such a way that we see something we had previously missed.

This is what I think Jesus means when he tells Philip, “Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves.”

We often think of evidence in a forensic sense. Facts that can be verified through scientific methods of investigation. But the evidence I think Jesus alludes to is more like the “evidence” that enables Ian to see the truth about his brother. It is not evidence that can be placed under a microscope and probed to establish some kind of objective truth. It is not that kind of truth. But this doesn’t mean it is completely subjective. It is a truth that makes sense in a very robust way — in a way that shows truth to be personal, by revealing the truth about a person. This after all, is the truth that Jesus says he is when he says that he is the way, the truth, and the life. Jesus is the truth about God, the Son who makes known the true character of the Father.

To know this truth doesn’t require some extraordinary experience. It happens in very much the same way it happens for Ian — sitting there in that ordinary moment overlooking the sea with his longings and disappointments, the realization simply comes to him. And so it is with the life of faith. All that is needed is some space to reflect and there what finds us is that which we have somehow too easily overlooked. God has been there all along, if we only had eyes to see.

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Changing Through Prayer – We’re Not Alone

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By Timmy Horng

“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” – Mark 11:24 (NIV)

Well, Jesus. I’ve prayed for things—good, just things—and believed with all of my heart, and they did not become mine.

“God answers every prayer, though not always with the answer we want,” they say. The numerous platitudes designed to assuage Christians’ doubts about prayer have not worked on me. The analogies describing God’s perfect knowledge and plans, far surpassing my own, have done little to placate my suspicions that our prayers are often nothing more than wishful thinking. If God is going to “answer” in his way, I’m inclined to say we might as well roll dice.

So, are prayers Sisyphean tasks? If we treat them as barely more than appeals to influence God’s actions, they can certainly seem so. Because of this, I rarely pray anymore. At least not with my eyes closed.

Over time, as I became more and more disillusioned with the prayers that came from “my heart,” I came to deeply appreciate the prayers composed by the corporate Church over the centuries. Now, whenever I “pray,” my eyes are literally open—I’m reading my prayers, written by other people. Once, when I was going through a tough time, Ken gifted me the Paraclete Psalter, a collection of all 150 Psalms, arranged by a monastic community for their daily fixed-hour prayers. The introduction quotes Athanasius: “For I believe that the whole of human existence, both the dispositions of the soul and the movements of the thoughts, has been measured out and encompassed in those very words of the Psalter.” The Psalms may be old, but they certainly are not outdated.

The prayers I often use for opening our Sunday services are collects that come from the Book of Common Prayer (bcponline.org). These tried-and-true prayers, like the Psalter, often reflect the very things I personally wish for our church community. Whenever we read and hear the written prayers in our Sunday services—the psalms, the common prayers, the confessions, the benedictions—are we not surprised at how personally relevant they often are? How much they remind us of things that have happened to us, give voice to our emotions and desires, and shape us to participate in the divine work of this world?

Reading prayers slowly and out loud helps me see and hear the words I am saying. It engages me in a heartfelt prayer that was written by someone else, whose words connect the highs and lows of my own life to those of his or hers and countless others. It reminds me that even when God’s ears seem deaf to my requests, he has given me the gift of his people. When I read these prayers with the Church, I am not alone, even if I am the only person in the room. 

I have come to understand prayer not so much as something we use to change God, but more as something he uses to change us. I am sure many of us still make requests of God, praying from “the heart,” and find that the very act of prayer encourages us to move in ways that respond to our needs and the needs of the world. By no means do I aim to discourage those of you who choose to pray spontaneously. And those of us who take time to compose prayers for others to hear are a great blessing to the community. But whether we pray words of our own or those written by others, we join a chorus of people that shares in the joys, sorrows, thanksgivings, and disappointments of prayers that have echoed throughout creation. And with them, we find ourselves changing for the better.

A prayer from Scot McKnight’s blog:

God of All Patience,

You created and permitted creation to form into humans,
You watched Adam and Eve sin and you waited,
You made covenant with Abraham and you waited,
You liberated the children of Israel from Egypt and you waited,
You gave your people the Law and you waited,
You opened the waters to the Land and then waited,
You made kings and prophets and waited,
You waited more,

And only then did you send your Son and your Spirit – after all that waiting,

Grant to us divine patience in our homes and with our families,
Patience waiting for our country’s healing from this virus,
Patience in waiting for so many intrusions to sort themselves out,
Patience in waiting for one another in our communities.

That we might display to others divine patience,
The kind of patience that evokes your goodness and grace and understanding,

Through Christ our Lord who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
Now and forever.

Amen

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Social Distance and an Introduction to Meditation

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By Luke Lebsack

Let me start by saying I suck at meditation. On my phone there are currently three meditation apps, two of which I’ve never opened and one that has for the last three months been congratulating me on completing my first lesson. People like meditation; it’s good for you, by now most of us know this (if you don’t know this you can read about it).  Over the years I’ve put meditation in the same category as kale smoothies or early morning jogging. It’s healthy and I know I should do it but let’s be real; the only people who actually do that sort of stuff are either trying to get Instagram famous or drive a Subaru. 

So what does meditation look like as a spiritual discipline for a novice like me? Firstly, it’s important to acknowledge that there’s nothing inherently spiritual or religious about meditation. Meditation, generally speaking, is a technique to focus intently on something or to encourage mindfulness about our experiences. Meditation is a tool that can be used in conjunction with prayer to develop our spiritual practice. Why is this distinction important?

Historically my reasoning for creating a meditative practice has always been to accrue the health and psychological benefits that come along with it, which is a good thing. However, when we use meditation as a spiritual discipline it’s done in conjunction with prayer. Our intention must shift away from the western default of self-betterment and instead reflect a desire to grow closer to God. Said another way, if I was to begin a diet that uses fasting to lose weight this might be a good choice for my health. But if on the other hand I chose fasting as a spiritual discipline so that I could lose weight the discipline itself becomes clouded by the intensions from which the actions are originating. In short, any kind of meditation would almost certainly have positive benefits on our brain’s health but when we add prayer to our meditation our focus should be on Christ.

Ok, we got the disclaimers out of the way. You’re bored at home and not doing anything, let’s strap up our brain boots and wade through the waters of Christian meditation. Where do we start? I don’t know, (we’ve been over this) so I asked my enlightened friend Lacey and my other less enlightened friend the internet.

Lacey’s Helpful Hints:

  1. Start short, 1-5 minutes of mediation is totally fine to start
  2. Sit, walk, or stand, be comfortable but don’t lie down if you’ll fall asleep
  3. Be kind to yourself, if you lose focus or get distracted there’s no reason to be frustrated
  4. Study yourself, notice what your body and mind are trying to tell you
  5. Pray before or after you meditate, you will be able to get more out of both disciplines together
  6. Just do something, what meditation you do matters less than the fact that you did it

Easy Christian meditation from the internet:

Concentration Meditation:

  1. Find a short phrase or mantra you wish to meditate on
    • A mantra I used was “my peace I give to you” -John 14:27
  2. Sit comfortably in a chair or on the floor. Close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths. Relax your breath to a neutral state.
  3. Begin saying your mantra audibly in natural rhythm with your breath, focusing on its sound.
  4. After 10 or so repetitions recite the mantra silently in your mind
  5. If your mind begins to wander return to the mantra focusing on the sound of the words
  6. Continue for as long as you feel is beneficial
  7. Say a short prayer to end your session

Mindfulness Meditation:

  1. Sit comfortably in a chair or on the floor. Close your eyes and take a few slow, deep breaths. Relax your breath to a neutral state.
  2. Feel your breath going in and out and focus on its pattern
  3. Eventually your mind will leave your breath and begin to wander.
  4. When you notice that you have gotten so caught up in your thoughts that you have forgotten that you’re sitting in the room, gently bring yourself back to the breath.
  5. After your focus begins to wane begin a prayer recognizing the thoughts that were interrupting your focus or preventing you from being present.

Escape Quarantine Meditation:

  1. Go on a walk in an peaceful environment
  2. In silence begin focusing on your steps
  3. Focus on the mechanics of your body thinking either heel, toe or left, right with each step
  4. As before your mind will eventually leave your breath and begin to wander.
  5. When you notice that you have gotten so caught up in your thoughts that you have forgotten that you’re walking, gently bring yourself back to your steps.
  6. After your focus begins to wane begin a prayer recognizing the thoughts that were interrupting your focus or preventing you from being present.

These are only a few of the hundreds of other meditation styles you can try. This week I’ve practiced the walking meditation mostly simply because it was an excuse to take a second walk every day. I don’t think I’ve reached enlightenment yet but there is a calm that comes with intentionality.

For me personally COVID-19 has stolen my ability to feel in control of my own life. Meditation is helping me realize I was never truly in control of the world around me. But it’s also helping me control my inner self and it’s bringing out the stifled fears I should have long ago brought to prayer. For me, and maybe for you, even small acts of mindfulness are a positive step towards dealing with the emotions that endless Netflix binges have been enabling us to avoid.

Sources:

hhhhttps://www.yogajournal.com/poses/mantra-meditation

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/the-courage-be-present/201001/how-practice-mindfulness-meditation

https://ggia.berkeley.edu/practice/walking_meditation

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In Such a Time as This: Celebration as a Spiritual Discipline

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By Serena Lee

“In such a time as this…” my professor emphasized to our class last Thursday. We had just found out that our classes would be converted online and all of a sudden had to prepare to say goodbye to our classmates until next fall.

“In such a time as this, you have to remember why you chose to become a social worker. Right now, people are panicking. They are losing jobs, their homes, the people they love. Though tragic, you have a very unique opportunity to be the help you chose to become.”

For some reason, I wasn’t panicking. I felt grounded and filled with hope and inspiration, even though the world around us was turned upside down by the novel coronavirus COVID-19 pandemic, and life as we knew it would completely change. This prompted me to reflect on my own seasons of darkness and hopelessness, as if recalling memories of my despair was an attempt to empathize with others in their deep pain. I remembered feeling such severe anxiety that my body would shake violently like I was trying to crawl out of my own skin. I remembered the depression that clouded my ability to see any choices other than the choice of death and destruction. I remembered how much of my brain capacity was occupied by existential dread and the longing for my existence to be annihilated.

Still, I somehow have not succumb to the darkness. Right now, I almost feel guilty that I am feeling light. And then it dawned on me: I survived my experiences of darkness because others around me were beacons of light. They did not succumb to my darkness, but held me as they demonstrated that life could be different, filled with hope and laughter and joy and celebration. Their lightness helped carry me forward so that when I was hopeless, I could at the very least hope in their hope of God’s promises. 

It is a strange time to discuss the spiritual discipline of celebration. I had a difficult time reflecting on how I might share my thoughts on celebration during this season of Lent…and especially during this season of social isolation, fear of uncertainty, and disorientation of routine. What is there to celebrate now? Our world is collapsing from the weight of human pain and weakness, evil intentions and selfish greed. We fight with those we love and remain indifferent to inequality. Our planet is dying and still we grasp for more. What is there to celebrate now?

For several years up until I was prompted to write this blog post about celebration, I have been a champion for ushering in the genre of lament into the Church. I saw celebration as empty and fake because there was so much to lament and I felt that celebrating in such a time as this would be inauthentic and dismissive of people’s darkness. How dare the Church celebrate as people fall by the wayside, hidden under the shadows of our steeples? How can I celebrate GOD when I don’t feel like God has intervened in the way he has promised? Is this a God worthy of celebrating? 

I’ve come to the conclusion that celebration is only made empty when you do not acknowledge darkness, are blind to the world in pain, and ignore blatant evilness. Celebration in its truest form is a proclamation of victory, like a battle cry of strength and resilience knowing not whether you will make it out alive. Celebration is the recognition that the Church knows the end of the story: Jesus wins. For all that he bore on the cross, we know that his silencing of sin and death through the resurrection is all the more powerful, meaningful, and victorious.

So here we are, the Church, living through the Lenten season, lamenting our sins and yet waiting in hopeful anticipation for Resurrection Sunday. We are the “already-not-yet.” We inhabit a liminal space that is sacred and messy and full of God’s love all at the same time. We have the unique privilege of being able to entangle our lament with our hope, our joy and our sorrow, and our celebration and mourning because church is where heaven and earth collide and Jesus is called God With Us. I hope that in this pivotal moment of our history that we will celebrate God—not to trivialize the decomposition of our societies—but to demonstrate the alternative way of life that God has offered us to partake in. 

I end with an example that the slaves of the South in the 1800s exemplified for us. What came out of their pain and struggle were songs of praise. They understood how heavy it was to suffer and be victims of injustice. Yet, their spirituals and hymns portray that beautiful dance with Darkness because the dance itself is how you make darkness into light. Church, hope so that others may borrow your hope. Rejoice so that the sorrowful may feel joy through you. Laugh while others argue with rage and dividing accusations. Celebrate when you feel like complaining. In such a time as this, may we exemplify the same spirit and celebrate our lives and God and all that he has done, is doing, and will do. Glory Hallelujah!

Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows but He knows my sorrow
Yes, nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
But glory, Hallelujah

Sometimes I’m standing crying
Tears running down my face
I cry to the Lord, have mercy
Help me run this all race

Oh Lord, I have so many trials
So many pains and woes
I’m asking for faith and comfort
Lord, help me to carry this load, 

Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen
Well, no, nobody knows but Jesus
No nobody knows, oh the trouble, the trouble I’ve seen
I’m singing glory, glory glory Hallelujah

No nobody knows, oh the trouble, the trouble I’ve seen
Lord, no nobody knows my sorrow
No nobody knows, you know the trouble
The trouble I’ve seen
I’m singing glory, glory, glory, Hallelujah!

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The Spiritual Discipline of Service: Becoming the Living Expression of God’s Kindness

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By Meridith Mitchellweiler

In light of what the world is currently facing, the beauty of the spiritual discipline of service is striking. I don’t know about you, but when I think about service, I often become stymied. I feel like the troubles of this world, of my community, are so big that anything I do is merely a drop in a leaking bucket. As I reflected on service as a spiritual discipline, I was reminded that service is not about what we do, but rather about who we are. We are a people loved by God, who, out of response, want to show that love to those around us.

Acts of service gently guide our hearts towards humility. When we become servants, as Richard Foster says, “we give up the right to be in charge.” We become “available and vulnerable.” Jesus, as our ultimate example of what it means to be humble and vulnerable before God, made his ministry on earth all about the “other.” Jesus served because it was what he was called to do, it was part of his very nature. 

There are many ways we can practice the spiritual discipline of service. We can volunteer at medical clinics, serve meals to those in need, or take a neighbor to the grocery store. These types of service are all conducted in the open where we can see our impact, which is meaningful and rewarding, but what struck me the most this week is what Foster calls “hidden service.” This type of service is conducted in the background and often goes unnoticed. Foster says, “It is a ministry that can be engaged in frequently by all people. It sends ripples of joy and celebration through any community of people.” I can certainly attest to the fact that when someone goes out of their way to show kindness to me, I’m inspired to go out and do the same. Service doesn’t have to be out in the open to be impactful. If service is about the other, about humility, it doesn’t matter how small or unnoticeable the act is. 

With the fear and anxiety surrounding the coronavirus, I keep thinking about how we are uniquely positioned to serve one another. The simple acts of washing our hands thoroughly and staying home when possible can quite literally save the lives of those around us. By engaging in these hidden acts of service we can protect our grandparents, a friend with asthma, or the stranger going through chemotherapy. At this unusual point in time, our small acts of service have the capacity to change the world. What a poignant example of what happens when we all put each other first. 

Mother Teresa captured the essence of service when she said “Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness: kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.” I invite each of us this week to ask, how can we leave our neighbor better, happier?

Formation, Uncategorized

An Unexpected Step Toward the Spiritual Discipline of Simplicity

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By Michelle Chung

The spiritual discipline of simplicity is in its essence the refocusing of our attention on the things of God and away from the many enticing things of the world. The practice of simplicity can take many forms. For example, it can be the practice of being content with what we have, holding loosely to our material possessions, and uncluttering our lives from the noise, excess, and unnecessary distractions that make it difficult to see God and remember the great wisdom, peace, and freedom He offers us. 

As some of you might know, one of the things I’ve chosen to give up this Lent is Instagram. In an unexpected and unintended way, my decision to fast Instagram has become a small way that I have been able to practice the spiritual discipline of simplicity. 

Instagram is one of the only major social media outlets that I still use regularly. I’m often browsing new and suggested posts on a daily and sometimes hourly basis (depending on the day), usually when I’m waiting for something, have downtime at work/home, or am just bored. My feed is full of photos of friends, cooking recipes/tips, celebrity gossip, workout videos, news, cute puppy videos, and travel recommendations, among other miscellaneous things. 

All these things on my Instagram feed are not intrinsically bad things. But as I take time during Lent to reflect on my use of Instagram over the past year, I have realized that my constant and unbridled viewing of these things throughout the day/every day, had led to an addiction that I didn’t realize I had until I gave it up.

I had joked on Ash Wednesday how I had accidentally browsed through my Instagram three times that day without even realizing I was doing it! Though somewhat funny at the time, it is also kind of frightening to think about how deeply addicted I had become to this brightly colored app on my phone, to the point where my hands, without thinking, would automatically take me there when I would unlock my phone. 

Giving up Instagram this Lent (and writing this blog post) has given me some time to step back and reflect, and I am reminded that we are constantly being shaped and influenced by the things we look at each day; and the more we look at and focus on these things, the more they preoccupy our minds and influence our desires, often times allowing addictions to slowly creep into our lives unnoticed. 

From looking at Instagram multiple times each day/every day, my attention and desires were constantly being directed and focused on consumerism through ads and achieving happiness through instant gratification. On a smaller scale, Instagram has allowed ideas like YOLO and FOMO to creep in and preoccupy my mind on a perpetual basis. All these things, when given free rein, can contribute to greater feelings of anxiousness, impatience, envy, discontent, fatigue, among other unpleasant things, and ultimately can cloud our vision and purpose as Christians aspiring to follow Jesus. 

As I remove Instagram from my daily routine, this has opened time and space to reflect and remember that God’s love for us is uncomplicated and abundant; God’s wisdom is sure and unwavering; He teaches us how to live a life that is good, beautiful, and true; and He provides us with purpose and a path to genuine peace and freedom to choose what is good. 

In my small step of removing Instagram from my daily routine (and undo my addiction), I have been able to exercise simplicity by slowly uncluttering my mind from some of the noise, excess, and distractions of the world; and by removing even just a little bit of distraction from my life, I have been able to see God a little bit more and a little bit better in my day-to-day. 

I share this blog post with you all, first to acknowledge that it’s not easy to practice simplicity, particularly in this day and age, where there is just so much stuff around us, vying for our attention at all times (I often found myself replacing Instagram with some other form of distraction, e.g. online shopping, podcasts, etc.); but also I write to encourage you to try and challenge yourself in taking one small step toward practicing simplicity this week (or longer if you choose!). And in your practice of simplicity, I hope you can unclutter your life/mind from some of the distractions that surround us, redirect your attention to God, and experience God’s abundant love, peace, and freedom, in small and big ways. 

— Tips/References —

Some ways you might be able to exercise the spiritual discipline of simplicity this week:

  • Buy things for their usefulness rather than their status
  • Reject something that might be producing an addiction in you
  • Work on giving things away
  • Enjoying things without owning them
  • Express gratitude for the things you have

Footnote 1 – A quote Ken shared with us a long while ago, that I really like, defining freedom:

“Freedom means knowing how to reflect on what we do; knowing how to evaluate, which are the behaviors that make us grow. It means always choosing the good… being free to always choose the good is challenging, but it will make you persons with a backbone, who know how to face life, [and live as] courageous and patient persons.” – Pope Francis. 

Formation, Uncategorized

Lent & Submission

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By Andrew Tai

Submission is the spiritual discipline that frees us from the everlasting burden of always needing to get our own way. In submission we are learning to hold things lightly. We are also learning to diligently watch over the spirit in which we hold others— honoring them, preferring them, loving them. 

Submission is not age or gender specific. We are all—men and women, girls and boys—learning to follow the wise counsel of the apostle Paul to “be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ (Eph. 5:21).” We—each and every one of us regardless of our position or station in life— are to engage in mutual subordination out of reverence for Christ. 

The idea of “submission” as a spiritual discipline is about choosing others’ interests above our own, demonstrated most dramatically in Jesus’s submission to the cross out of love for us.  It is I think core to what it means to be a Christian, and yet it’s an often uncomfortable idea for me to think about because I’ve most commonly heard it weaponized by those in power to force others to do what they want.   

Because of how it’s often been used, it makes sense that nowadays “submitting” is often viewed as weakness, since the submitter is most commonly doing so out of fear.  Yet Christians throughout the centuries have recognized submission as a critical spiritual practice, especially in a world where we are increasingly taught that our needs are more important than others’; that we “win” in relationships by getting our way.  Christian submission is not borne out of weakness, fear, or respect for hierarchy, but out of reverence for Jesus and love for one another.   

I have been privileged to see this type of submission lived out in our community.  In fact, I think submission has become so core to our community’s shared life together that many of you perhaps don’t recognize how deeply sacrificial and remarkable your actions are.  I don’t say this to pat ourselves on the back or imply we are without fault, but simply because I think there is a power in translating feelings into words, and I want you all to know and reflect on the type of people I see you all becoming. 

A few weeks ago, my family decided we needed to move my dad’s bed downstairs since he was having trouble going up and down the stairs.  Unfortunately, the only room that would work had been used by our family as a study for over 25 years, and so had accumulated mountains of junk and trash, along with heavy desks, bookcases, computers.  I worried that to get the room prepared would take several weeks of cleaning, rearranging, and moving.   

On Super Bowl Sunday–literally, during the Super Bowl–about ten members of our community came to come help us with the move, and in less than two hours had completed the lifting, cleaning, and rearranging work necessary to turn the study into a new bedroom.  These folks came and helped out even though they could’ve been munching on wings, chips, and beer, not because I offered them reward or recognition, but because they were willing to choose another’s interests–namely, my family’s–over their own.  They did so because they believe Jesus has called us to love and support one another not simply with thoughts and prayers but with real, concrete acts of love and service.  That they did so on Super Bowl Sunday, a day which in many ways exemplifies our culture’s obsession with desire, greed, and excess, is simultaneously ironic and perhaps entirely fitting given these folks’ desires to live out of the example of Jesus.   

I look around and see these types of things happening all the time in our community–not necessarily always in huge gestures, but in the day-to-day goings on of a people I am proud to call my family.  I see submission out of love in folks’ willingness to sit with and listen to one another; in others’ choosing to confront conflict with each other; in others’ attempts to live more simply that they may give more generously.  I see these things and want to name them not simply as nice things that nice people do, but as remarkable things that I have seen as part of folks’ following of a remarkably loving and giving God. 

As we continue during this Lenten season, I pray we might continue to have in mind our Lord Jesus, who chose and continued to choose the interests of imperfect people like us over himself.   

Amen. 

Formation, Uncategorized

Ash Wednesday & Fasting

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By Katie Heemstra

“When we come forward to receive ashes on Ash Wednesday, we are saying that we are sorry for our sins, and that we want to use the season of Lent to correct our faults, purify our hearts, control our desires and grow in holiness so we will be prepared to celebrate Easter with great joy.”

-Father Michael Van Sloun

As many of you know, today is Ash Wednesday and we are entering into the season of Lent.  Over the next six weeks we as a church will be celebrating this season of Lent together through giving up something or possibly taking on a spiritual discipline, but each of our individual celebrations of this season may look different from one another.  Because of this, we wanted to take time to explore different approaches to Lent and disciplines that could be practiced during this Lenten season. So keep checking back weekly for new posts on different spiritual disciplines.

The Discipline of Fasting

The season of Lent is one of reflection, one of looking inward and asking God to show us ways in which we can grow closer to him and become an even clearer reflection of who Jesus was while he walked on this earth.  One of the most common things we hear of people doing for the season of Lent is fasting. Whether it is fasting a certain food item (like chocolate or coffee) or certain food groups (like meat or sweets), this is what we hear most answered when we ask Protestants, “What are you giving up for Lent?”  But fasting can truly be so much more than that if we really bring God into the process.

Fasting itself is when a person abstains in some significant way from a certain item that is necessary in (and if not necessary a huge part of) our life.  Most commonly it is food, but in recent years people have been fasting other things more commonly, like social media and entertainment. By abstaining from a very usual part of our daily routine, fasting creates space in our lives that we can intentionally fill with the presence of God.  

This abstinence is not easy, there is a reason this is called a discipline.  But I’ve heard it said that every growl of hunger in your stomach or craving for that chocolate bar (or itch to pick up your phone and scroll through IG), is just a marking point in our day of fasting to stop and thank God for his provision.  His provision of enough food to eat on a normal basis, his provision of the sweet things in our lives (and not just dessert), his provision of good relationships with those we love.  

As Dallas Willard says in The Spirit of the Disciplines, fasting, “certainly proves humiliating to us, as it reveals to us how much our peace depends upon the pleasures of eating,” and I would go further to say the pleasures of this world.  Fasting can be a very frustrating experience and looking at our frustration can be humbling. What does it truly mean to us to delete our social media accounts for 40 days? If we don’t drink coffee for a month and a half?  If we choose to abstain from using our car for 40 days and choose to focus on how God provides a path before our feet to lead us closer to him?

There are so many things you can fast if you choose to try this discipline over the next six weeks.  Just ask God to show you, “Is there something in my life right now that I am relying on for comfort, sustenance, affirmation, (fill in the blank), more than you?”  And if he shows you something ask what it might look like to give that up for Lent.

Personally, the most unique thing I have fasted for Lent is control.  Last year God revealed to me that I was relying on myself and what I wanted for my life far more than I was relying on him and I was quickly leading myself toward a train wreck.  God stopped me and met me at my absolute lowest and asked me to give up control for six weeks, to let him lead me, and to trust him with whatever happened. Since burying myself at rock bottom (which was my other choice) sounded way less appealing, I decided to give up control.  What did that look like? It was painful. It looked like giving up some dreams I had. It looked like giving up the exact future I had pictured for myself. It looked like forgiving instead of holding past wrongs against someone. What did I gain in return? Complete freedom. I have never felt so free in my life and so in the center of God’s will before I gave up control last year.  Do I sometimes get tempted to take the reigns again? You bet I do, but I quickly remember the bullet train to destruction I was on just a year ago and it gets easier and easier to leave those reigns in God’s hands.

So, my question to you:  Is God asking you to let go of something for the next six weeks?  Whether the answer is yes or no, I dare you to ask him!

Other Resources:

If you want to know more about Ash Wednesday and Lent, here is a great article from Christianity.com giving an overview of the history, practice, and heart behind this season of reflection and confession.

Here is an open-source version of the Spirit of the Disciplines by Dallas Willard for your reading pleasure if you want to dive deeper into fasting or other spiritual disciplines.

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This My Soul: Sin and Grace

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What first struck me about this song was the clever lyrical turn that happens at the end. Singer-songwriter David Radford takes the usual verse-chorus-verse-chorus structure and plays with it so that when the chorus comes around the third and final time it means something entirely different than what it did the first two times. The words are exactly the same, but the verses provide the context that flips the meaning.

I remember listening the first time and saying to myself, “Ah, Mr. Radford, I like what you did there!”

As we said in the last post, the song revolves around the theological theme of the first and last Adam. The first two verses explore our birth into all that resulted from that fateful day in Eden when Adam ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil as told to us in Genesis 3:

Verse 1:

A voice came and spoke to the silence / The words took on beauty and form / The form took its shape as a garden was born

Then man from the dust came reflecting / All goodness and beauty and life / But he lowered his gaze as he listened to the face of low desires 

Chorus:

This my soul you were born / You were born into / What this man has done / It all extends to you / Let the words shake on down along your spine / And ring out true that you might find new life 

Verse 2:

The voice came and swords blocked the garden / None could return with their lives / A curse there was placed upon every man to face for all of time

No wisdom of man or rebellion / Could deliver new life out of death / But the voice with the curse spoke a promise that the word would take on flesh 

[Chorus]

The theological concept that names what is described here is referred to as the doctrine of “original sin.” Original sin names both Adam’s transgression and the extension of that transgression upon all who are born into the human race. It describes the primordial act of sin as well as the fallen condition that continues to plague every human ever since. 

Even if some of us may have a hard time believing that the literal events described in Genesis 3 actually transpired, it is hard to argue against the larger truth presented to us in the doctrine of original sin. As G.K. Chesterton once quipped, it is perhaps the only doctrine that can be empirically verified. In our more sober moments, I think we know all too well the flawed nature of our humanity. There is something deficient in us.

Of course this is not the end of the story. Neither is it the beginning. We may call it original, but Sin is not our place of origin. Scripture does not begin with Genesis 3, but with Genesis 1. And there we find that we were not born in Sin, but in the image and likeness of God. Sin is neither the first word nor the last. Both belong to God. The human condition as we find it in Scripture, is our exhausting (and exhaustive) inability to be who we were created in and what we were created for. We may be born into sin, but we were created in the image of God.

All this is to say, Sin is not part of God’s creative act “in the beginning.” It is utterly alien, a destructive intruder inimical to the life God wants to share with us and the good world that God spoke into existence. The doctrine of original sin does not give us an explanation for why there is Sin, only that there is Sin. It holds up a mirror to keep us awake to the lowercase sins we commit that perpetuate and accentuate the power of uppercase Sin.

This emergence of uppercase Sin, as far as we can tell in the witness of Scripture, appears as mysteriously as does the crafty serpent in Genesis 3. It is an inexplicable disruption into the shalom that characterized life in Eden — a sudden outbreak of opposition to all the “goodness and beauty and life” God intends for God’s creation. In a way, the Christian belief is that Sin is unintelligible, both in its existence and its origin. And what we find in Christ is that its end comes about as inexplicably as it began. 

Here is where Grace comes in.

Just as Sin is this incomprehensible disruption, so too is Grace. Grace is the unanticipated eruption of God’s saving act into a world helplessly held captive to Sin. Grace everywhere in Scripture is synonymous with Gift. This language of gift reminds us that there is a Giver. Grace is the gift of God that comes to us from beyond us, outside of us. As Paul puts it in Ephesians, “It is by grace that you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God,” (Eph. 2:8). It is not in the power of humankind to save itself from Sin. Indeed, it is often our attempts to “fix” things that often lead to unforeseen evils that introduce even more sin and death into the world (as witnessed to by every Sci-Fi movie worth watching).

What we need is something that could not be anticipated or expected.

This is what we believe about the Gift that Jesus is to us. Sometimes theologians will add the words “sheer” or “utter” to highlight the unique quality of this Gift. What this kind of language is trying to get at is the astonishing way in which God has dealt with Sin. It is a gift that is sudden, abrupt — a gift that could not be predicted or accounted for beforehand. Jesus is the unforeseen eruption of God’s action to save and deliver us.

It is sheer and utter gift.

Whereas the disruption of Sin brought death, the eruption of Grace does so much more. And this is precisely what we hear Paul saying in Romans 5:15-17:

15 But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God’s grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! 16 Nor can the gift of God be compared with the result of one man’s sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. 17 For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God’s abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ!

Listen to all the echoes of gift here.

This is what we hear described in the final movement of the song:

Verse 3:

Then the perfect son of man / Took the place the voice had planned since the garden and before / He took the swords and cursed the grave / There’s nothing more to separate us from the promise / The words of a living hope

Chorus:

This my soul you were born / You were born into / What this man has done / It all extends to you / Let the words shake on down along your spine / And ring out true that you might find new life 

I think it worthwhile to point out the dynamic at work here. The experience of Grace entails the realization that there is something wrong with each and every one of us. This is what the doctrine of original sin is all about. We have a disease to which none of us are immune. This realization magnifies the Gift in many ways. To understand the depths of Sin is to recognize the immensity of Grace — and not only that, Paul wants us to see how much more is Grace!

This dynamic is baked into the very fabric of the lyrics. At the end of the song, we hear the same words that spoke of original sin, now speak the word of Grace. We feel in our spine that Adam’s failure extends in some real way to us. But now, with the sudden emergence of Grace, we find that what Jesus has done now extends to us in a more determinative way.

What the song helps me to hear is the interconnectedness of both Judgment and Grace — that these are two sides of the same coin; a coin we might call the Love of God. In the context of Scripture, Judgment creates the context for Grace…it makes Grace, so to speak, intelligible. Grace, on the other hand, sets the telos or purpose for Judgment, such that, Judgment is not made in order to condemn, but to restore. As we live in the time between promise and fulfillment, both of these must be heard when we speak of God’s Love. The same is true for either side of the coin as well. When we say Grace, we hear the echo of Judgment. Similarly, Judgement must be heard with an ear towards Grace.

But when it is all said and done, we know on what side the coin will fall. That is, Grace will get the last word. What we hear in the end is that all is sheer and utter Gift.

This my soul you were born into.

Amen.