Gathered writings

Dear friends;

As I've mentioned before, I am now writing weekly devotional/reflection entries over at The Embassy Blog, on the official website for the young adults ministry of the Beijing International Christian Fellowship. My friends Phil and Billy are also contributing to the blog: Phil is answering questions about the Bible and the Christian life, and Billy is doing various entries on the Christian life. We'd love for you to go on over and take a look!

For the last few pieces, I've been writing reflections on the Book of Mark, which Phil and I have been reading through in February.

Who Are My Mother and Brothers? - who are we giving influence in our lives?

Responding to Jesus - what were people's responses to Jesus' presence?

Oh, To Be Clean! - how do we respond to the circumstances around us?

Big Hopes and Small Hopes - what do we rely on to give us hope?

wisdom

"[Martin] Buber admired how the Hasidic communities actualized their religion in daily life and culture. In stark contrast to the busy Zionist organizations, which were always mulling political concerns, the Hasidim were focused on the values which Buber had long advocated for Zionism to adopt."

I think the parallels are evident.

for a dear brother

We have walked and wandered
thru field and forest.
We have waded in pools in Brooklyn.

We have lived and lingered;
given and gotten,
we have glimpsed the face of God.

You are my brother
til breath is bitter
and still we push to the fore.

Run and stand
and sit in silence
and the journey is the reward.

define: Emotional booty call

[All credit goes to jopan, IV staff at Case Western.]

"Emotional booty call n.

"A late-night summons through telephone, online chatting, or text messaging to the opposite gender -- in reaction to felt emotional distress -- for the purpose of emotional consolation and attachment in a non-platonic, dependent manner.

"This is pretty self-explanatory. Emotional booty calls happen when you "think" you have no one else to talk to but that one person of the opposite gender that you semi-like, who will undoubtedly understand your situation/distress, and will absolutely have the right response/consolation. I think there can be healthy contact with friends when processing and/or problem-solving needs to happen, but only when the person has really determined their emotional boundaries and figured out whether or not they 1) have actually thought through the situation, and if they need to be calling someone else about it (or need to ask Jesus about it first); 2) if that someone must be a person of the opposite gender; 3) are emotionally "settled", rather than reaching for the phone the minute they feel an unhelpful emotion. To consider the other side -- how might one respond if they are on the receiving end of the emotional booty call?

"Emotional booty calls = unhelpful!! and really, it's selfish - self-pleasing, and self-centered."

Children Bearing Gifts: the Relationship of Christians to Art.

Children Bearing Gifts: the Relationship of Christians to Art.

Originally given at Café a Dieu, 04.04.2009,

at The Golden Center, St. Thomas More Catholic Chapel and Center at Yale.

The first personal encounter with art that I can recall comes from the age of ten, when my sister and I attended a class taught by a professional artist from our church. Once a week, we would pick up our sketchbooks and shoeboxes full of art supplies, be packed up in the back of our minivan, and dropped off at a church classroom. There, Mrs. Barrett would teach us about perspective, colors, or shading, then turn us loose, pencils and oil paints in hand. Our parents, as they arrived to pick us up, were be greeted by arms filled with paintings and sketches, the fruits of our labors and their monthly tuition checks.

Even now, returning home, I still occasionally come across sketchbooks filled with my youthful handiwork. Browsing through the artwork, I often wonder what my mother must have thought, every week, as her son returned bearing page after page of lovingly, painstakingly, and poorly drawn STAR WARS spaceships.

My mother has preserved sketchbooks that are literally filled, cover to cover, with illustrations of X-Wings, TIE Fighters, and the occasional attempt to illustrate the Battle of the Death Star. And, let me tell you: what I lacked in aesthetic skill, I more than made up for in productivity.

By high school, I had begun to regard these drawings with a hint of embarrassment. It wasn’t that I had grown artistically; but I had grown ashamed of my youthful enthusiasm for Luke Skywalker. Recalling my younger artistic streak, I would wonder what could possibly have motivated my parents to store such pitiful things away so carefully.

Reflecting back now, I think I’ve begun to understand why my parents saved those drawings. It’s not that my art - in either content or execution - was of any aesthetic value. But they are still dear to them because of what they represent: memories of me running up to my mom after class, bearing my latest work, filled with the childish joy and simple pride of spending my youthful reserves of skill and energy to produce something just for her. And, while my mother has never been a STAR WARS fanatic, her love for me transformed my interests and delight into her own. For this reason, I think, my mother finds twofold pleasure in that artwork: first, as a symbol of her importance to me; and, second, as a genuine representation of me as I was at the time; my childhood interests and passions.

I suspect that the work of a Christian Artist is best performed when it stems from similar desires, turned towards God: beyond displays of ability, or the production of aesthetically stunning works, the Christian who finds herself engaged in Art is engaged in the same pursuit as that child painting, singing, or dancing for his loving parents: we are conveying, to God, His unequalled significance to us; and we are producing work that brings its audience into an honest encounter with the truth of our love and passions.

I. To convey to God our unequalled enjoyment of Him.

These may sound vague: what does it mean to tell God that He is of unequalled importance to us?

The first answer that springs to mind comes from the Protestant and Catholic catechisms, which open by addressing the goals of human existence: in the Reformed Church’s Westminster Shorter Catechism, the first question is asked, What is the chief end of man?, and this answer provided: Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever. Similarly, the Second Catechism of the Roman Catholic Church begins with a prologue that trumpets that “The Life of Man” has as its purpose “To Know and Love God”.

To Know God; to Glorify Him; to enjoy Him; to Love Him. If these are the primary ends for which we, as Christians, believe we have been created, how do we pursue them? How do we, limited, weak, fragile human beings, bring Glory to an almighty God?

In 1^st Peter Chapter 2, Verse 9, the apostle writes that “you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, so that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” Receiving the love and care of a vast and intimate God uniquely enables us to bring Him glory by proclaiming in His presence our joy at having seen ourselves “called out of darkness, into His wonderful light”. We were once guilty of an infinitely terrible crime, and faced with an infinite punishment, the only escape from which comes by an infinite grace, which, having been received, evokes in us infinite gratitude and joy.

And, in just the same way that my youthful dedication to my parents led me to hand them the fruits of my artistic labor – poorly executed, but faithfully offered – our infinite gratitude to God finds its expression in faithfully handing Him the poor fruits of our lives: our paintings and poems, songs and dances. In every facet of our selves, including the artistic, it is right to find ourselves desiring, first and foremost, to bring God praise, by demonstrating the quality and abundance of our lives in Him. As we begin to understand what it really means to be saved by grace, this desire to respond in joyful gratitude begins to push out all the other competing desires and patrons clamoring for our attention and service.

But, there is an objection that can be raised to all this; after all, it may sound troubling to limit the scope of our artistic expression simply to those things which bring God glory. After all, why can’t we let art be free of such external constraints, let it simply be “art for art’s sake”?

Well, for one thing, love, even as it brings freedom, also necessitates limits. Any mutual love imposes on the lives of those whom it touches; but it is a joyful imposition! Yes, Love limits us; it limits us in our impatience, when we desire to withhold forgiveness; It restrains us in our jealousy, in our boasting, in our pride, and in our anger. Love, when truly tasted, makes us long to stare into its depths and lose sight of everything else as we contemplate and adore the object of our love.

II. To provide audiences an honest encounter with the truth we find surrounding us.

And also, by saying that our art should bring God glory, I don’t simply mean that the truths we convey have to be uniformly pleasant.

A natural part of becoming a Christian is that a man gradually finds himself peering into two worlds at once: the world that is “real-at-the-moment”, and the world of “actual reality.” The world of the moment is the world of suffering, of distance, of sin; but, being brought more and more sharply into focus as we grow more familiar with God, is the world as it actually was intended to be: a world of peace, of intimacy, of healing and loving unity.

This is what I mean by saying that it the second goal of the Christian Artist to provide the audience with an honest encounter of truth: God’s revelation of Himself – at once intimately personal and immensely large-scale – provides the Christian with two points of view, both of which serve the artist as inspiration. To limit the scope of artistic revelation to one or another of these viewpoints rings false: while our hope is sure and our faith secure, to claim that we can distill our experience of Christ into feel-good, pastel-colored images of serenity and passivity is a dramatic oversimplification. If we do so, we create kitsch, a shallow sentimentality that is the opposite of Good Art, because it has no connection to the complex experiences and dreams of the audiences we invite to partake in the artistic experience with us.

The opposite oversimplification – presenting the dire state of sin, while withholding a sense of overpowering hope – is equally poor art, for it is also untrue. As Christians, for whom “in all things, we are more than conquerors, because of Christ who loved us” (Rom. 8:37), it is disingenuous to pretend that our eternal well-being can be jeopardized by the passing and momentary ills of this world.

We Christians have space to discuss both despair and hope precisely because our hope can be counted on to endure. In the Christian life, there is room for both the sad truth of the fallen world as well as the glad tidings of the redemption that is beginning to shine through its cracks. After all, without death, resurrection is meaningless; but, without resurrection, death is simply a cold, inevitable end-of-story. So it is necessary to present, in our every creative work, the full trajectory of the Gospel, never shrinking from honestly portraying the total story of fallenness and redemption; but always hinting at glimpses of the Hope to overcome the despair, and the Comforter who seeks us out in our loneliness.

Art expresses the truth, hope, and passion that we have found, or want to find, in the world around us. At age 10, I found my passion in STAR WARS; and my art reflected that. But now, for today, and tomorrow, and increasingly as the days pass, that passion is focused on the being and character of God. And I hope that the work of my hands can come to daily reflect that focused passion more and more.

Once, I drew pictures of spaceships, and happily presented the results of my work to my parents. Today, right now, we are all creating, not just as artists, but as humans going about our daily lives. I pray that we can, one day, happily present the results to our Heavenly Father.

对我妹妹很骄傲

I'm proud of my sister... she recently turned 20, but that's not the real salient point here... To commemorate her 20th year on top the earth she wrote a post summing up some thoughts & transformations that been going on in her mind-grapes:

"What Not Dating For 20 Years Has Taught Me About God

"It's an interesting feeling to be twenty and to have never dated anyone, and on purpose at that, LOL. God has made it amazing, and powerful, and wonderful. It's only scary when I'm not trusting God, which is always a powerful reminder to do so - one that I really need. I've felt God give me purpose and fulfillment and love and joy and peace, and been able to know that it's all from Him. So really, the title of this note should start off with "What God Has Taught Me." It's mostly interesting because I know that so far I've made the right choices as far as God's plan for me, and it's helped me personally honor God and grow in my relationship with Him.

"I just kind of wanted to reflect on what God's done after two decades. Cuz that's kind of a long time...."

(full public post here)

Prostitutes and tax collectors.

[Adapted from correspondence]

At my church this morning, our associate pastor gave a really moving (well, it moved me) sermon about...

OK. To be honest, I was not paying attention during a massive portion of the sermon, because I got like 4 hours of sleep last night during a sleepover at Adam Y-V's house (4 Christian brothers = hallelujah, a Godly confraternity!). I did gather, in between desperate attempts to at least appear attentive, that, in general, the pastor was talking about the salvific power of Christ: how He can reach anybody, regardless of where they are coming from or located at in their lives. A good topic, one with which I'm sure we are all more or less generally familiar. Good stuff, good stuff... but not really one (at least when broadly approached) likely to be provoking a lot of introspection for me (this is a sad truth, and more likely just about my own foolishness than the weightiness of the topic).

But, towards the end of the sermon, the preacher started talking about how the depths of sin from which God had saved him. He is an ex-gangster/drug dealer/adulterer/etc. He's been jailed multiple times. But the point that he kept hammering home was that God had always walked there beside him and before him (that is why we call Him a God that is previous). When he was dealing drugs, God was there with him. When he was sleeping with whoever, God was with him. When he was putting a needle in his arm for drugs, God was there with him. Kanye West might say that Jesus walks... but the truth is, He does so in such thorough ways that we got no clue.

And then the pastor drew a parallel between Jesus' always being with us (even to the end of the age) and Jesus going to be in tax collectors' houses, down to be with them after - and while - they partied. Tax collectors, prostitutes, these were basically the two sides of the "immoral" coin: few men could be more despised than a tax collector, and few women regarded as more shameful or less worthy of respect in that culture. (And of course, we could talk on and on about gender roles in 1st-century Israel/Judea and what it means and signifies that a man would become a tax collector or a woman a prostitute.)

Now, as he started talking about these people with whom Jesus associated himself, my mind started wandering again... but, this time, I think it was a Godly wandering; less a loss of focus than a purposeful redirection of it.

I began recollecting how, so often, I have held a sanitized view of Jesus. About how I intellectually assent to the fact that Jesus hung out with "bad people", but I somehow disengage those "bad people" from their "bad acts" while Jesus was with them. As though He existed in a little bubble of goodness and moral rectitude that somehow charmed the corrupt moral fibre of those around Himself into marginal and temporary sanitation.

But the thing that I realized today was... nope. Basically: the parties to which Jesus went to were not saintly affairs. Jesus hung out with tax collectors. And prostitutes. Let's run over that again:
-Tax collectors (i.e. men who, by virtue of their corruption or/and low moral standards, had a lot of money).
-And prostitutes (i.e. women who, for whatever reason, did... things... in exchange for money).

And ummm... I'm sure that those tax collectors and prostitutes were not just getting together to chill and read the news. While I'm sure that they might have felt ashamed by His presence there - or, more likely, odd and a little weirded out (all ay yo who is that dude hanging out outside talking to everybody but not coming into the party? why isnt he gettin down with the ladies; he shy or gay or somethin?) - but I'm also fairly sure that His presence didn't change all that much of their behavior, and certainly all their behaviors (Isaiah 53:3 - "He was despised, and we esteemed him not").

So this is our God. Going back to a devotional I wrote a little while back, this is our real Hosea: our Christ. He loved each and every one of those people in those parties more than anyone we have ever loved, and he was there to watch them forsake Him for cheap, quick, objectifying lustiness. And He was, so much, Loving Grace, that, instead of fleeing from the scene, unable to handle it, He remained with those people, utterly in love with them.

Can we do this?? I can still remember the dread heartache I felt this one time in high school, when I was dating some girl and she basically started falling for this other guy. I could see it coming, I could hear it on the phone; and she probably could, too. I can still recall so vividly well the sinking emptiness of love taken and rejected; or worse, a love accepted but left without reciprocation.

To use a gross term: love abused.

It's the same feeling you get (well, I do anyhow) when you see that girl (or guy, though I wouldn't know about that.... im guessing it's the same) you have a crush on, or even just sort of fancy, talking a little too closely with some other person, or coming to the party with them, or (ha ha here do I give too much away?) going back and forth avidly from facebook wall to wall with a few too many ;)'s and =)'s for comfort (yeah that was a little of a stalker-ish example. I don't actually do that, promise).

You know that feeling? That hollowness which shakes you in your very heart and to the pit of your stomach? Your very essence of being?

Now imagine Christ - Lover and Husband and Knower of every individual person - not only not avoiding that feeling (magnified by an infinity of comprehension, I'm sure), but seeking it out.

Desiring to give us grace so much that, instead of fleeing when we adulterers approach Him, instead of simply standing still and waiting for us to come to Him, loving these sinners - we prostitutes and we tax collectors - so much that He actually sought them (us!) out, even in the midst of their (our!!) very moment of consummated adultery?

That's a God I can cry out to. That the God whose grace can (and did) bring me to my knees during worship after the sermon, literally crying out for His Cross to be mine. And I hope - I think - that my tears might be the same as those of Mary Magdalene (also a woman with a sordid past... as are we all [not women. Having sordid pasts.]), which watered His sore feet.

This is the God who is seeking me out, to embrace me, as I go to Internet sites that I shouldn't go to, or talk to girls that I don't really need to be talking to, in ways that I don't really need to be talking, about things that don't really deserve discussion.
This is the God who is desiring me, when I'm obsessing over clothes, or money, or sneakers, or any of a thousand other things which could be good but are too-often idols.
This is the God who loves me when I commit adultery with the manifold succubi of my own creation;
and one day, one day soon, one day already, this is the God whose love will be so greatly and obviously revealed to me that I will finally turn back and fall in love with that God once and for all.

[Xanga] Thanks, Billy

Billy: yeah well just something i've been challenged with lately is:

if everything that you hope to happen happens perfectly, if it all comes out for the good, does that mean that God is blessing you?

1:03 AM me: oh yeah

i been thinking on that too

ironic, because then God pushes me to live it out

Billy: right, i think you said it perfectly in your xanga, and i was actually really encouraged by that

1:04 AM

me: sigh. yeah... i guess one thing that is interesting

is that i never lost faith this time

but it was more just like... getting the wind knocked out of me

like you know, a boxer

the difference between a rookie who gets knocked out and thinks he can't never box no more

and a more seasoned dude who gets KO'd but knows he can go back in

i felt more like that

[Xanga] When I hate the church: my UCW senior testimony

[Prelude: This Sunday, I gave my senior testimony at the United Church of Westville, my home church at Yale.
Senior testimonies are a tradition at UCW; an opportunity for outgoing seniors to think over our time here, reflect on the changes that God's brought about in our lives, and pass along whatever small encouragement or exhortations for living life - at Yale, as well as throughout the rest of our activities and communities - with which we've been entrusted, for those we love. This is the text of my testimony; I departed from it in actual reading, but the intent, thoughts, and spirit is here.]

As an introduction, I have to say this: I love this church. I love most of you here very deeply, and those whom I don’t, I’m sorry. I wish that I did; I know that Jesus, whom I love deeply, loves you deeply, enough to die for you (if he did do what I think he did). My not loving you is not because I think you’re a bad person; If I’ve failed to love you, I’m at fault. I’m a sinner.

Nothing that I say is directed at any individual: I hope nobody feels like I’m trying to single you out or correct your behavior. That’s not my place, and that’s not my hope. This is, to quote Jay-Z on The Blueprint, “just my thoughts; only my thoughts”. When I think back on my time at UCW (and look forward to the future), this is what lies on my heart.

I love this church, the people that you see around you; people who I have loved and who have since graduated; people who aren’t here today, but whose hearts and lives are being and have been changed by the love that is evidenced everyday in this community. That’s why I’m so glad to see people here who are my dear friends, who don’t often – if ever – come to this place: I think it’s a good place. I think it is a place where Jesus is.

I love what I’ve seen in this church and what it can and could be, which is why I also hate being here sometimes.

I’m tired of accepting, of settling, of making excuses for our corporate and individual sins. I’m tired of the hypocrisy, in myself and others, that I’ve seen exposed, in seemingly-never-ending layers. I’m sick of having to see those of us who’ve been privileged enough to experience the greatest love of all be inactive in our community, complacent in our faith, and weak in our spirits. I hate seeing what the church really is: tired, sick, sinful people with selfish, foolish, draining demands. I’ve seen people that I respect give until they’re drained dry; give until they can’t bear to give any more, and still that wasn’t enough to turn the tide. The church is broken; the church is human; But how can it possibly be that we who claim to be presenting the words and life and ministry of Jesus Christ to a needy world so often turn our backs on one another; so often simply disregard the wants and even the needs of others, in favor of platitudes and empty boasts of salvation through our faith? Faith without works is dead; love without obedience and care is merely self-gratification.

Last Easter Sunday, a man came to our service. I don’t know if he was homeless; I do know that he needed money enough to come disrupt our service with his requests for aid. We gave him what we could; some food and, I think, money. It wasn’t enough for him, so he hung around through lunch, asking us to do chores for money, to give him some cash, whatever. He was pretty insistent, a real distraction; an annoyance. But what someone told him was what will stick with me forever: Fed up with the man’s requests for money, one member of the congregation spit out at him: “Why should we help you?”

I hate situations like that, and I think I know why. There are two reasons: First, I hate seeing who people really are, because it reminds me of who I really am. This is who I really am: I wake up in the morning and put on my headphones, then walk down Elm Street to class, thinking at every person that I see: you in my way, and I don’t like you. This is the sinner that I am, that I see reflected in every sin that I see around me, and it saddens me. This is the poorly-hidden skeleton in my closet: I am a jerk, and I don’t like people.

And sometimes this unworthiness... it makes me wish that Jesus hadn't died for me. For us. For any of us.

Because He doesn't deserve this.

He doesn't deserve what we put Him through. I think of me turning my hat down and walking a little faster around the corner with the burrito cart on it so that I don’t have to talk to Annette, the woman many of us call the “flower lady”. I think of lying to Joe, a homeless guy I know, when I have five dollars in my pocket, but I want that money for myself, so even though he hasn’t eaten in two days, and I know he hasn’t, because that dude is skinnier than anyone I know, I lie to him and I tell him that I don’t have any money, because he knows that I normally don’t have money and, besides, he’s so used to asking people for money and getting turned down, plus I know the fact that I looked him in the eye when I lied to him, like he’s a person and not an obstacle on the sidewalk, was enough to assuage my conscience that I did right by him.

How could this be what Jesus meant when he told us: “If you love me, feed my sheep”? How could this possibly be what Jesus died for? How could this spirit that we see among us be what Jesus meant when he said, “My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you.”? We’re great at taking freshmen out for meals; for late-night snacks; for trips off-campus. But when it comes to serving someone less interesting, or less fun, or less convenient, or more familiar? Silence.

And I say that I will give my life to serve this church, to build into it, to develop it? Am I stupid? Or just lazy, and I’m trying to soothe my conscience, and, though I don’t like to work for money, I figure I don’t mind working for my salvation; or at least to deceive myself into thinking that I’ve become a new man, a saved man.

Romans 2:15 says “they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts now accusing, now even defending them.” I wish my thoughts defended me; I wish “the requirements of the law” were in my heart, but all I hear is the never-ending roar of accusations against me.

I hate this. I hate every time that I see the resignation that I sometimes feel reflected on another’s face. We got accustomed to starting service 5 minutes late, then 10, then 15. I got used to showing up for the early van to church 5 minutes late, then 10, then, hey, I can always catch the second ride. I’ve become resigned to seeing fewer and fewer people turn out for church activities as the semester wears on, because, oh, it’s to be expected; people at Yale are busy, after all. We’re just grateful that people stop by church when they have the time, when there’s not an interview, or a meeting, or a tryout, or too much studying to do, or sleep to catch up on.

And when I sleep through a Bible study or a meeting, hey, it’s okay, we all do it. I’ll do better next time. It seems sometimes that we prioritize everything in our lives over Christ, who fades into some kind of default, wallpapering our schedule: if there’s not an engaging distraction or important meeting, then pursue God; but if there is something actually important, Christ can always wait. After all, there will always be another Bible study; another church service; another service trip; another quiet time; another passage of Scripture. How can this be the Christian life?

Okay. By now, you all get the point that this church, this religion, my sinfulness, they’ve all worn me out. Multiple times. But still, I’m not only committing to spending two more years here, but then three in seminary; then a lifetime in church ministry. This is foolishness; you think it, I admit it. I say it to myself, reproachfully, like I imagine some of you are thinking to yourselves: If the church discourages him so much, he should just shut up, stop whining, and get out of here. Care a little bit less – maybe put a little bit more distance between myself and this community. Why does it matter? After all, we evangelicals are so fond of saying that it’s our “personal relationship with Christ” that matters, and not anything else; why should I let someone else, or even a community of others, stand between me and Christ?

It matters, because I’ve seen what this church can be. What it has been for me; what it could be for others.

At the Thanksgiving service last semester, right before leaving for break, Pastor Kang asked the college students present to introduce ourselves and why we like UCW. That day, I didn’t say that I like UCW; I said that I love UCW, because I have seen God’s love here.

I love UCW; often, I like it. Often, I dislike it. But I love it, because it’s loved me; even more importantly, I’ve seen it love others.

That’s it, really. That’s the only answer that I have. I could retell stories – of walking to the pond at midnight during retreat; walking to East Rock on the coldest morning I’ve ever felt, just to see the Easter sunrise; late nights with Victor, and Ray, and Lee-shing, and many others, talking about whatever; the time I saw Carol during winter break, and it felt so good to see a familiar UCW face; dating Janice, then, even better, no longer dating Janice, but continuing to pray and read the Bible with her and grow in friendship – the list would go on and on, but none of the stories are particularly good, and none of them would be told as well as Dan could tell them.

I’ve been rather discouraged, recently. I’ve been wrestling with the notions of church and Gospel. But that’s not important now, we can discuss that some other time; what’s important is that I’ve been feeling, as I said earlier, that this church that you see before you – these human imperfections – could not possibly be what Jesus wanted His body to be. What He died to establish.

Some of the worst was Saturday afternoon. I was in a Bible study – with Ray, Josh Au, and Eric Klein – and I couldn’t concentrate. The modern church, not to mention UCW in particular, far from the strong reminder of the might of God’s love, seemed like every wrong caricature of Christianity to me. I left early, ran a few errands, then had to head over and lead Alpha Bible Study. I got there and turned on my computer, starting to write this exact testimony. Ten minutes after we were supposed to start, no one was there; I figured this was just another UCW no-show event. No surprise. But then two of the freshmen guys showed up, and we started talking about Christ and Christianity.

Telling them the story of the Church through the ages; of Paul, of Peter, of the law; of Jesus and His parables and healings, made me remember why I love Christ. That they were late didn’t matter; what mattered was, they were here, now, and we were speaking about things that do matter. Then one of the freshmen girls showed up, and we continued to talk; she asked, why Christianity? Why choose this, out of all religions, when there are miracles and goodness and ethics in each? My answer to her was really an answer to myself: it’s not about them being wrong and us being right. It’s about Christ having loved us; so, regardless of what anything else says, I love him back, wherever I find Him.

I love this church, because Christ is love. This community is often loving; but then, often it is not. That doesn’t matter: the same is true of me. What is important is that I have seen the loving spirit of Jesus Christ at work in this community. I see it when I hear Josh Williams tell me about how excited he is about the living faith of Barack Obama; I see it when I see the quiet dedication of Lee-shing and Victor to fulfilling their commitments; I see it when I see Emily taking freshmen out to eat, or Joe Oh basically giving his life up for the Red Cross and Relay and whatever else, despite grumbling about it the whole time.

This church does, and will continue to, disappoint me, sadden me, and shake my faith. A lot. But Christ never does anything but draw me to Him; and He has chosen to make His home in this place. I don’t know why, but I’m thankful that He has. “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” I’m a sinner; We’re all thorough sinners here, in need of full pardons. And this is why I love this church and remain here: not because we’re sinless, but because Christ is, and because He is here. Wherever He is, that’s the only place that I need to find.

[Xanga] truer words...

Billy: and not focus so much on "what can i DO to serve God today?" but more on "let me give this minute to God and see where it leads me"
Billy: or He leads me

God gives us friends and revelation; often, the two are happily conjoined.
Thanks, Bro

[Xanga] "not to baptize, but to preach"

" ¹⁷For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel: not in wisdom of words, lest the cross of Christ should be made void." - 1 Corinthians 1:17

It is explicitly not our burden, as individual Christians, to baptize another into the church: baptism of the Holy Spirit is reserved for the saving grace of God's work through Christ's sacrifice.

Rather, what we, as Christians, are to aim for is the propagation of the knowledge of the gospel of Christ's love and sacrifice, that the work of the Holy Spirit might be sought out by those desirous of its efficacy.

[Xanga] my heart

There are so many whose lives and sorrows cry out for God, and I have such little ability to reach them!

The balm of Gilead, the spring of living water, lies so far out of the reach of my fumbling tongue; out of our tongues, as Christians. I desire so greatly for those I love to receive the sweet respite I have found, but the only way I have found - that which I profess willingly and gladly to be the only way - is that which is "despised and rejected by men" (Is. 53:3). And I feel an infinitesimal portion of the sorrow of Christ, crying, "Father, forgive them! For they know not who they reject!" I cannot understand how he could bear it: that those He loved would reject Him Himself. And this is additional, added onto the physical and spiritual sufferings of Christ in His dark, lonely night. If only I could know the burdens of the suffering servant, the purity of the spotless lamb!

Can you understand? I deeply hope that you do. My sadness does not stem from an intellectual or social condescension towards those whose steps have carried them away from Christ's sacrifice, turning from the blood and water (John 19:34) flowing from the broken sin offering; I'm sorrowful over my sinful ineptitude, as I regard my foolish uselessness, as I consider my self-sustained crippling of God's Spirit. What is man, that He would choose us as agents of salvation? What am I? As men, we have turned away from our Father; and I am the worst of these wanderers, because I hear His calling and still seek ways to break free of that which has brought me life everlasting.

I desire so greatly to be a comfort to my friends, but the only advice that I have to offer, the only easement of suffering that I have found, is precisely the one that is a stumbling block, foolishness in their eyes (1 Cor. 1:23) . For my only advice is to turn and look at the Cross, and be bathed in the grace and mercy of the Lamb. And those words, save for the Spirit speaking through them, are less than nothing; they are sinful words of a sinful man. Why can't I do more; or, if as ineffective as man is, why are we still granted the awesome experience of the love of Christ flowing through us?

So, I can't - and oughtn't - stop loving my friends and being there for them, but it's so disappointing - despair-inducing, were it not for the comfort of the Comforter - that the only aid I can give them is, ultimately, insubstantial and only my own, bereft of the power of Christ save when He who is within me chooses to flow out of me. If only I could have this experience every day! If only, by prayer, fasting, lamentation, meditation, study, and devotion, I could forcibly create in myself the experience of God. But that's not how it works, nor, were it possible to make it so, would it be beneficial, in any sense, for the Spirit to be summoned like some genie in a bottle; my prayer is only that the Lord would change my heart to desire Him in every way. That he would use me, that I would have the strength and devotion to be, in every part and way, surrendered up to Him.

Oh God, have mercy on me, a sinner.