A Glutton for Punishment

I told you I was going to write about gluttony.

Between the amount of food America consumed on Thursday and the amount of stuff (yes, I just used the word "stuff", which I will define as material goods that have little to no importance - mainly the result of impulse shopping incited by the atmosphere and advertisements of the occasion) people bought on Friday, I think the relevance of this post does not need discussing. Do not worry, though. I am not writing to condemn or judge. I, too, ate way too much on Thursday. Also, I ended up shopping on Friday - granted, I didn't wake up (or stay up) at an ungodly hour of the day to storm a retail store. I went at a perfectly decent time: 3:00PM and ended up with 2 DVDs, shower gel, and shampoo.

Concerning gluttony, Frederick Buechner (can't you tell that I'm reading Buechner at this time?) said this:

"A glutton is one who raids the icebox for a cure for spiritual malnutrition" (35).

The quote caught my attention because I believe that there is some truth to it. As humans, our natural tendency is to overcompensate. Even if the real problem is something completely different, we run to things that we know and have control over (usually the tangible things) and excessively obsess. Why do you think we come up with terms like "emotional eaters" and "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?" Ever see those romantic movies where the heroine have just gotten her heart broken and decides to make it better by eating ice cream right out of its container? It's just like that.

Most of all, we (this is me speaking on behalf of all humankind; I try not to generalize, but this is pretty typical according to my observations) crave the intangibles like love, acceptance, confidence, encouragement, intimacy, etc., but when we don't know where to go to get those (and of course, the people we expect to give us these things disappoint us one way or another - they just fall short), we turn to other controllable things to overcompensate. We turn to things like emotional eating, not eating, relationships (a.k.a relying on one person to fulfill everything - yikes!), workaholic-ness (this word does not exist), sex with the wrong people for the wrong reason, super frantic religious piety, and much much more. We have the tendency to look for the right thing in all the wrong places.

The cure for spiritual malnutrition is Jesus Christ.


This might be scary for some people (or, really, everyone - only some of us admits this) because we can't be in control. We can't demand grace or love from him. We don't deserve the it. We can't earn it either. These things have to be given freely. The most amazing thing is this: he did give it freely.

For starters, "Christ died for sins once for all, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God" (1 Peter 3:18). He didn't stop at just that, though. He came "that [you, me, everyone really] may have life, and have it to the full" (John 10:10). That thing your soul crave for - he wants to give that to you.

So I guess it's time to look at our life and get the bigger picture, not just the view one has when one's head is inside the icebox.

Bring on the pumpkin pie...

Thanksgiving is not necessarily a Christian holiday. It is an American holiday. Turkey, stuffing, green bean casseroles, pumpkin pie, are staples of a Thanksgiving meal that I happen to love. Thanksgiving is also a day where people eat their weight in food. (I will refrain from making any attempts to discuss gluttony until the day after Black Friday.)

Giving thanks, though, is a very Christian concept. Whenever we participate in communion (you know those minuscule plastic cups filled with grape juice and matza crackers that makes you think of getting an actual meal you can taste), we are supposed to remember Christ and what he has done for us. Communion is sometimes also called the Eucharist, which is a Greek word that means thanksgiving. Wait, what? Apparently the early church started thanksgiving meal, without the turkey and stuffing I would assume. Actually, Jesus himself started the first thanksgiving meal. In his book, Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buechner wrote how "at the Last Supper itself Christ gave thanks, and on their part, Christians have nothing for which to be more thankful" (63).

I will take this time to express some of the things I am thankful for.

I am thankful for the hope that I have in Christ. He took the pains of becoming human (along with all of the junk that comes with this limited existence), and suffered a criminal's death. He rose again from the dead (this part is important, folks, leaving this part out is similar to leaving the punchline of a joke out...) He defeated death, the most mysterious and feared enemy of mankind. (Again, I am reminded of the Harry Potter quote: "The last enemy to be conquered is death.") I have hope for this life and what lies beyond because of Jesus. He lived a human life to the fullest (so I have hope that my life is worth something), and he points to hope for eternity that lies beyond. I'm getting frustrated because it turns out to be slightly more difficult to explain this. I do want to say this, though. I have hope because I don't have to live this life just for myself. That's a relief.

I am thankful for my parents. I'm talking my actual parents (the ones living approximately 8,000 miles away) and the ones dubbed my "American parents." My parents raised me up in the Lord. My dad has set a great example for my life. Two actually. The first one is how he loves me. (I'm tearing up as I'm writing this.) When I try to fathom God (which is quite an impossible undertaking, there), I think of a more amazing version of my dad. (Note: my dad is human, thus having flaws and imperfection.) My dad also set an example for me in how to serve God. His dedication, his crazy-almost-reckless faith, and his love for God encourages myself to follow in his footsteps. My mother is the most amazing person I have ever met. She is the toughest (and sometimes most stubborn) person I know. She trusts God and then charges at life. I wouldn't be the person I am today and I wouldn't be where I am today if not for her. I am also thankful for my "American parents." I seriously have no idea what I did or said to have them invite me in and made me one of their own. They didn't have to. But they did.

I am thankful for my friends. When I say friends, these aren't just the people who take the time to hang out with me, although they don't mind having 3-hour lunches or 4-hour coffee with me. These are the people that showed how much they cared for me. These are the people I trust with my life. I am a very self-sufficient person, and I pride myself in that. With the aforementioned friends (a.k.a. people I trust with my life), I actually let myself be vulnerable. I trust they have my back. I trust they will smack me if I'm doing something I'm not supposed to be doing. These people are invested. Again, I don't know why, but hey, I don't have all of the answers.

I'm thankful about more things that I won't mention in detail right now because it's 1:55 AM and I have to get my beauty sleep in order to consume my weight in food tomorrow.

Oh and I am most definitely thankful for shoes. Enough said.

Back to the concept of communion or eucharist. The early church's idea of communions (eucharist, Lord's Supper, whatever term you want to use to describe it) was having a meal together. I think Buechner did a great job explaining this, so I'll let him explain:

To eat any meal together is to meet at the level of our most basic need. It is hard to preserve your dignity with butter on your chin, or to keep your distance when asking for the tomato ketchup... To eat this particular meal together is to meet at the level of our most basic humanness, which involves our need not just for food but for each other...

It's difficult to have a meal with someone and not have a bit of that self-defense wall crumbling down, especially when you're eating a chicken fajita burrito from Chipotle. Also, eating together is a form of telling someone you trust them. I trust that the person who brought the mashed potatoes didn't put poison in it and try to poison me. Or, a less deadly example would be me trusting you to not make fun of me eating my chicken fajita burrito.

So, where am I going with this? Ah, yes! Two things I hope you will remember as you feast on the over-abundance of pumpkin delicacies.

#1. Thanksgiving meal (and any meal you share with fellow Jesus-followers) is a chance to remember and thank him for the sacrifice that has given us life.

#2. Eating Thanksgiving meal together is a time to share and build relationships. And let that very proper I am an island wall crumble just a little bit.

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Love,
T

A Simple Lesson

Yesterday, I went to our morning gathering prepared to play the violin and to teach the kids. In short, it was a work day for me. Naturally, I expected to work and not to soak anything in. To my surprise, the day had other things in store for me.

On my way to find the kids, one of the dads of the kids in my group stopped me. He asked if I could explain the meaning of communion, since his kid was asking what communion was. Apparently, the boy had walked into the service just in time to see people lining up to get tiny pieces of cracker and tiny cups of juice.

I was prepared to tell a story about one of Jesus' miracles, the one where he healed a man's eyes with dirt. I ditched that story and quickly attempted to formulate some kind of lesson plan around communion. I told the kids about the story of Jesus' death and resurrection, and told them that communion is supposed to be a reminder. I taught them that whenever we take communion, we are reminded that (1) Jesus forgave our sins, (2) Jesus gave us hope, and (3) we live our lives to please God.

After the short lesson (these kids have very short attention spans), we went and played outside. While I watch the kids play, I started thinking about that simple lesson I just taught them and realized that the lesson is still relevant for the 23-year-old me.

Jesus forgave my sins. It's easy how, sometimes, I easily forget this truth. What is wrong with me? It's the one truth that defines my existence. It's what I'm supposedly basing my life on. Jesus went through all the hassle of living a human life, suffering on the cross, dying an excruciatingly painful and humiliating death, and then defeating death by rising again to take away the sins of this world. Including my sins. It implies that I owe him my life. I owe him my existence.

Jesus gives me hope.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." (Would quoting J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter in a faith-related post be considered blasphemous? I certainly hope not.)

The wages of sin is death (Ro 3:23), but Jesus' resurrection defeated death and gives us the hope of eternity with Christ. I feel that it is very easy to go through the day's itinerary, check off to-do lists, and forget the reason that life is still worth living. I feel that some days, I have to choose to remind myself that I am here today, and I can be unafraid of the future, because of the hope that I have in Christ.

I live my life to please Jesus. Is my life pleasing Jesus? I feel like this is the question that I have to keep on asking myself. I recently pondered about choices and the process of making choices. Honestly, I have to confess that when I make choices about my life and about my actions, I don't usually stop myself and ask if this choice is pleasing Jesus. I believe that it's a struggle. There are other individuals, most often it is myself, that I want to please. Clouded by fleeting emotions, my priorities get mixed up and I end up making choices that, in hindsight, I regret later. It's a struggle. But I owe him my life.

In today's world, full of the hustle and bustle of life, I pray for myself. I pray I may never forget to remember.

Minute Thoughts #1

At work today, I was typing up feedback from students about their major/minor, the church, their calling, what they’ve learned or not learned, etc. (all the good stuff). I ran across this one answer that made me stop and smile. I decided to share it with you all.

Q: Based on what you learned in your major, how would you best communicate the Christian faith both in the church and in the world?

A: We need to meet the physical needs as well as the spiritual needs; it is not our place to judge, but to love!

I think this student gets it. This is what being a Christian should look like. It’s as simple and as complicated as it gets.

PS, this is a new "section" in my blog, Minute Thoughts. Things I can post in a minute, and things you and I can ponder for a little break from our daily busy-ness.

An Obsession and an Apology

People say that the first step to recovery involves admitting that you have a problem. Well, in that case… I am today’s church, and I am obsessed with lines. I am obsessed with drawing lines, and combining lines into shapes. In fact, I get so preoccupied with the shapes and the lines that I forget. I have forgotten the purpose behind my existence.

Lines and shapes can be pretty and useful. They keep things where they are “supposed” to be. Neat. Lines keep the good things good, and the bad things bad. They keep the insiders inside, and the outsiders outside. That’s just it, though. I got too obsessed with “the proper way to do things,” “the protocols,” and “the rules” that I forget to love people. The lines come first.

I’m so obsessed with the line that separates right and wrong. In my opinion, either you are on the right side of the line or you’re on the wrong side of the line. Being on the wrong side of the line means you’re heading straight to hell. I don’t really need to take the time to know who you are and what God has in store for you. If you’re not on the right side, then I bid you farewell.

I put people in neat, little boxes. Of course, I expect them to fit. If someone wants to be a Christian, then they have to fit in the little box labeled “Good Christian.” This box clearly defines how a Christian should dress, talk, act, etc. Even though the person doesn’t have the box’s dimensions, I utilize every effort to make them fit. Let’s take a new Christian, for example. People experience the awesomeness of Christ’s love and decides to follow him. However, they aren’t anywhere near being shaped like this box I have created. So I push and tug and do whatever is necessary to make them fit. Naturally, if they really desire to be a Christ follower, they eventually relent to the confines of my box.

Take pastors, for our next example. I have created a nice little box I label the “Pastor or Great Spiritual Leader” box. Just like the previous box for good Christians, this particular box defines what makes someone a pastor. This box is quite different from the previous one. It fits in the “Good Christian” box, but it’s much more intricate when it comes to its design. I make sure these pastors are to be elevated to a higher status than the “regular” Christians - putting them on pedestals, to be exact. Furthermore, they are to be perfect - well, at least very close to perfect. Among the different intricate lines that make up the pastor box, you might find these: they should always be called by their title, “Pastor” (it differentiates them from regular folks); they should look like they have it all figured out (and if they don’t really inside, then they must act like they do); they must have the answers to everything; and they must be the people that uphold the moral code (who’s right and who’s going to hell). If you have ever seen the television show, Dollhouse (where people are being used as dummies imprinted with whatever personality customers want), it looks just like that. I forget that these pastors, these leaders, are human beings. I forget that these people are still struggling with the baggage that comes with being human. I forget that they are people that love Jesus despite their struggles and then spend their time and energy loving other people.

I even draw lines around myself. I make this other box, labeled “The Church.” It’s what I think I should fit in. I make sure I have the “necessary” church elements: upbeat, contemporary Christian music; passionate yet safe sermons; midweek services for every age group; a little taste of outreach and evangelism, just enough to make people feel good about themselves; and a huge building with pews and big honkin’ crosses. I forgot. Oh, how easily I forget. I’m not mine to define. I didn’t create myself. I was created by Christ - he’s the only one that is supposed to do the defining. I was created to accept people. People are messy. And they definitely don’t fit in boxes.

Long, long ago, when Christianity was born, I looked different. There were no big buildings, no big crosses. There were meals, family meals - a place where everyone is welcomed. Slaves sat next to their masters, as equals. Romans, Greeks, and Jews called each other brothers and sisters. When one grieved, the others grieved with him. When one celebrated, the others celebrated with her. I didn’t tell people who they should be, or what they should do. It wasn’t my job. The Spirit leads, and like the wind, it blows wherever it so desires. Pastors did not have official titles, big offices, or an appropriate dress code and conduct guidelines. Leaders were the people that walk alongside others, urging them to continue on their journey of faith. Although the world around them was shocked by the leadership of women, I didn’t draw lines around that issue. I didn’t make a big deal out of the issue I now dubbed the “Women in Ministry Debate.” I didn’t put them in boxes. I didn’t put anyone in boxes.

I forgot. I have forgotten. After all these hours, days, years, and decades of drawing lines, I realize that I owe the world an apology. I am sorry. I am sorry I hurt people by shoving them in boxes. I am so sorry I forced leaders to lock their humanity in the closet. I am so sorry I passed judgment on people, the people I should have been loving.

With that said…

To the world that I should have loved, I apologize.

The Country Club

What is your first reaction when you hear this word: CHURCH?

For someone like me, who pretty much was born and raised in a church, this is what I've always thought of about church.

People. Worship. Preaching. Bible. Prayer. Communion.

The church as the world see it today is a close-knit community with its own culture, language, dress code, rules, etc. This is what I describe as church being like a country club. If someone that does not look, sound, act, or believe like they belong in the country club comes in, members give them two options: start looking, speaking, and acting like you belong in the country club or "Thank you, but no thanks."

Wait, what? What in the world are you talking about?

I think that the church today has become too focused on maintaining the standards of behavior that they forget the ultimate commandment: to love God with everything you've got and to love others as you love yourself (Mt 22:37-39).

Imagine this scenario.

A "lady of the night," prostitute, hooker, or whatever term you want to use to describe her line of work finishes her "shift" around the same time normal people were starting to wake up and getting ready for church. She then, walking back to her dingy one-bedroom apartment, sees the building with a giant wooden cross at the corner of the intersection. She hears the blaring sound of a band playing upbeat songs. She could feel the vibrations of the bass guitar in her chest. A feeling she did not understand overwhelmed the fatigue, and she walked nervously in the direction of the building. "Maybe this is where I find peace," she thinks. Before she enters the big wooden doorway, she tugs on her mini skirt and pulled up her skimpy blouse, a futile attempt to make herself look presentable. She walks in and sits in the back row, trying to not stick out so much.

But she does stick out. She knows it. Everyone in the big auditorium knows it. The person whose job is to greet the people coming into the church was so shocked she forgot to greet.

What happens now?

From my experience of typical church life, after the service, some people - the so-called leaders of the church - will try to greet her and say hello. Other people, though, will just stay away, like she's a plague. She might come back, if most of the people she interacted with was nice, but at one point they demand for her to "repent" and believe in Jesus. Also to be "baptized." Around this time, an older lady at the church would probably dare herself to come up to this girl and tell her that she should get a new wardrobe.

Difference makes people uncomfortable.

I understand that. I also understand that the scenario I just presented to you had lots of "ifs" connected to it. Other churches might have a different approach. But still, in most cases, when you're different, people get uncomfortable.

This is why I think churches today are like country clubs. They attract and keep the people that look, act, speak, and believe the same way as them. When "different" people show up, they try to give them the country club makeover. They don't blatantly turn down others, but nonverbal communication is still communication, right? This reminded me of the movie, "Stepford Wives." (I am so compelled to go on a tangent discussion, but I will refrain from confusing everyone.)

Country Club Christianity keeps people in a bubble, and keeps others out of the love of Jesus (so to speak, not that you can really do that). After a while, it will be all about: what's in it for me? Soon, the people of the church will abandon their mission to declare the good news of Christ's love and hope that came with his resurrection, only to pamper and entertain themselves with the soap opera they like to call Christianity.

I like to think of church as a hospital or a rehabilitation center. When the Pharisees saw that Jesus was hanging out with tax collectors and sinners and looked down on him because of that, Jesus told them this: "It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners" (Mk 2:17).

Whoa. Wait a minute there... Jesus hung out with sinners?

In short, yes, he did.

That's his whole purpose of coming to earth. He even stated it as his mission. When he was at a synagogue in Nazareth, he read a passage from Isaiah and named it his purpose statement.

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." -Luke 4:18-19

This is the good news that Jesus brought! Jesus came to die on the cross and rise again on the third day, conquering the punishment of sin once and for all. That part is true, but there is more to Jesus' ministry than just that. He healed the sick, fed the hungry, and showed mercy to the prostitutes and tax collectors. Jesus didn't just give the hope of an eternal life after the end of this life. He also gave people hope for right now - for all those who wake up every morning to death sentences, physically and socially.

As the body of Christ, I believe that the church should reflect the head - Jesus. Church should be full of sinners, not those have known the love of Christ and indulge themselves in sin, but those who are seeking, and hurting, and confused. The church should be a rehabilitation center for the soul, a place where the hurting and the confused come to get peace and acceptance. It should also be the place where people that have gotten help and are healthier give encouragement and love to the new ones.

I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't even try to go there. That will just complicate our lives.

Maybe we should just stick with The Country Club.

A confession to start.

I hated Christians.

Yes. That was it, my confession. I have a feeling that when my parents read this, they might have some kind of a panic attack.

I've had this exact confession before, when I was thirteen. Or maybe fourteen. It's that awkward time in my life that I try to not think about very often. That particular confession brought about the story of my faith. That is a story for another time, although if for some reason you'd like to read it, you can find it on my website.

This particular confession happened sometime around my senior year of college. I think irony seems to color my life in more ways than I want it to, because at that point in my life, I was about to complete my undergraduate in Youth Ministry, Music, and Biblical Studies. For about four years prior to this confession, I was training to be a pastor. Then I realized that I did not like Christians, so becoming a pastor for them would be highly unbearable.

The rationale for my confession was simple. I was not able to come to terms with what it meant to be a Christian. The Christians that had inhabited my life were fake. None of their actions were real. I was sick and tired of living around people who wore masks every single day.

I was very, very bitter.

After months of bitterly going through life, something just clicked in place. Today's "neat" version of Christianity (the one that has all the rules and tries to impose that on everyone) isn't what it was originally. Jesus' ministry wasn't fake at all.

I no longer hate Christians, by the way.

What changed?

I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how wide, and long, and high, and deep the love of Christ is. And the grace that continually flows into my life.

I realized that it's not about the Christians, it's about Christ. And I'm not any better than they are, searching for a way to make things "work."

And so, my journey began. A journey of de-bitter-ization and the pursuit of what it means to be the disciple Jesus called me to be.