Plenty of good reads this week from The Australian. "Are our lives so meaningless that we have to waste our time, money and neurons on this human trash?" asks Phillip Adams.
It's a candid commentary on the crazed celebrity culture that has, to humanity's demise, governed the topic and sentiment of our society.
This should come as good news to those of us well acquainted with all this 101 talk about meaninglessness. We're not the only ones talking about it!
Read full article here.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
Are you a Christian Secret Agent?
Splashed across the front covers of this week's The Weekend Australian Magazine is a picture of ABC's managing director Mark Scott, with the headlines, "Meet the evangeliscal Christian and management wonk who's running your ABC."
It certainly did make me think of what all of our vocations mean to us, how we live out our faiths from the inside out and bear the image of God that is not hocus-pocus, but, to borrow Tom Wright's words, "simply Christian". Everyday ordinary folk - although the word "ordinary" does stem from the etymological roots of "belonging to a higher order" - who are well received not because of their labels, but because of their irresistable down-to-earth humanity.
"People were wary," says Triple J manager Linda Bracken, of the mood within ABC towards Mark Scott's new appointment. Especially after a distastrous predecessor who "detonated the ABC's staff-driven culture" and "wreaked havoc in some sections of the broadcaster".
"But Mark is different," Bracken was quoted as saying. "He immediately began to generate goodwill."
Indeed, as former journalist, editor and political spinner, Scott's Christian faith has come under scrutiny. Some view him as one of "God's secret agents trying to bring the life and light of Jesus into one of the most hostile parts of our society, the media."
This is, undoubtedly, the way in which some of us view ourselves, and the way we relate to others in our secular workplace environments. Are we really "God's secret agents"?
There is, I suspect, nothing secret about it. If the Jews in the Old Testament times were marked out as the chosen people of God by the law, the equivalent for us today is the law that has now been inscribed upon our hearts. The fruit that we bear, a faith that is expressed in our works, should mark us out as people with a distinctly different and peculiar worldview, and perhaps even piquant approach to life.
We don't have to bang on about our labels, if there is even to be anything subtly subversive about our identity as Christian people. All we've been called to do is to be as human as we can, to be who we have been created to be, and to bear the image of God that have been buried under centuries of amnesia.
The city on a hill cannot be hidden, and a tree shall be known by its fruit. Salt that retains its saltiness will draw out the flavoursome goodness of the main meal.
Although the end result might paint quite a different vision from the one most of us would've liked to imagine. Without labels, there shall be no accolades to store away in our treasure chest of pride and boasting, no elevating ourselves above "the rest", no thinking we are better off than anyone else.
Ah. Such is the Christian life. Ordinary folk living lives of obscurity, whom in their Image-bearing, shall bring one more piece of heaven down onto earth.
It certainly did make me think of what all of our vocations mean to us, how we live out our faiths from the inside out and bear the image of God that is not hocus-pocus, but, to borrow Tom Wright's words, "simply Christian". Everyday ordinary folk - although the word "ordinary" does stem from the etymological roots of "belonging to a higher order" - who are well received not because of their labels, but because of their irresistable down-to-earth humanity.
"People were wary," says Triple J manager Linda Bracken, of the mood within ABC towards Mark Scott's new appointment. Especially after a distastrous predecessor who "detonated the ABC's staff-driven culture" and "wreaked havoc in some sections of the broadcaster".
"But Mark is different," Bracken was quoted as saying. "He immediately began to generate goodwill."
Indeed, as former journalist, editor and political spinner, Scott's Christian faith has come under scrutiny. Some view him as one of "God's secret agents trying to bring the life and light of Jesus into one of the most hostile parts of our society, the media."
This is, undoubtedly, the way in which some of us view ourselves, and the way we relate to others in our secular workplace environments. Are we really "God's secret agents"?
There is, I suspect, nothing secret about it. If the Jews in the Old Testament times were marked out as the chosen people of God by the law, the equivalent for us today is the law that has now been inscribed upon our hearts. The fruit that we bear, a faith that is expressed in our works, should mark us out as people with a distinctly different and peculiar worldview, and perhaps even piquant approach to life.
We don't have to bang on about our labels, if there is even to be anything subtly subversive about our identity as Christian people. All we've been called to do is to be as human as we can, to be who we have been created to be, and to bear the image of God that have been buried under centuries of amnesia.
The city on a hill cannot be hidden, and a tree shall be known by its fruit. Salt that retains its saltiness will draw out the flavoursome goodness of the main meal.
Although the end result might paint quite a different vision from the one most of us would've liked to imagine. Without labels, there shall be no accolades to store away in our treasure chest of pride and boasting, no elevating ourselves above "the rest", no thinking we are better off than anyone else.
Ah. Such is the Christian life. Ordinary folk living lives of obscurity, whom in their Image-bearing, shall bring one more piece of heaven down onto earth.
Thursday, 26 April 2007
When I Talk to You
A writer's life, I have always understood, is a contemplative life. A life which forces us to look inside, as we visciously poke and prod at our fleshy inner being. It is a life which makes us look back in horror at the alarmingly messy trail we've left in our wake. And hope-fully, it is an avenue through which we learn to articulate the vision that we can see before us as honestly and as best as we can."You can't pray a lie"
- Mark Twain
But I'm also slowly awakening to the realisation that the contemplative life doesn't necessarily equate the praying life. I don't mean to say that the two are mutually exclusive entities. Indeed, they are not, and it is sometimes hard to know where one ends and the other begins.
Nonetheless, I have become aware, as Mark Twain so deftly puts it, that we simply can't pray a lie. I may lie in my writing - shaping and forming my thoughts into coherent arguments that would soothe a sore and guilty conscience. To present to myself, if not to anybody else, a highly edited version of my life that I would like to believe in.
But it is during my praying that I am forced to tear away the masks I have become so fond of wearing. It is in my praying that I stand as naked as Adam and Eve. And though I hide in the bushes whilst God walks through the garden, I discover of course, that not only can I not hide anything from Him, but that my nakedness hardly fazes Him at all.
It is during these times that I am made aware of what I am really thinking, come to terms with those things that gnaw insidiously at my soul, and realise that there are heartfelt hopes that I really do hold for those around me.
It is a painstaking process of learning to remain in prayer. To resist the urge to run and hide in places of false security and strength - in the workplace, in the social spaces, in the consumer world. Yes, praying is the remaining in the fearful presence of the Almighty and Holy One, but it is also standing in the place where love and grace, peace and forgiveness may begin to flow.
Amen.
Monday, 23 April 2007
What the world is thinking
The latest goss on Creation and the Creator from The Economist, in God v Darwin: this time it's global.
Sunday, 22 April 2007
A Room Called Remember
A little note on my previous post.
It was a poem I wrote back in July 1, 2007. It was around the time when my dad was gravely ill. My days then were made up of hospital visits, and my hours were spent sitting on plastic benches in the cold corridors outside the intensive care unit.
The mood was sombre, the atmosphere pierced with an overwhelming sense of futility. I still wince at the images of my dad struggling to utter his last words to me. What saddened me the most was I never got to know what he was trying to convey to me. His speech was garbled and he was barely coherent - not with the millions of tubes running in and out of his nose, down his throat. I tried giving him paper and pen, but he didn't have strength to write.
There were tears in his eyes - and they were streaming uncontrollably down mine. I was looking hard into his face for a glimmer of light, to see if there was hope for redemption for a family that had, for as long as I knew, been torn apart by infidelity, drunkeness and strife; for a family that knew more suffering and hurt than wholeness, warmth and unity.
His eyes were filled with regret and hope. Eyes that told me he understood now, that he now saw a new way of looking at his life and his world, that... that... things might just be different this time if he got well.
I hoped for reconciliation, for peace, for love. Those were the things I hoped for, and craved for. And I knew they were things I would now only dimly see, but would one day see face to face.
It's been a melancholic week, where I've had to do much thinking and soul searching. And as I peeked into the room called Remember, I found this poem that still feels as tender and raw as it did for me back then. But most of all, it reminds me that the pangs and aches that arise from deep within are echos of a soul that is fully alive, crying out for deliverance along with the rest of creation.
It was a poem I wrote back in July 1, 2007. It was around the time when my dad was gravely ill. My days then were made up of hospital visits, and my hours were spent sitting on plastic benches in the cold corridors outside the intensive care unit.
The mood was sombre, the atmosphere pierced with an overwhelming sense of futility. I still wince at the images of my dad struggling to utter his last words to me. What saddened me the most was I never got to know what he was trying to convey to me. His speech was garbled and he was barely coherent - not with the millions of tubes running in and out of his nose, down his throat. I tried giving him paper and pen, but he didn't have strength to write.
There were tears in his eyes - and they were streaming uncontrollably down mine. I was looking hard into his face for a glimmer of light, to see if there was hope for redemption for a family that had, for as long as I knew, been torn apart by infidelity, drunkeness and strife; for a family that knew more suffering and hurt than wholeness, warmth and unity.
His eyes were filled with regret and hope. Eyes that told me he understood now, that he now saw a new way of looking at his life and his world, that... that... things might just be different this time if he got well.
I hoped for reconciliation, for peace, for love. Those were the things I hoped for, and craved for. And I knew they were things I would now only dimly see, but would one day see face to face.
It's been a melancholic week, where I've had to do much thinking and soul searching. And as I peeked into the room called Remember, I found this poem that still feels as tender and raw as it did for me back then. But most of all, it reminds me that the pangs and aches that arise from deep within are echos of a soul that is fully alive, crying out for deliverance along with the rest of creation.
Hope
Like a fish unwittingly washed
Up upon the dry sandy shore
Sun blazing, Heat scorching
Teaming with Cruel Wind to make
Those pearly scales to glisten no more
I gasped for air
For a breath of Life to fill my lungs
Leg-less I cannot run
For how could a fish ever hope to run
With fins that has only known what it is to swim
Every Moment hung in humid air
A deceitful guise, a masquerade
Of Eternity’s blessed promise
Flipping, thrashing, wiggling and hoping
That each new wave with outstretched arms
Would reach out just far enough
To sweep this heart back to where it first belonged
Salty tears now freely flowing
From a despondent and weary soul
Yet strangely it planted new seeds of hope
A hope against all hope
Watered by the moist touch and taste of Longing’s deep
Of home, the sea, did those tears remind me so
Up upon the dry sandy shore
Sun blazing, Heat scorching
Teaming with Cruel Wind to make
Those pearly scales to glisten no more
I gasped for air
For a breath of Life to fill my lungs
Leg-less I cannot run
For how could a fish ever hope to run
With fins that has only known what it is to swim
Every Moment hung in humid air
A deceitful guise, a masquerade
Of Eternity’s blessed promise
Flipping, thrashing, wiggling and hoping
That each new wave with outstretched arms
Would reach out just far enough
To sweep this heart back to where it first belonged
Salty tears now freely flowing
From a despondent and weary soul
Yet strangely it planted new seeds of hope
A hope against all hope
Watered by the moist touch and taste of Longing’s deep
Of home, the sea, did those tears remind me so
Thursday, 19 April 2007
Mum's the Word
Most, if not all, of what we’ve been discussing in 101 has been framed in the context of God’s will and His purpose for Creation. Doing so, we’ve come to understand, will help us lay the foundation for living free.
Two weeks ago, a bunch of my friends gathered round the table to embark on the study of the Book of Romans. We reflected on the idea of Lordship in the first century Roman world – the lords of people’s lives who commanded a strong sense of respect, love, loyalty, and sometimes even fear.
Who are the lords in our lives, we thought?
What ensued was quite unexpected. We turned out bellyfuls of laughs, as well as sobering revelations and poignant listening points.
The exercise went something like this:
Share with the group someone who has a major authority or influence over your life? Describe who he/she is, in what way does he/she influence your life?
What are some of the things you appreciate about him/her? Are there things that you don't appreciate?
There were a variety of answers reflecting the different seasons and stages we were in life. Named amongst the list were loving mums and strict dads, spiritual leaders and personal mentors – and who could forget those fearsome lecturers whom we suffered under their tyrannical rule and the judgment of that dreaded red pen?
Next, read Romans 1:1-16 aloud.
Read it aloud again, this time at the end of all the occurrences of “Gospel”, “Gospel of God”, “Gospel of his son”, “the Gospel”, etc. add the phrase - “which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is Lord”.
This made sense. The Gospel, we had learnt earlier, is a Person. The Gospel is Jesus. He is the Good News.
Now, for the third reading, replace “Lord” with the title of whomever you described earlier.
For example, “Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God (which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is my boss) – the gospel (which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is my boss) he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son...”
This sure didn’t. But after much confusion and mind acrobats, the distinctions and implications of this started to become clear for us.
What would it mean, if Jesus Christ is your “boss”? How would things change? Would it be Good News for you? Why? Why not?
It wasn’t talking about mum or dad or our boss being Jesus to us. But rather, what would it mean if Jesus was mum or dad – i.e. if Jesus were to have his way in our lives as mum and dad did in our lives? Who are the people who have powerfully shaped our lives, the people we have become, and the way we think?
It could possibly mean a very different way of doing things.
Whether we cared to admit it or not – mum, dad, spiritual leaders, mentors, siblings, lecturers, husbands and best friends – not in a generic sense, but actual people with a face to a name and label – these were the lords that ruled our lives: Those whom we worked hard to please, to win their respect and honour, and from whose approval we gain our sense of significance, value and worth.
In effect, these were those whose will we carry out here on earth. Not God’s, and surprisingly, sometimes not even our own.
An only child, I’ve grown up in an environment where mum was largely my pillar of support and source of strength. It was made all the more so when my father died during the time I gingerly stepped into “adulthood” at 21. It was abundantly clear then that the only people we had in the world were each other. We would go the greatest lengths for each other. We would love each other and care for each other.
I would, and I wanted to do her will. To make sure she was happy and make up for the difficult life she had suffered.
But it is here that I begin to comprehend what it was all about when Jesus called the disciples to drop their nets and follow Him. To leave father and mother, and let the dead bury the dead.
It is a hard call, when we find the wills of the lords in our lives conflicting with the will of the Creator. It rips you apart, in those moments where you realize you no longer wish to serve the same purposes of your lords.
You can’t serve both mammon and God – you will either love one or hate the other. There are things, I’m learning, that may not be as important for me to have as I originally thought – to determine my success and worth – as perhaps mum, aunties and uncles, and loving relatives are want to believe.
Why should we care about what everybody thinks? I agree.
But I’d be lying to say I don’t care about what some people think. It is hard to lay aside the opinions and sincere hopes of people whom I love and are closely knitted to, those who do genuinely want to see the best for my life, through their eyes, through their knowledge of good and evil.
It takes incredible faith to do God’s will – to even want to do God’s will – to defy society’s conventions and disregard popular wisdom. Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane only serves to remind me of that. May I grow from faith, to faith. The reverence of God is the beginning of wisdom.
Two weeks ago, a bunch of my friends gathered round the table to embark on the study of the Book of Romans. We reflected on the idea of Lordship in the first century Roman world – the lords of people’s lives who commanded a strong sense of respect, love, loyalty, and sometimes even fear.
Who are the lords in our lives, we thought?
What ensued was quite unexpected. We turned out bellyfuls of laughs, as well as sobering revelations and poignant listening points.
The exercise went something like this:
Share with the group someone who has a major authority or influence over your life? Describe who he/she is, in what way does he/she influence your life?
What are some of the things you appreciate about him/her? Are there things that you don't appreciate?
There were a variety of answers reflecting the different seasons and stages we were in life. Named amongst the list were loving mums and strict dads, spiritual leaders and personal mentors – and who could forget those fearsome lecturers whom we suffered under their tyrannical rule and the judgment of that dreaded red pen?
Next, read Romans 1:1-16 aloud.
Read it aloud again, this time at the end of all the occurrences of “Gospel”, “Gospel of God”, “Gospel of his son”, “the Gospel”, etc. add the phrase - “which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is Lord”.
This made sense. The Gospel, we had learnt earlier, is a Person. The Gospel is Jesus. He is the Good News.
Now, for the third reading, replace “Lord” with the title of whomever you described earlier.
For example, “Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God (which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is my boss) – the gospel (which is, the Good News that Jesus Christ is my boss) he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son...”
This sure didn’t. But after much confusion and mind acrobats, the distinctions and implications of this started to become clear for us.
What would it mean, if Jesus Christ is your “boss”? How would things change? Would it be Good News for you? Why? Why not?
It wasn’t talking about mum or dad or our boss being Jesus to us. But rather, what would it mean if Jesus was mum or dad – i.e. if Jesus were to have his way in our lives as mum and dad did in our lives? Who are the people who have powerfully shaped our lives, the people we have become, and the way we think?
It could possibly mean a very different way of doing things.
Whether we cared to admit it or not – mum, dad, spiritual leaders, mentors, siblings, lecturers, husbands and best friends – not in a generic sense, but actual people with a face to a name and label – these were the lords that ruled our lives: Those whom we worked hard to please, to win their respect and honour, and from whose approval we gain our sense of significance, value and worth.
In effect, these were those whose will we carry out here on earth. Not God’s, and surprisingly, sometimes not even our own.
An only child, I’ve grown up in an environment where mum was largely my pillar of support and source of strength. It was made all the more so when my father died during the time I gingerly stepped into “adulthood” at 21. It was abundantly clear then that the only people we had in the world were each other. We would go the greatest lengths for each other. We would love each other and care for each other.
I would, and I wanted to do her will. To make sure she was happy and make up for the difficult life she had suffered.
But it is here that I begin to comprehend what it was all about when Jesus called the disciples to drop their nets and follow Him. To leave father and mother, and let the dead bury the dead.
It is a hard call, when we find the wills of the lords in our lives conflicting with the will of the Creator. It rips you apart, in those moments where you realize you no longer wish to serve the same purposes of your lords.
You can’t serve both mammon and God – you will either love one or hate the other. There are things, I’m learning, that may not be as important for me to have as I originally thought – to determine my success and worth – as perhaps mum, aunties and uncles, and loving relatives are want to believe.
Why should we care about what everybody thinks? I agree.
But I’d be lying to say I don’t care about what some people think. It is hard to lay aside the opinions and sincere hopes of people whom I love and are closely knitted to, those who do genuinely want to see the best for my life, through their eyes, through their knowledge of good and evil.
It takes incredible faith to do God’s will – to even want to do God’s will – to defy society’s conventions and disregard popular wisdom. Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane only serves to remind me of that. May I grow from faith, to faith. The reverence of God is the beginning of wisdom.
Wednesday, 18 April 2007
What do you expect?
:: S ::
Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked, "Rabbi, who sinned: this man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?" Jesus said, "You're asking the wrong question. You're looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do. We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines. When night falls, the workday is over. For as long as I am in the world, there is plenty of light. I am the world's Light." – John 9:1-5, The Message
"Is this what you were expecting? Then count yourselves most blessed!"
In this story of the blind man, we see the same Jesus at work again, restoring the world to right, one person at a time, one miracle at a time. This was everything He represented, the kind of God He was and is, the type of Kingdom he was establishing and is still seeking to establish.
Is this the type of saviour we are expecting?
It was hardly the kind of saviour that the Pharisees had in mind. That they even doubted the man’s blindness speaks volumes. I wonder what they felt and thought when they looked around their world? Did they see a culture and society that was fragmented and fractured, crying out for deliverance? Or did they see a people that were quite beneath them, that didn’t have a hope for redemption?
They dismissed and despised the good work God was doing in their midst, hanging on to their own sense of superiority, installing their own image of who God was, in relation to them, in relation to the common people.
But what made them cling to this version of God? The law of Moses? The incessant preoccupation that had them zealously measuring their goodness against the law of Moses?
Thrown out by the religious leaders, Jesus came in search for and found the ‘blind’ man. Quite unlike the religious leaders, the blind man recognised the call of God to faith – His sovereignty over creation, His good purpose for humanity, His re-demptive power.
He was blind but now he saw. He saw Christ, revealed in Jesus. He found a new way of seeing the world, a new courage and fearlessness in dealing with the religious authorities. Indeed, he did as his fearful parents hoped he would – taking responsibility over his new found faith.
Jesus said to the Pharisees in John 9:41, “If you were really blind, you would be blameless, but since you claim to see everything so well, you’re accountable for every fault and failure?”
What are the implications of the blind man’s new way of seeing?
We are not accountable for every fault and failure only because we have stopped looking to the law that brings death, but the law of the Spirit that brings life. We surrender and trust God, because we know we are in the process of being made righteous, by faith. By understanding His will is to restore us to reflect His full image and stature – that change will begin to take place in us from the inside out as we heed the voice of His Spirit that is already in us, given to us as a gift – that enables us to be saved.
His voice is audible, not just through the hocus-pocus of religious rallies. But we will hear if we just still our hearts and push out from the shore, away from the noise of the crowds, from the billboards and messages that assail us everywhere we go.
:: O ::
Walking down the street, Jesus saw a man blind from birth. The logical question, as the disciples thought to ask, was – who sinned?
This was, apparently, the wrong question to ask, according to Jesus. It’s not about looking for someone to blame. Man’s blindness – our ‘sinfulness’ – seems to bother God the least bit. Jesus seems almost too matter-of-fact for our liking.
Take cause and effect out of the equation, he says. Look instead for what God can do, look instead to what Jesus is doing. Look to what His mission on earth is about, and look to all that Jesus represents. For when we see Him, we will begin to understand the Father’s heart, His purpose for creation, and His will for our lives.
Is Jesus the Christ? John the Baptist asks earlier on in Matthew 11. Locked in prison, he sends his disciples to Jesus: "Are you the One we've been expecting, or are we still waiting?"
Jesus told them, "Go back and tell John what's going on: The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the wretched of the earth learn that God is on their side.”
This was, apparently, the wrong question to ask, according to Jesus. It’s not about looking for someone to blame. Man’s blindness – our ‘sinfulness’ – seems to bother God the least bit. Jesus seems almost too matter-of-fact for our liking.
Take cause and effect out of the equation, he says. Look instead for what God can do, look instead to what Jesus is doing. Look to what His mission on earth is about, and look to all that Jesus represents. For when we see Him, we will begin to understand the Father’s heart, His purpose for creation, and His will for our lives.
Is Jesus the Christ? John the Baptist asks earlier on in Matthew 11. Locked in prison, he sends his disciples to Jesus: "Are you the One we've been expecting, or are we still waiting?"
Jesus told them, "Go back and tell John what's going on: The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the wretched of the earth learn that God is on their side.”
"Is this what you were expecting? Then count yourselves most blessed!"
In this story of the blind man, we see the same Jesus at work again, restoring the world to right, one person at a time, one miracle at a time. This was everything He represented, the kind of God He was and is, the type of Kingdom he was establishing and is still seeking to establish.
Is this the type of saviour we are expecting?
It was hardly the kind of saviour that the Pharisees had in mind. That they even doubted the man’s blindness speaks volumes. I wonder what they felt and thought when they looked around their world? Did they see a culture and society that was fragmented and fractured, crying out for deliverance? Or did they see a people that were quite beneath them, that didn’t have a hope for redemption?
They dismissed and despised the good work God was doing in their midst, hanging on to their own sense of superiority, installing their own image of who God was, in relation to them, in relation to the common people.
But what made them cling to this version of God? The law of Moses? The incessant preoccupation that had them zealously measuring their goodness against the law of Moses?
Thrown out by the religious leaders, Jesus came in search for and found the ‘blind’ man. Quite unlike the religious leaders, the blind man recognised the call of God to faith – His sovereignty over creation, His good purpose for humanity, His re-demptive power.
He was blind but now he saw. He saw Christ, revealed in Jesus. He found a new way of seeing the world, a new courage and fearlessness in dealing with the religious authorities. Indeed, he did as his fearful parents hoped he would – taking responsibility over his new found faith.
Jesus said to the Pharisees in John 9:41, “If you were really blind, you would be blameless, but since you claim to see everything so well, you’re accountable for every fault and failure?”
What are the implications of the blind man’s new way of seeing?
We are not accountable for every fault and failure only because we have stopped looking to the law that brings death, but the law of the Spirit that brings life. We surrender and trust God, because we know we are in the process of being made righteous, by faith. By understanding His will is to restore us to reflect His full image and stature – that change will begin to take place in us from the inside out as we heed the voice of His Spirit that is already in us, given to us as a gift – that enables us to be saved.
His voice is audible, not just through the hocus-pocus of religious rallies. But we will hear if we just still our hearts and push out from the shore, away from the noise of the crowds, from the billboards and messages that assail us everywhere we go.
:: A ::
The way to life, is to live by the Spirit. And I’ve often heard it said that to live by the Spirit is to put ourselves in the way of the Spirit. Much like the way we would put ourselves in the way of the sun’s rays if we wanted to get a tan.
When do I hear from the Spirit most clearly?
Moments like this, I suppose, where His truths become abundantly clear, where I can’t help but surrender my misgivings and doubts, and subject every thought, argument and pretension to the obedience of Christ.
Moments of prayer, when my deepest aches, groans and desires to bubble over against my will, my numbness and apathy.
Moments when I am surrounded by friends who are in search of the same things as I am – in search of meaning and purpose for our existence. This, I think, is the discipline of community – all sorts of people from all walks of life, united by a common quest, which is the spiritual journey.
Moments of rest where I realise I’m more than just a human doing, a machine that is valued because of my usefulness, my ability to meet that damned bottom line.
When do I hear from the Spirit most clearly?
Moments like this, I suppose, where His truths become abundantly clear, where I can’t help but surrender my misgivings and doubts, and subject every thought, argument and pretension to the obedience of Christ.
Moments of prayer, when my deepest aches, groans and desires to bubble over against my will, my numbness and apathy.
Moments when I am surrounded by friends who are in search of the same things as I am – in search of meaning and purpose for our existence. This, I think, is the discipline of community – all sorts of people from all walks of life, united by a common quest, which is the spiritual journey.
Moments of rest where I realise I’m more than just a human doing, a machine that is valued because of my usefulness, my ability to meet that damned bottom line.
:: P ::
Phew, God. It’s just like I’ve been holding my breath all this while till I’m blue in the face. I let it all out now with a giant heave and sigh, and to do as the proverbial saying goes, to let go and let God. To trust You that I can pull through, even though it feels like I’m hanging on cliff’s edge most of the time by the claw of my nails, as I go against my consumerist, materialistic, needy-grabby and selfish instincts. Amen.
Wednesday, 11 April 2007
For This Cause
News enough to send more than a chill down my spine. An Italian television channel today aired footage of the beheading of the driver of an Italian journalist in Afghanistan by Taliban militants. His interpreter, a journalist, was also beheaded.
The Italian journalist was freed on March 19 after Afghan President Hamid Karzai ordered the release of five Taliban prisoners under a controversial deal.
According to the theage.com.au, the RAI-1 channel beamed images of Italian journalist Daniele Mastrogiacomo, his driver Sayed Agha and his interpreter Ajmal Naqshbandi, kneeling blindfolded before gun-wielding militants.
Working in a suburban community paper, I live a relatively ‘sheltered’ life as a journalist. But this story evoked similar sentiments to the time I was reading Paul McGeough’s Manhattan to Baghdad as a journo student.
It brought into sharp focus issues of values, vocation and valour: what things people believe in enough to inspire courage and faith – to push out onto cutting edge frontiers, even if it means putting your life on the line for it.
The image of the three blindfolded men lined up before their gun-wielding captors made me think about Jesus and the two robbers hung up on the Cross next to Him.
When these two images stand side by side, you suddenly realise how far much of the religious world has come in romanticising the idea of Jesus and the Crucifixion. It was bloody, horrific, gruesome and unjust. And it should, like Gibson’s Passion of the Christ managed, to make you cringe and turn away from a brutality that is simply too much to bear.
A Man who lived like nothing else mattered except for One Cause, that took Him to places where the flesh didn’t necessarily want to go. A Man who chose to live by the Spirit, who loved and knew what this world was created for, and what people were made for – so much so that even death itself would not hold him back from accomplishing the work of restoring this world to right.
The Italian journalist was freed on March 19 after Afghan President Hamid Karzai ordered the release of five Taliban prisoners under a controversial deal.
According to the theage.com.au, the RAI-1 channel beamed images of Italian journalist Daniele Mastrogiacomo, his driver Sayed Agha and his interpreter Ajmal Naqshbandi, kneeling blindfolded before gun-wielding militants.
Working in a suburban community paper, I live a relatively ‘sheltered’ life as a journalist. But this story evoked similar sentiments to the time I was reading Paul McGeough’s Manhattan to Baghdad as a journo student.
It brought into sharp focus issues of values, vocation and valour: what things people believe in enough to inspire courage and faith – to push out onto cutting edge frontiers, even if it means putting your life on the line for it.
The image of the three blindfolded men lined up before their gun-wielding captors made me think about Jesus and the two robbers hung up on the Cross next to Him.
When these two images stand side by side, you suddenly realise how far much of the religious world has come in romanticising the idea of Jesus and the Crucifixion. It was bloody, horrific, gruesome and unjust. And it should, like Gibson’s Passion of the Christ managed, to make you cringe and turn away from a brutality that is simply too much to bear.
A Man who lived like nothing else mattered except for One Cause, that took Him to places where the flesh didn’t necessarily want to go. A Man who chose to live by the Spirit, who loved and knew what this world was created for, and what people were made for – so much so that even death itself would not hold him back from accomplishing the work of restoring this world to right.
Good News
:: S ::
"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 prisoner and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour." – Luke 4:18-19, TNIV:: O ::
Quite unlike our time, there was never any doubt in the minds of the Jewish people of God during those times that there was to be a Messiah. The prophets had all pointed to the coming of a Christ – but the question rather, was who Christ was? Was Jesus the Christ, the One they had all been awaiting for deliverance?Jesus’ action in this instance must have had serious implications. The passage of Scripture he had chosen to read from – in the synagogue in the town of Nazareth where he was born – was from the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah was foretelling of the kind of Messiah Israel was to have.
But the real controversy lay in Jesus’ declaration in Luke 4:21, that “Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”
The crowd, I suspect, wasn’t quite expecting, or ready, for a Messiah like Jesus. A Messiah that was flesh and blood just like them, a Messiah that didn’t merely arrive on the scene and save them in one display of power, a Messiah that seemed to emerge from their midst. A Messiah that many of them would later despise, subject to humiliation and shame, and eventually crucify.
He came into their midst, involved Himself in the messiness of their lives, and even though He was present, was more unobtrusive than most would think as befitting for the Saviour of the world.
The Messiah was to be the bringer of Good News. But to whom was it good news?
The poor, the prisoner, the blind, and the oppressed, as it turns out.
:: A ::
Stories like these really serve to remind me to ask myself yet again – what is it that I need saving from? What is the gospel of the Kingdom? Is it really good news, to rich young rulers like me?Who constitutes the poor? What are my prisons?
It’s been a blessing and a curse. To grow up in an environment of relative wealth and abundance, I have always been very comfortable, satiated by the constant stream of advertising and marketing of goods and things I’m told life would be incomplete without. Or, as I work towards gaining this and fixing that, life would be just that little bit more perfect.
There have been times where I’ve caught myself drawing that artificial divide between “us and them”: turning my nose at people and things that are “beneath me”, looking at people with a plank in my eye, forgetting that labels are defunct in the kingdom of God.
For the rich young ruler, I have my own prisons to be freed from. And the things that the Biblical Story is slowly making plain to me have been an awful sight to behold, and an even tougher act to follow.
God knows I need some saving.
:: P ::
Lord over all Creation, have your way in me. Let not my will, but yours be done. Amen.
Sunday, 8 April 2007
Scary as Hell
I've missed out on Easter camp. And in its place, I've been subject to the unenviable task of moving house, packing eight years of my life away into cardboard boxes big and small.
It's been a painstaking exercise. Backbreaking no less, but more than that, the dismantled shelving, bed frame, books, papers, clothing, toys and the like - strewn across the room as uncollected bits and pieces - have left me with much to think about.
I've noticed some changes since my last move from Kew. The many items I had decided to give away, throw out, or relegate to the recycling bins, would probably have been an act of downright abomination to me two years ago. It's always hard to let go of your possessions, whether you have use of them or not.
Joking with Aik Chung who was helping me pack, I made note of my sorry predicament. I remarked over how little I owned when it came down to it. Nothing that we packed away held much value - in the currency of a capitalistic world. Unless the sheer volume intellectual of property I owned were to count - from literary novels, to theology, lifestyle/cookery books, to self-help and reference - I have more titles to my name than all my articles of clothing put together.
But the one thought that struck me with vehemence was, so what if I owned all this intellectual property? They were simply cumbersome to lug as prized possessions from one place to another. Could they really be my boast unless they actually did form the substance inside of me?
Thoughts about hell came to mind from last Wednesday's sombre discussions at 101. If hell is an extrapolation of what's inside of you - your substance - then it makes me want to cry out, 'there are some things in life that just don't matter!'
In other words, what you own or possess on the outside figures little in the grand scheme of things. It's what's inside of you that matters.
It calls for a change in perspective, in the way I see myself and the way I navigate my world.
When you're a vagabond, a pilgrim that's always on the move, then you begin to realise that it's impossible to accumulate possessions and hope to carry it around everywhere you go. I can't lug my library of books with me, but I can move freely if they formed the substance in me. In times of trouble and hardship, when I've been stripped bare of everything I own, it's what's in me that the principalities of this world have no power to wrest from me.
This perhaps, is the building block of faith. The Word of God made flesh within us. Stories of who He is, whose we are, where this Creator's world is going, that give us the foundations for living rich and meaningful lives.
This is, the pilgrim's progress: Get on the journey and bring nothing with you but the sandals on your feet.
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
Love and Loathing
:: S ::
"For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened. Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like mortal human beings and birds and animals and reptiles... They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator—who is forever praised. Amen. " - Rom 1:22-25, TNIV
:: O ::
The wrath of God, says Paul, is poured out against those who refuse to affirm the Creator's purpose.
What is 'good' for man is no longer something that He has influence over, as humanity begins to decide what is wise, in their own eyes, that is best for themselves.
They exchanged the truth about God - questions of man's purpose and destiny, for a lie, serving the created things rather than the Creator.
What is 'good' for man is no longer something that He has influence over, as humanity begins to decide what is wise, in their own eyes, that is best for themselves.
They exchanged the truth about God - questions of man's purpose and destiny, for a lie, serving the created things rather than the Creator.
:: A ::
Growing up, especially as an only child, a source of my parent's pride and joy, I've been used to being told what is good for me. Most of the time, I've taken the counsel of loving family and relatives. No doubt, much of their wisdom has served me well, but I've also found myself living out their fears and failures, as I wrestled to put awayb what I thought were childish hopes and idle dreams.
The world felt like a desolate place, as the old grumpy and cynical folk would recount tales that affirmed that this life isn't quite worth living. You reach your 60s only to realise the life you've lived, through struggle and strife, has been quite devoid of meaning.
In an ironic and twisted sort of way, they find themselves worshipping the very systems and structures of this world they loathe, despise and abhor. And I can hardly blame them, for I often catch myself doing the same.
The world felt like a desolate place, as the old grumpy and cynical folk would recount tales that affirmed that this life isn't quite worth living. You reach your 60s only to realise the life you've lived, through struggle and strife, has been quite devoid of meaning.
In an ironic and twisted sort of way, they find themselves worshipping the very systems and structures of this world they loathe, despise and abhor. And I can hardly blame them, for I often catch myself doing the same.
.
Paul's words offer some degree of comfort in the midst of my struggles. Not against flesh and blood, but against those principalities that exert their power over me, to conform me into their image and their likeness. It's been hard work fighting the urge that compels me to desire the approval of others that I may appear to be 'good' in their sight - to locate my value and worth in this material world I've been raised in all my life.
Nevermind that I'm still a mixed bag of faith and doubt, hope and despondency, love and apathy. I can still persist in doing good, and find peace as I train my eyes upon the One who has set the foundations for this good earth. The One who is passionately, and insistently, I AM.
:: P ::
Dear God, help me find peace in You. To persist in doing good in a world that has been ravaged of so much of its meaning, of what it means to live life, and life abundantly.
City-living
Recently, I've been thinking: What does it take for us to love this world?
The topic of climate change and warnings that our world is hellbent on devastation if we are not careful is hardly new news. Scientists picked this up a long time ago, and journals and reports have from time to time made their way into the papers, albeit as fillers to pad out awkward column spaces.
But it was really only after Al Gore's Inconvenient Truth took to the hallowed Hollywood screen that the world, the media, our politicians, and the public sat up and took notice.
Yes, I've been thinking. The idea of Progress, ironically, seems to have come more as a curse than a blessing if we are to love this earth. In the 21st century western world, it is a challenge to worship the Creator God, for upon the dust and soil we have laid asbestos and more, setting a rock-solid foundation for buildings and skyskrapers, government, institutions and corporations.
We look inwards.
City-living, I've come to realise, can be quite a self-absorbing experience. I say that because city-living seems obsessed with finding solutions to all my peculiar and eccentric needs, and businesses clamour to fulfill all my perceived desires and placate life's dissatisfactions with a myriad of products and services.
When I'm upset and distressed, I've often found some degree of comfort through retail therapy. Like eye-candy, I immerse myself in row upon row of window displays. I think about how I'd look in that dress, that top, those pairs of shoes.
When I'm tired or bored, there are movies to watch and games to play, and meals are a dead simple affair - eat-in, or better yet, take it out - sit crossed-legged on the couch and munch away.
I'm happy and I'm numb - forgetful of the lives that exist outside the city grid. It hardly matters that the nation is going through a drought, that farmers, animals and crops in the rural regions have been hit hard, that Melbourne's water storage is less than a third full. Stage 3 restrictions mean precious little when crisp clean water comes at the turn of the tap.
It's at this point that I think about the rich young ruler, and the many things we have crafted thanks to our own strength and resourcefulness. How hard is it for a rich man to enter the kingdom? How hard is it to appreciate the good earth? And look past wealth, education and status to affirm a person's goodness?
Like a camel passing through the eye of a needle. In other words, impossible, under normal circumstances. But thankfully, as Jesus says, with God, all things are possible.
Hurrah to that, and don't forget to look outwards, for there is One who is so much greater than ourselves.
The topic of climate change and warnings that our world is hellbent on devastation if we are not careful is hardly new news. Scientists picked this up a long time ago, and journals and reports have from time to time made their way into the papers, albeit as fillers to pad out awkward column spaces.
But it was really only after Al Gore's Inconvenient Truth took to the hallowed Hollywood screen that the world, the media, our politicians, and the public sat up and took notice.
Yes, I've been thinking. The idea of Progress, ironically, seems to have come more as a curse than a blessing if we are to love this earth. In the 21st century western world, it is a challenge to worship the Creator God, for upon the dust and soil we have laid asbestos and more, setting a rock-solid foundation for buildings and skyskrapers, government, institutions and corporations.
We look inwards.
City-living, I've come to realise, can be quite a self-absorbing experience. I say that because city-living seems obsessed with finding solutions to all my peculiar and eccentric needs, and businesses clamour to fulfill all my perceived desires and placate life's dissatisfactions with a myriad of products and services.
When I'm upset and distressed, I've often found some degree of comfort through retail therapy. Like eye-candy, I immerse myself in row upon row of window displays. I think about how I'd look in that dress, that top, those pairs of shoes.
When I'm tired or bored, there are movies to watch and games to play, and meals are a dead simple affair - eat-in, or better yet, take it out - sit crossed-legged on the couch and munch away.
I'm happy and I'm numb - forgetful of the lives that exist outside the city grid. It hardly matters that the nation is going through a drought, that farmers, animals and crops in the rural regions have been hit hard, that Melbourne's water storage is less than a third full. Stage 3 restrictions mean precious little when crisp clean water comes at the turn of the tap.
It's at this point that I think about the rich young ruler, and the many things we have crafted thanks to our own strength and resourcefulness. How hard is it for a rich man to enter the kingdom? How hard is it to appreciate the good earth? And look past wealth, education and status to affirm a person's goodness?
Like a camel passing through the eye of a needle. In other words, impossible, under normal circumstances. But thankfully, as Jesus says, with God, all things are possible.
Hurrah to that, and don't forget to look outwards, for there is One who is so much greater than ourselves.
An Uneasy Marriage of Necessity
"There are two major and apparently conflicting truths that must be reconciled in any answer to the question of religion's place in politics. The first is that most religions preach a world view that influences a way of living. This "way" tends to permeate a sincere believer's life, including their politics, either as citizen or politician. The second truth is that the point of religion is essentially different from that of politics. This is encapsulated in Christ's remark that one should render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's and to God the things that are God's. Empirical evidence shows that both religion and politics usually suffer from too close a linkage." - theage.com.au, April 3, 2007
Faith and politics can be unhappy bedfellows, but they can coexist, says Tony Coady in The Age. How does faith outwork itself - from the inside out - in the 21st century western world?
Stop me when you see me at 101 and talk to me. Your thoughts and comments are welcome.
Related Links
Faith on the Front Page: An investigative journalism piece I worked on, on the topic of religion reporting, while I was doing my grad-dip at RMIT.
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