I longed for Yale most of my life, and when I finally got it, I loved it with all of my heart.
I couldn't bear to leave Yale last year, but Boston requested my presence, and so I moved two hours away and visited whenever I could.
Commencement is happening within a matter of days, and in some ways it feels like I never left.
Dreams do come true--after years of hope deferred. Yale was the culmination of so many things in my life, and it has forever changed me.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
Saturday, May 6, 2017
An Address Given on the First Day of the Semester
Dear Theologian,
You may not consider yourself to be a theologian, but you are. Whether you are student or teacher, expert or practitioner, explorer or tour guide, the fact that you are engaging the things of God means that you are a theologian. I begin my message here because it took auditing a course at a Catholic seminary, a year after graduating from Yale Divinity School, for me to realize that I was as legitimate a theologian as my white male counterparts—and as other (bolder and sharper) students of color who spoke with prophetic voices that seemed beyond my reach. I have had my reasons for disqualifying myself from identifying as a theologian, and perhaps you do too. Or perhaps you have never doubted this part of your identity. Either way, I am writing to you from one (female, Asian) body-that-houses-a-theological-spirit to another.
“Dear” has become a formal way to address someone in writing, but let us also remember that we are all here because we mean something special to the Divine, who is the reason for our course of study. You may not feel endeared to the academic setting, but perhaps we can work together to make it feel more like a community. Start by seeing your classmates and colleagues as neighbors rather than as competitors. Take a moment every day to just be a wallflower and people-watch. Notice their affect and wonder about the identities they embody. When you interact with them, do not expect them to represent any particular views or culture. Try to get to know them on their own terms.
In the classroom, at faculty meetings, and during academic events and conferences, be aware of interpersonal dynamics. Who is quickest to speak, and who seems most confident? Is anyone’s voice shrouded by the nature of the conversation, and how can you create space and invite everyone in? How can you engage others’ viewpoints when sharing your own—can you refer to another’s comment and build upon it?
How can we exercise the discipline of active listening and community-building during a class discussion? Perhaps this means giving eye contact, affirming affect, and encouraging comments. Perhaps this means taking risks and speaking up even when we feel uncertain about our abilities and opinions. And most definitely, this means being humble and being sincere.
We may find in the course of deconstructing assumptions that we are beings who, without meaning to, hold prejudices. Let us look this reality squarely in the face, but let us also give ourselves grace. The step to learning about others is to be aware of our implicit biases and to be humble and brave enough to admit them. May we reckon with the sin within before we contemplate the iniquities of our world and come up with solutions for its social ills.
I must confess that that sometimes academia reeks of arrogance. We are constantly making claims, staking territory, and proving ourselves to be worthy of the quest for truth at hand. The classroom becomes a performative space in which the most eloquent gain the most power. “There is nothing new under the sun,” yet we want so badly to sound original. “Of the making of books there is no end,” yet we strive to publish, to speak at conferences, to secure grants, to attain tenure, the list goes on.
In the midst of what may sometimes seem like “vanity of vanities,” let us remember the redeeming quality of imagination. Countless books and articles demand our attention, but let us not forget to close our eyes and envision the heart of God—how vast and wide it is, and how it diminishes the human mind—when all is said and done. May our imagination of God keep us humble, and may we remember how much larger Her thoughts are the next time we think we have a brilliant idea.
But our limited human imagination is also God-given, a form of Divine inspiration that can enlarge the scope of wo/mankind in transformative and transcendent ways. Sometimes we must have a vision for how things could be in order to carry on in what currently is. And I believe that it aligns with the heart of God when we use or prophetic imagination to speak truth to power and to put cracks into the system.
So at the end of it all, remember that we are but dust, and to dust we shall return—but remember also that we are made in God’s image, and that the renewing of our minds and the enlarging of our hearts can breathe life into our scholarly pursuits and to our social activism. Remember—and also imagine. May God direct our steps as we begin this academic year. Amen.
You may not consider yourself to be a theologian, but you are. Whether you are student or teacher, expert or practitioner, explorer or tour guide, the fact that you are engaging the things of God means that you are a theologian. I begin my message here because it took auditing a course at a Catholic seminary, a year after graduating from Yale Divinity School, for me to realize that I was as legitimate a theologian as my white male counterparts—and as other (bolder and sharper) students of color who spoke with prophetic voices that seemed beyond my reach. I have had my reasons for disqualifying myself from identifying as a theologian, and perhaps you do too. Or perhaps you have never doubted this part of your identity. Either way, I am writing to you from one (female, Asian) body-that-houses-a-theological-spirit to another.
“Dear” has become a formal way to address someone in writing, but let us also remember that we are all here because we mean something special to the Divine, who is the reason for our course of study. You may not feel endeared to the academic setting, but perhaps we can work together to make it feel more like a community. Start by seeing your classmates and colleagues as neighbors rather than as competitors. Take a moment every day to just be a wallflower and people-watch. Notice their affect and wonder about the identities they embody. When you interact with them, do not expect them to represent any particular views or culture. Try to get to know them on their own terms.
In the classroom, at faculty meetings, and during academic events and conferences, be aware of interpersonal dynamics. Who is quickest to speak, and who seems most confident? Is anyone’s voice shrouded by the nature of the conversation, and how can you create space and invite everyone in? How can you engage others’ viewpoints when sharing your own—can you refer to another’s comment and build upon it?
How can we exercise the discipline of active listening and community-building during a class discussion? Perhaps this means giving eye contact, affirming affect, and encouraging comments. Perhaps this means taking risks and speaking up even when we feel uncertain about our abilities and opinions. And most definitely, this means being humble and being sincere.
We may find in the course of deconstructing assumptions that we are beings who, without meaning to, hold prejudices. Let us look this reality squarely in the face, but let us also give ourselves grace. The step to learning about others is to be aware of our implicit biases and to be humble and brave enough to admit them. May we reckon with the sin within before we contemplate the iniquities of our world and come up with solutions for its social ills.
I must confess that that sometimes academia reeks of arrogance. We are constantly making claims, staking territory, and proving ourselves to be worthy of the quest for truth at hand. The classroom becomes a performative space in which the most eloquent gain the most power. “There is nothing new under the sun,” yet we want so badly to sound original. “Of the making of books there is no end,” yet we strive to publish, to speak at conferences, to secure grants, to attain tenure, the list goes on.
In the midst of what may sometimes seem like “vanity of vanities,” let us remember the redeeming quality of imagination. Countless books and articles demand our attention, but let us not forget to close our eyes and envision the heart of God—how vast and wide it is, and how it diminishes the human mind—when all is said and done. May our imagination of God keep us humble, and may we remember how much larger Her thoughts are the next time we think we have a brilliant idea.
But our limited human imagination is also God-given, a form of Divine inspiration that can enlarge the scope of wo/mankind in transformative and transcendent ways. Sometimes we must have a vision for how things could be in order to carry on in what currently is. And I believe that it aligns with the heart of God when we use or prophetic imagination to speak truth to power and to put cracks into the system.
So at the end of it all, remember that we are but dust, and to dust we shall return—but remember also that we are made in God’s image, and that the renewing of our minds and the enlarging of our hearts can breathe life into our scholarly pursuits and to our social activism. Remember—and also imagine. May God direct our steps as we begin this academic year. Amen.
Glossolalia and Code-Switching
It's only 8:30 am, but already I have learned a lot this morning. I skimmed articles on Boston Irish Catholic history, Italian American history, Polish American history, and the history of Pentecostalism.
Boston is a city that makes me feel like I am not in America. Many of my international students have said the same. So I've been trying to figure out what about its history set this kind of tone.
Gradually, my mind wandered over to the history of Pentecostalism, as it is one of the most explosive denominations in the world today--and I am dating someone who's a Pentecostal pastor.
Last night, we saw each other for the first time in a month. (The last time it was for the first time in thirteen weeks!) We talked about our ability to code-switch with other people.
This morning, I wonder if being Pentecostal--and especially speaking in tongues--allows follower of Jesus to more easily step into the worlds of other people.
I have found that people who were raised in bilingual families have that ability in demonstrably higher proportions than those who were not.
If speaking in tongues (glossolalia) means that one is comfortable producing sounds that one does not understand, does it not help in code-switching? And if praying in the Spirit means that we give up control--over even what we pray--does that not help in becoming more accommodating towards others?
At the same time, I am tired of having to constantly accommodate other people. I also believe it is time for me to be me, and to invite others to enter into my world and my mode of being, even if it is off the beaten path. In Divinity School, I learned many things about the gift of hospitality that I have been given--the ability to make "every tribe and tongue and nation" feel at home. I am still endeavoring to host the presence of God in my every day life in tangible ways. Does our presence on earth not warrant inviting neighbors (in the Good Samaritan sense of the word) into our experience of Jesus, and engaging in a two-way-street relationship with those around us?
For too long, Western Christianity has come hand-in-hand with imperialism, colonialism, and racism. We have, quite honestly, been bad neighbors to much of the world. Let us repent from this sinful trajectory and follow God's spirit rather than our own ideologies.
Amen.
Boston is a city that makes me feel like I am not in America. Many of my international students have said the same. So I've been trying to figure out what about its history set this kind of tone.
Gradually, my mind wandered over to the history of Pentecostalism, as it is one of the most explosive denominations in the world today--and I am dating someone who's a Pentecostal pastor.
Last night, we saw each other for the first time in a month. (The last time it was for the first time in thirteen weeks!) We talked about our ability to code-switch with other people.
This morning, I wonder if being Pentecostal--and especially speaking in tongues--allows follower of Jesus to more easily step into the worlds of other people.
I have found that people who were raised in bilingual families have that ability in demonstrably higher proportions than those who were not.
If speaking in tongues (glossolalia) means that one is comfortable producing sounds that one does not understand, does it not help in code-switching? And if praying in the Spirit means that we give up control--over even what we pray--does that not help in becoming more accommodating towards others?
At the same time, I am tired of having to constantly accommodate other people. I also believe it is time for me to be me, and to invite others to enter into my world and my mode of being, even if it is off the beaten path. In Divinity School, I learned many things about the gift of hospitality that I have been given--the ability to make "every tribe and tongue and nation" feel at home. I am still endeavoring to host the presence of God in my every day life in tangible ways. Does our presence on earth not warrant inviting neighbors (in the Good Samaritan sense of the word) into our experience of Jesus, and engaging in a two-way-street relationship with those around us?
For too long, Western Christianity has come hand-in-hand with imperialism, colonialism, and racism. We have, quite honestly, been bad neighbors to much of the world. Let us repent from this sinful trajectory and follow God's spirit rather than our own ideologies.
Amen.
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
The Privilege of Progressive Thought
I think I've become one of those privileged liberals--the ones I could not understand in my 20s. Friend after friend went away to college and grad school, and they became simultaneously more aware and conscientious (of progressive ideas, having a voice, challenging the system) and more entitled (to having meaningful lives, jobs they actually liked, and distance from traditional structures--family, church, etc.--that they felt limited personal growth).
My brother hardly came home after going to college in Santa Barbara. He stayed there after graduation and made us feel inferior for being less enlightened. When we did have dinners together, he used words that were new to us. He had forsaken his family for the sake of the greater good.
Now, I've become one of them. After years of resisting, Yale was what did me in, finally. And now I've become one of those privileged young adults, living in an East Coast city, and continuing to search for meaning.
What Jesus might have to say is something I'm pondering. What does it mean for someone like me to pick up my cross daily and follow Him?
My brother hardly came home after going to college in Santa Barbara. He stayed there after graduation and made us feel inferior for being less enlightened. When we did have dinners together, he used words that were new to us. He had forsaken his family for the sake of the greater good.
Now, I've become one of them. After years of resisting, Yale was what did me in, finally. And now I've become one of those privileged young adults, living in an East Coast city, and continuing to search for meaning.
What Jesus might have to say is something I'm pondering. What does it mean for someone like me to pick up my cross daily and follow Him?
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