Matches

 We were quite the match.

I've never had someone whose energy could match--even surpass--mine.  Whose experiences encompassed as many--if not more--than mine.  Whose anger could match mine, and vice versa.  

Like two matches striking flint, we set the connection ablaze.  It was 2 months and 80 hours of intense cerebral and emotional engagement.  Of asking and answering very deep and personal questions.

Ultimately, it was a bust.

And what remains is a warm glow, in the hearth of my heart.

The thing with these once-in-a-lifetime connections is--they change you.

It is impossible to "settle" after someone has touched you so deeply, and excited you so viscerally.

So for now, no one can match what he aroused in me.  And I am content to wait for one who can.

Matching

 I have met my match, it seems.

Others have come pretty darn close, and I loved them.  I learned from and with them.  And they loved me.

[The saddest, hardest thing is when two people love each other, but cannot make a commitment.]

[It can also be hard when the love is one-sided, unrequited.]

But to truly be able to express oneself fully, without filter, and for the other person not only to pretty much understand everything you say, but also to remain curious and teachable to what they don't fully understand--that's a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Yes, eventually personalities will rub.  Yes, marriage and love is a choice and a commitment.  Yes, that initial spark must be maintained.  

Yes to all the above.  And it also must be said--some connections blow all the other ones out of the water.

Not everyone understands what it's like to have moved every 2 years for the last 10 years, and to have dated lots of quality men along the way.  It can feel hard to meet someone who can understand every part of your experience, and can have meaningful and engaging dialogue with you on almost every facet of who you are.  But when it does happen, you feel seen and heard and known in ways that are exhilarating, refreshing, infatuating, stirring, motivating, comforting, and, simply amazing.

Now, the thing is--one can experience the most amazing connection in the world.  But, if there is not a choice and commitment to partnership and love, then it also remains just that--the most amazing connection of a lifetime.  

So, it remains to be seen, whether that sort of thing is sustainable for a lifetime--or whether it just marks the most incredible and irreplaceable memory of a lifetime.

On Logic

Dear Certain Men in my Family,

You have been blessed with the gift of sound logic and strong rationale.  What concerns me is that sometimes, you rely on logic, to the detriment of your interpersonal relationships.  Is it worth it?

Logic is a gift that Mother Nature has given us, to help us navigate the uncertainties of life, as well as the irrationalities of our environment.  So much in our world doesn't make sense, so the least we can do is figure out a way to make sense of our own choices and beliefs.  I get that.

But, as the famous relationship therapist Esther Perel says, "Do you want to be right, or do you want to be (in a relationship with someone you love)?"  In other words, one can be right without being right.  Does that make (intuitive, in addition to logical) sense?

Logic can become a defense mechanism against true vulnerability; it is a coping skill that has helped us get through life, but which can end up hurting our ability to build and sustain meaningful relationships.

"I don't always think I am right.  I think I am right until I realize or am convinced that I am wrong."  

I don't think there is anything wrong with that statement, but I would much rather think I am right, but allow for the 10% chance that I am wrong.  So, even if I actually am 100% sure that I am right in a given moment, I will choose to allow for a 10% chance that I am wrong, so that I have a more open-minded attitude and a better way of communicating with others who see things differently.

"Well, other people are responsible for their reactions to my choices.  I am not responsible for how other people feel."

Well, yes--AND.  Part of what makes us human is our relational capital, as well as how we manage our own feelings and experiences, and affect others' feelings and experiences.  Logic is part of being human, but I do get concerned when logic is elevated to the point where those other amazing parts of being human--of sharing ourselves with others, and allowing ourselves to be emotionally connected and influenced by others--fall by the wayside.

I can't help but feel that Western-Enlightenment-influenced education has overly and overtly stressed the importance of the rational functions of the human brain.  But--neuroscience is now showing us that the human brain is also a very emotional muscle.  Defense mechanisms, stirred by emotional experiences, take form as we are growing up, and they shape (some of) our (problematic) behavior for the long-term, until and unless we can learn to reframe some of our basic assumptions.  One of those basic assumptions is that doing what makes sense to me is the best course of action, all the time.  Especially if I wholeheartedly research and pursue the Truth of the matter(s).  

Unfortunately, we are all fallible.  There is no fool-proof way to live, no guarantee that we are right.  Does that seem like a scary thought?  If so, that fear will drive us to logic in a way that conflates being rational with being right.  It will also damage our ability to compromise and communicate with those around us.

Personally, I do care about being right--that's part of it--but also that I am whole and healthy and happy.  Personally, I don't think that Logic and being right will help me be whole and healthy and happy.  It has its place, but it's not what my choices and communication style revolves around.

Also, just to be fully open about my own bias: as an Asian female, I would never have been allowed to get through life acting purely on my own sense of logic (even if my logic was Truth and I was Right in the biggest sense of the word), without considering (or being made responsible for) others' feelings.  That is a privilege that only men have.  

Chinese Patriarchy is real, and if you have benefitted from it, then perhaps it's time to take a moment and reflect on the ways that your being right has left a trail of misunderstandings and offended feelings in its wake.  And if you still think you are right, then all I can say is: the Patriarchy has succeeded.  恭喜！

My 2 cents.

Yearly Update

Ever since I went to Divinity School, I have sent out a Holiday newsletter around Christmas, New Year, or Thanksgiving each year.  When my friends started getting married, having kids, and buying homes, I would receive their newsletter updates each year.  I decided that single students also could (and should!) do the same--because each person's yearly joys & sorrows are worth remembering.

We are just a little over halfway through this year, but it feels appropriate to take stock of 2020 already, simply because of the year it's been.

In January, I asked 30+ friends to pray for 40 days, starting on my birthday, for my search for a life partner.  Each friend signed up on a google spreadsheet, and I let them remain anonymous by simply filling in a color.  I was blown away by how colorful the spreadsheet was and felt that the 40 days was a season of healing and connecting with friends I've made over the last 15 years!

By the end of the 40 days, I had gone out on a date with a very eligible bachelor, with many common professional and personal interests--and also enough differences to make things interesting.  On February 14th, we had a 4-hour dinner, where we got to know each other and talk about our future aspirations.  Exactly 4 months later, on June 14th, we met up again in person, this time for a 7-hour dinner with a great view of the city.  Things in Los Angeles had just begun to open up, and this was my first time eating out since sheltering in place, as I had largely stayed at home.  He has since then moved to Portland for work, and is really enjoying his new life there!  We are still in touch, but due to professional considerations, will not be able to take things beyond friendship for another 2 years.

During the pandemic, I felt like my homeschooled upbringing, introverted temperament, and student lifestyle had already prepared me to stay at home and work remotely and independently.  In fact, I felt a surge of productivity, as the pressure to go out and do things was taken away, and all that I could do for the world was pray and donate masks.

From March to June, I continued working 3 part-time jobs and taking full-time classes at Claremont School of Theology.  I taught music lessons on Zoom, interacted with seminary students online, and helped the Orange County Interfaith Network produce 3 Virtual Roundtable Discussions (now on Youtube!) and a podcast series.  I had an average of 3-4 Zoom calls a day, and each week, I also caught up with various friends and friend-groups.  At one point, I was spending 25-30 hours on Zoom each week, between personal and professional calls.

In June, things shifted.  George Floyd's murder brought a new wave of social awareness towards centuries' old systemic injustices, and the impact today.  I worked with a diverse group of friends from my Yale Divinity School days to host a virtual vigil for George Floyd, run a Zoom clinic for protestors, and publish an article on Black Lives Matter for a theological blog in Germany.  Throughout the next few weeks, I had several intentional discussions with diverse friends from all sorts of backgrounds, about how we are all being affected by this national conversation.

In July, I received a new job opportunity with the Center for Healthy Minds (based at the University of Madison-Wisconsin), and am now a consultant for their app (you may hear my voice in some of their upcoming meditations)!  I also learned that I would have a unique opportunity to complete my chaplaincy training at Southern California Methodist Hospital, where the spiritual care department created a paid residency just for me.  This means that I will be able to not only become a board-certified chaplain while finishing up my Ph.D, but that I will also be able to be trained to become a chaplain supervisor in the next few years.

I have never prayed hard for career opportunities, and yet during a time of pandemic and economic crisis, job opportunities have continued coming my way.  I have been praying for marriage ever since I was a little girl, and that blessing has not yet arrived.  We don't get to choose which areas of life we are blessed in, but if I could trade some of these jobs opportunities for prospective partners, then I would!  All joking aside, I am so blessed to have an education and vocational trajectory that allows me to give to the world with my full self.  I would love to share that life with a committed partner on top of that.

The only other piece of news is that the Huang family has been going through a pretty rough season, but we believe therapy will help us continue to work through difficult dynamics and patterns.  My parents are doing well, and staying active, and I spend quality time with them each week.  (As you may guess, my relationship with them is not the issue in our family dynamic.)  All of us have managed to stay safe and healthy throughout this challenging year, and for that, I am most grateful.

Confessions of an Introverted Outlier

I don't know if I ever was an Evangelical.

My parents got saved at a Chinese Baptist church, the first in their lineage to convert, in part because as new immigrant parents in a foreign land (where they had come for graduate school), they were seeking Truth-with-a-Capital-T in how to raise a child (me) in ways that both transcended and integrated their Taiwanese and American cultures.

When I was 4, they switched over to a mostly white Congregational church, and 3 years later, a Chinese Pentecostal fellowship, which was very house-church in feel and spiritual heritage.  3 years after that, we moved on to a multi-ethnic Charismatic church, where the leadership consisted of 7 married couples of all races, and where the wives preached as often and as powerfully as their husbands.  I saw miracles, healing, and all sorts of Holy Spirit things--it was called the "Toronto Blessing."  But I always preferred to worship in stillness, even with all the activity around me.

Throughout these church experiences, there was a thread of Conservative and Fundamentalist homeschooling culture that ran strongly in my nuclear family.  I was homeschooled for 8 years of my life, which is highly unusual for someone who looks like me, living in a very Asian-American-populated school district.  So, wherever I've gone, and even around others who look like me, I've always felt like an outlier.

As an introvert, I learned to observed people, and as a woman of color, I learned to code switch in order to make whomever I was with comfortable--adopting turns of phrases and mannerisms that suited whatever context it was.

Fast forward to my teen years: we attended an Asian American Evangelical church, and in college, I was actively involved in a fellowship with Southern Baptist roots.  Things fell apart when I was 25 and about to get engaged with a wonderful human with a strong church community.  I began to have mystical experiences, and to feel both highly uncomfortable and also very at home in our fellowship (which was, like in another part of my life, a house-church-and lay-led group).

This was not a new feeling, and has been the case all along.  In fact, the first time I "left" church and God was at age 17.  Then again at 21.  Then again at 26 after leaving that church community and relationship.  Then again in my early 30s, after seminary and another almost-engagement with another wonderful human with a strong church commitment.

During seminary, I was part of a Vineyard church (where I met this wonderful human being) and felt called to be a "bridge" between black students and white students on campus.  Every day, I went to chapel services that were much more ecumenical and liturgical than my Sunday church.  I often visited other churches on weekends as well.

During this time, I felt called to confront evil with radical love and first became "woke" during that time.  I often shared that I was willing to follow Jesus wherever he led me.  Some days, now that I'm looking back, it feels like Jesus led me right to the gates of hell and back.

Honestly, if it were not for black pastors and theologians whom I looked up to, I would have felt even more disillusioned with an American Christianity that has been so complicit in racism and misogyny. I also felt very triggered by language that referred to God in exclusively male language.

Currently, Journey On is the most "Christian thing" I am involved in.  Many days, it's actually easier not to identify as a Christian, and to sense the vibes of the Universe rather than pray to Jesus.  This may sound a bit funny, but I'm being quite serious about it.

While in certain seasons, I really saw myself as the Bride of Christ, as part of the wider Church, and resonated with and had mystical experiences around the phrase, Your Husband is Your Maker, seminary (both my master's and now my doctorate) has radicalized my views to the point where God is not male, God is not all-powerful, and Jesus can be interpreted as an idol in certain contexts (according to something called Process Theology).  So as you can imagine, that has messed with most of my prior and powerful and personal ways of being spiritual.

Prior to pandemic, the only type of church service I could stomach was Unitarian Universalist.  I was a part of contemplative groups at my seminary where Jesus was not necessarily a part of the experience, explicitly at least.  In one of those groups, we witnessed a healing miracle with a woman who just for so many years could not have any breakthrough in a Christian setting.  This opened my eyes to the fact that spirituality was so much wider than faith.

During pandemic, and during these current times of awakening and reckoning in terms of systemic and racial injustices. my interfaith work has been my vehicle for expressing my convictions--I have found participating in and planning interfaith prayer vigils to be powerful and meaningful.  I get chills when I hear prayers from other faiths and I feel my full self in that context.

I would say that Jesus was my way in to the contemplative.  During childhood homeschooling days, my dad taught us how to meditate using the Book of John.  The Psalms helped me process feelings in the presence of God.   And as a Pentecostal, I learned stillness and the Spirit through prayer meetings.

I feel closest to God when I serve as a Chaplain.  There, I do not get triggered, and I can pray with and for patients in whatever their love language is, even if it is much more Christian or Evangelical than mine.  I also sense Divine presence strongly with patients who do not claim any sort of spirituality beyond their own humanity.

So why am I here, in Journey On?  The initial impetus was my friendship with Grace and Dave, and my introverted preference for Zoom.  As someone who in other spaces interacts primarily with people of color, this is also where I have meaningful friendships with a majority "white" community.  Certain cultural aspects and lingo still feel familiar, from my Vineyard days, so in a way it's somewhat of a comfort zone for me.  And it's probably the most "Christian" thing I do...and the most explicitly Jesus-centered part of my life.

Those of you who have prayed with me may know that I still do it, I still believe in it, and I still invest in it within a community.  But when it's just me at home, I do the contemplative, and Jesus is not necessarily (explicitly) at my side.  The God of the Universe is so much more present to me than the Jesus of Christianity.  She seems much less fraught and more compatible with other ways of being, outside religious frameworks, even the progressive ones.  I can't seem to access Jesus without being around Christians.  So perhaps that is why I am here.  This, for me, is the last frontier before leaving not just Christianity, but Jesus himself.

(Written in preparation for sharing my story at a steering team for an online contemplative group that meets every Wednesday--and plans every other Tuesday.  I will be reading this on 8/11/20)

Pentecost Sunday, Two Years Later

It's Pentecost Sunday, and there is a fire sweeping across America.

The Spirit is stirring in hearts that were previously dormant.

I've been on facebook a lot this week, because I think a commitment to less screen time is worth breaking when our nation is in crisis -- both sheltering in place and protesting on the streets.

I'm encouraged.  Friends--white and Asian--who previously remained silent on Black Lives Matter have now become digital activists.  That's (just) the first step in the right direction.

2020 has been quite the year.  We were shocked when Kobe died in a crash, overwhelmed when a pandemic shut down "normal life," and forced to reconfigure what "church" looks like.

Two years ago, I took the train from Boston down to New Haven to participate in Yale Divinity School's Commencement Worship Service.  It was Pentecost Sunday, and the Spirit was there.

Marquand Chapel was where I worshipped with full freedom and abandonment for 2 years of seminary.  It's where "every tribe and tongue and nation" gathered to worship in "spirit and in truth."  I worshipped with tears that Sunday, flowing both from the joy of worshipping at "home" again, and out of my own pain and trauma of experiencing the Wilderness and the Dark Night of the Soul in Boston, exacerbated by racism and misogyny that I experienced regularly.

In Boston, I had visited 12 churches in 2 years, finding none that truly felt like home.  [SoCal has not been much better, and the best I found was a Unitarian Universalist Church and an Online Small Group to attend.] I feel at home in worship spaces when I sense the Spirit is welcome there and where language and leadership reflect kin-dom values and prophetic presence.  After seminary, it has been incredibly difficult to feel like I can belong to a "church home" -- unless I am helping to lead it.

Yesterday, some of my closest friends, whom I worshipped with at YDS, helped host an online for a Virtual Vigil for George Floyd and other lives lost to racism and white supremacy.  The idea came just this week, and planning occurred in just 48 hours.  We had 24 hours to invite our friends to attend, and we had over 40 gathered with us on Zoom.  We opened with Bishop Tengatenga, the father of our friend Cecil, calling us to worship.  Ann presided over each phase of the liturgy, and our friends Dax, Cecil, Sarah, and Randy read the prayers--in their native languages, and in their respective accents.  Our beloved (and the rather well-known, in some circles) Mark Miller led us in prayerful singing, while playing on his keyboard.  Back in the day, we all sang in Gospel Choir with him and he pastored our souls in a way we all still remember.  I played Taize songs on my violin during reflective moments--the more powerful one was a video where Cecil extinguished 46 candles, in honor of George Floyd's life.  During that time, participants were invited to type a word into the "chat box" on Zoom, to express how they felt.  Afterwards, Ann read aloud all the words, from all the people.  When the service ended, we invited folx to say and talk, if they needed to process.  One by one, the little boxes with participants' faces started to wave goodbye, and everyone took their leave in sacred silence and with faith-filled hearts.  No words were necessary--and that is the power of liturgy.

Liturgy is the work of the people.  I saw this last year in Hawaii, when 50,000 floated their lanterns into the Pacific Ocean, in respectful silence for the deceased.  I saw this yesterday, when prayerful readings and music spoke for our collective hearts.  Not much more needed to be said afterwards.

I am convinced that the Kingdom cannot happen without multi-denominational and international kin-ship.  It is so much larger than "what church do you go to?"--a question I get asked all too often.  I got to go to Yale on full scholarship AND make priceless, lifelong friendships.  We are a group that calls ourselves the Disinherited Remnant, and more and more, I am sensing an apostolic call for us--from every corner of the earth where we now live and from all the denominations we represent--to participate in the expansion of the meanings of "parish" and "pastor".  To whom much has been given, much will be required.  I told Jesus a long time ago that I'd follow him wherever he led me--and I've regretted that promise several times in the last season, when I was taken to the gates of Hell, which, as promised, did not "prevail against us"--but the flames of which still left third-degree burns.

Well, a different fire burns now.  It reminds me of a song we used to sing ages ago, at Harvest Rock Church, during the height of the Toronto Blessing, which was a global and interracial church movement in the 1990s:

Light the fire again

Don't let our love grow cold
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
Don't let our vision die
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
You know our hearts, my deeds
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
I need Your discipline
I'm calling out
Light the fire again
I am here to buy gold
Refined in the fire
Naked and poor
Wretched and blind I come
Clothe me in white
So I won't be ashamed
Lord, light the fire again

Memorial Weekend, a Year Later

One year ago, I was swimming with Sea Turtles in Hawaii, where I had traveled for the annual Memorial Day Lantern Floating.  As a guest of the Shinnyo-en Foundation, representing the Orange County Interfaith Network, all expenses were paid for, and I was grateful.

Grateful because quitting a full-time, salaried position in Boston to start a Ph.D had cost me most of my savings--savings which other friends my age might have used to pay for weddings and down payments and mortgages.

Grateful because I was able to connect with the religious tradition of my deceased grandmother, whom I honored with my lantern floating, in the middle of the Pacific, halfway between the U.S. mainland and my family's Motherland of Taiwan.

Grateful because the weekend made an Asian American woman like me feel so seen--in part because Her Holiness Shinso Ito, who presided over the Lantern Floating ceremony, was an 80-something-year-old version of my embodied personhood.

Memorial Weekend, 2019, birthed something that is still growing today.  It birthed the Pacific Rim iteration of my personhood and presence, which had needed time to emerge after I moved "back home" from Boston in the wake of a devastating season of loss and frustration.

I had found a certain kind of voice and leadership in New Haven, through my roles at Yale and the surrounding community.  Boston tried its best to squash a lot of the qualities that felt most valuable to me--creativity, out-of-the-box thinking, and a joyful subversiveness against the Establishment.

Transitioning back to Southern California culture presented just as much of a challenge, and it was yet another season of reinventing myself and turning inwards to feel healed and grounded.  Contemplative practices sustained me and ultimately restored my spirit.

It's been quite a year since the Lantern Floating in Hawaii.  I completed a unit of chaplaincy training, which utterly renewed my sense of call and faith.  My family experienced fracture like never before.  I started preliminary research for my dissertation, and completed creative projects for school.

Oh, and I survived (and am still aiming to thrive amidst the continuation of) the 2020 Coronavirus pandemic. It's been a blessing to be an introvert during this time.  It's given me time to be creative and productive in the comfort of my own privileged living space.

In the last 2 months, I was able to write and perform 1 story, create and host 2 podcasts, and coordinate and help produce 3 webinars.  It's been the gift of a lifetime, honestly.  I also completed a 1,000-piece puzzle, during my "screen less Sundays."

I do miss hugs and personal interactions, and I find myself dreaming of various social situations quite frequently.  I have experienced anxiety and frustration, and I have wondered whether I can actually be of any use to this suffering world.

But overall, I am so grateful.  So grateful for the year I've had, and the year ahead.  Filled with hope, not immune to disappointment and the losses I've experienced, and still hopeful for the love that casts out fear to rule in my heart and to spill out to those I care about.

They are floating lanterns again tomorrow, virtually, and I will be participating from my computer screen.  I've got my weekly catch-ups scheduled--different individual girlfriends or friend-groups that I'm still rotating through--and no Bar-B-Q to attend.

But today, I write.  I spell out my gratitude and my praise, and I listen to the chirping of the birds outside, and sounds of the earth, which glorify the Creator and bring perspective to the created--that God's mercies are new every morning, and great is God's faithfulness!

Church Online

I joined the Edmonds United Methodist Church for worship this morning, where my friend Ann is serving as a pastor.  Watching from my computer screen, as I had a hearty breakfast (of hash browns, turkey bacon, spinach and eggs, and strong black tea), I recognized that this was perhaps a new (pandemic-induced) experience for many Christians today, but that I was used to it.  As someone who has been sensitive to the toxicity of many churches for a few years now, "self-quarantining" and "social-distancing" on Sundays has been my new normal.

A few years ago, I decided to boycott churches who did not have women or people of color in visible places of leadership.  ("Then why do you choose a white male as your therapist?" a friend asked.  Because sitting under the preaching of a white male who is senior pastor is a very different thing from having a white male listen to my problems, and support but not give me advice.  I will support any white male who takes on a humble and private position of listening, rather than taking the spotlight and talking! ).   To me, churches should not reinforce power structures that already exist in society.  Jesus' ministry was all about elevating the lowest in our world.  He did not choose the Pharisees (who already had financial and political power, compared to most Jews) to build his church.  He chose Peter, a poor fisherman.

I also took issue with churches and communities that used exclusively male language for God.  The theological/academic community already knows not to do this, and any paper that uses "He, Him, His" for God is automatically problematized.  Churches, as studies show, are usually 20 years behind where the Academy is, so most communities still assume God is male.  Those who have studied both Scripture and church history in depth know there is a place for God as Mother, in addition to God the Father--but the patriarchy that is woven into most of our churches feels uncomfortable with (and frankly, intimidated by) this.  Just this week, both my class in seminary and my online small group are studying Julian of Norwich, and even back in the 14th century, the Mother Nature of God was being written about by devout Christians.

In Boston, I visited 12 churches in 24 months.  I found one church that met my criteria.  Perhaps it was not a healthy approach to pre-determine what I was looking for, rather than allowing myself to be "led."  However, given that walking into most churches gave me severe anxiety (and nausea in my stomach), it was a self-protective measure, if anything else.

This also meant that I started joining various churches on Livestream on Sundays, rather than physically going out.  Increasingly, and especially upon moving back to California, I turned to Contemplative sources from ancient Christians to feed my soul.  I was done with churches that were run like businesses, and who were more invested in organizational numbers and programming than people's actual spiritual-emotional health.

To me, so much of American church culture runs counter to the Gospel of Jesus, which He gave his life for and which people have been martyred for.  Jesus came to heal individuals on holistic levels, not to increase church attendance.  He came to incarnate God's love--"I came that they may have life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10 ESV)--not to sell tickets to Heaven.  Why are Evangelicals so focused on "saving" people but not actually being the heart and hands of Christ, to a broken world?  How could so many Christians have voted for Trump, a man who showed extreme racism and misogyny, and definitely not a "preferential treatment for the poor"?

As a helping professional and educator, many of the colleagues I have respected the most have been spiritual-but-not-religious.  Unfortunately, some of the colleagues I have seen model the most harmful behavior have been religious-but-not-spiritual.  This has been the case for the last decade, but  until I went to seminary, I tried to ignore what I was observing, because to truly see the trend was to acknowledge that there is something deeply wrong with Christian culture in America.

Similarly, I have always been uncomfortable with the American Evangelical church's emphasis on "saving" people but not truly committing to what Jesus preached about, from Isaiah 61.  If Christians are truly committed to the Gospel, then they must take seriously how Jesus ministered during his time on earth.  He touched people, he violated social norms, he hung out with outcasts, he verbally (and physically) attacked those in religious power--the John Pipers of our current day, he addressed people's trauma and life stories, and he healed and listened and wept.

Religion without spirituality is, in my opinion, much like what the Pharisees represented in Jesus' day.  Church attendance in America is in decline, and rather than repenting of their sins and being willing to change, so many religious institutions point the finger at those who have "backslidden."  Some of my friends who have left the church are the most honest people I know.  They have integrity, and they have paid a price for questioning the things that don't ring true for them.

I have increasingly seen my role to be that of a Friend.  To those who have left the church but still seek spiritual sustenance.  (Often, churches stop maintaining contact with people once they have left.  Definitely the opposite of Jesus' story of the Shepherd who left the 99 sheep for the 1!). To those who pastor churches from "social locations" that represent the margins--my queer, female, and minority friends whose legitimacy and leadership are often questioned by the narrow-minded.

Too, I am convinced that my calling is to be a Chaplain.  In Divinity School, friends often asked why I was not pursuing the M.Div degree.  Those friends are mostly pastors today.  I do not believe my primary gifting lies in leading congregations.  But I do feel invested in caring for the hearts and minds of those who are in those positions.  If I can be a chaplain to the pastors, and minister to the unchurched, then my heart will be full.

My friend Ann is both a person of color and a woman.  She is a young woman, not yet 30.  The last time I physically went to a church service was when I visited hers, last month in Seattle.  I was glad to join her church service online this morning.  It gives me hope that there is a new generation of leaders willing to fight, with Love, for what Jesus would have deemed important.

Lord of the Sabbath

On a day when panic about the coronavirus is sweeping the U.S.--and many of my pastor-friends are live-streaming their services--I am reflecting on the Sabbath when Jesus and his disciples walked through the grain fields.

Were they doing so after church?  Instead of church?  In any case, they did not make the Pharisees (the pastors of their day) happy by doing so.

Church, back in Jesus' time, was the Jewish Temple, of course.  And Jesus did attend---sometimes.  One time in the Synagogue, he stood up to read a passage from Isaiah 61: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon 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 for the bling, to set the oppressed free" (Luke 4:18, NIV).

I am grateful for my weekly online Zoom group, which follows in the tradition of early Christian communities who moved to the desert after churches became entwined with political power, in the days of Constantine.  These "contemplatives" lived simply and fought against the busyness, materialism, and achievement-oriented society of the Roman Empire.

Schools are also shutting down, and my friends who are parents worry about what to do with their kids all day.

I grew up not going to school.  Each day, starting from five years old, I read Scripture first.  Often, my dad would pre-write a mini-devotional to go along with whatever passage I read that day.  Then, I would join my family for breakfast, after which my dad would lead a Bible study.

Homeschooling allowed us to grow in faith together as a family, and to pray together every night.  We were sheltered from the "world" for the sake of our Christian values.  I knew God personally from a young age, and saw prayer requests answered.

The first was asking for a dog.  I prayed every night for a whole year.  At the end of the year, we went back to Taiwan for my dad's sabbatical, and who should greet us at the airport by my uncle, who is a vet, with a dog for me!

The second was asking for a bike.  I prayed for a few weeks, and then a family friend gave me a hand-me-down!

My parents rarely bought us toys.  We played with what we had or with what others gave us.  We had conversations rather than watching TV.  We read books and listened to books on tape.

Jesus as the Way, the Truth, and the Life has always been my rock.  Our family attended 6 different churches by the time I was in college.  At each church, my parents were active participants and even leaders, and learned as much as they could from that particular denomination.  Then, something would happen that would "lead" them to a new church, after about 3 years.

I learned not to rely upon Sundays for a sense of spirituality.  That happened on a daily basis.  A.W. Tozer, one of my favorite devotional writers in college, along with Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest), wrote about how 40 pianos tuned to the same tuning fork are automatically in tune with one another, in The Pursuit of God.  That is how I see fellowship.  It flows out of, rather than replaces, our attunement with God.

My current Contemplative small group talks often about the concept, Solus Jesus.  Jesus--and a relationship with Jesus--is the foundation for our faith.  Martin Luther, who shaped Protestant Christianity, was a proponent of Sola Scriptura, in reaction to the Catholic Church.  But the way Western Christianity has interpreted and used Scripture has been problematic at times.

Many of the tenets of Evangelicalism are not necessarily what early Christians preached.  The idea of being "saved" is an American one, which came out of the Great Awakenings spawned by Methodist preachers.  I agree that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  But I have also seen (and the practical theologian in me is concerned) how American Christians fail to grow in depth and maturity and intimacy with God once they have entered the "fold."  Somehow, it's as if believing the right things will take care of anxiety, relationships, etc.

In chaplaincy and spiritual care, we try to avoid "spiritual bypassing"--when patients and clients don't process their feelings, and "jump" straight to using their religious beliefs as a crutch rather than an actual resource for dealing with them.  By practicing non-anxious presence, active listening, and engaging in pointed questions, we hope for those we accompany to internalize actual ways of changing their emotional reactions, their neurological patterns, and unhealthy belief systems (in my academic field, we call this "embedded theology").

Jesus came to heal us and set us free from our problematic coping mechanisms.  (If David was the first Music Therapist--my first vocation at the start of becoming a helping professional--then to me, Jesus was the first chaplain.  Like chaplains, he spent most of his time going to visit the sick.  Like chaplains, he mostly listened.  Like chaplains, his ministry was "out in the world"--rather inside the walls of the church.  Like chaplains, he trained others chaplains in a "cohort"--his 12 disciples.

To me, chaplaincy is the kind of ministry that most closely aligns with the Good News.  Jesus came to set the captives free, to minister to people's physical and emotional disorders.  Jesus came to touch and transform lives, not to get people to believe the right thing in order to be "saved."  The kingdom of God was brought to the earth by Jesus, and at the same time, we are still awaiting its fulfillment.

The Gospel spreads like a mustard seed.  Truth is a person, not a belief system.  And the Spirit--the Comforter that Jesus gave us after he ascended to heaven--makes all things new, and asks us to be flexible with our theology.  Speaking in tongues, modifying views on circumcision, and other revelations from God all happened with openness to the Holy Spirit.

What are the legalistic religions of today, and who are the Pharisees?  What would Jesus do, and where is the Spirit leading?  Where is freedom (emotional and mental freedom) needed the most?  These are questions I ask myself on a daily basis, or at least try to.  I'm still learning to be led...

...but on this historic Sabbath in U.S. history, I am grateful that staying home is something that feels right, familiar, safe, and life-giving to me.  Thanks be to God!