LOCKED UP GRILL

I have a grill on my front porch that is locked up to the bars in front of our guest bedroom window with a U-lock. I wish I didn’t have to lock it up, but earlier this summer, four ratty lawn chairs that I had put out there were stolen overnight. (I also wish we didn’t have to have bars over our windows, but our house was burglarized three years ago, so that’s a necessary precaution, too.) We’ve also had tenants who were into gardening have potted plants stolen off our front porch.

I know of friends of mine who live in urban areas who lock up their garbage cans. I haven’t gone that far, but I’m thinking of it. Our garbage has been moved down the street, picked through, and strewn across our sidewalk. I live in constant worry that I’ll be fined for illegal dumping on my property, and/or that I’ll take out my garbage one night and have to clean it up and put it back in the can the next morning.

Thankfully, we live on a relatively safe block. It is quiet, but with just enough foot traffic throughout the day and night to maintain a sense of security. But the things stolen off our porch and the trashing of our trash are frustrations of urban living that I could certainly do without.

BALL IN THE PROJECTS

My wife has recently rediscovered her love for shooting hoops. She has a friend in the ‘burbs who lives near a basketball court, and last week she stopped by on her way home from a visit to shoot some baskets. Two hours later, she finally headed home, and when I got home from work that night, she shared with me just how fun it was and how we simply must play some b’ball this weekend.

So we decided to walk to the nearest courts in our neighborhood, which happen to be in the housing projects three blocks from our house. Even though I’ve been on this campus a number of times for work, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy, partly because my wife and I stuck out and partly because I was hesitant to put my wallet and cell phone on the ground out in the open.

The uneasiness left somewhat as Amy and I started to exchange shots. We had a hoop to ourselves, while three other half-court games raged on. A couple of young kids came by and asked if they could shoot around with us. One challenged me to a game, so I took him on . . . and won, 7-5. (Did I mention he was 10?)

As we walked home, we lamented a little at the juxtaposition between the skyrocketing real estate in our neighborhood and the decrepit conditions of the housing stock in and around the projects. We felt a little guilty to have possession of a shiny new ball, a Christmas gift from my wife’s parents this past year. And I was a little down on myself for not feeling as at ease as I thought I ought to have. We continued our dialogue in the kitchen as we cooled down, stretched, and rehydrated. We talked about our respective work experiences, about the problems of race and economics in our country, and about what could be done to make things better.

My wife succinctly summarized the fun excursion and our ensuing discussion in the kitchen: “When I shoot hoops in the suburbs, it doesn’t make me think of important socio-economic issues in this country.” And I think that’s yet another reason why I prefer cities to suburbs, and why I love my wife.

MY RUN-IN WITH THE CHURCH OF CHRIST IN MOSCOW

Ten years ago this summer, I went to Eastern Europe for three months. I spent two months in Moscow working for a Russian-American consulting joint venture, ten days doing missions work in Albania, three days attending a missions conference in Hungary, and two weeks doing missions work in Romania. What a great summer, in terms of spiritual growth and global perspective. I could write for many hours on that summer, and in fact I ought to someday.

But today I wanted to talk about my run-in with the Church of Christ in Moscow. Church of Christ, as you may know, is considered a cult by most mainstream Christian folks. It takes a Biblical focus on works and perverts the theology to make followers feel as though their salvation depends on their day-to-day performance as Christians.

It didn’t take long for me to bump into the Church of Christ in Moscow. I was to stay with a host family during my time in Moscow, and the father and daughter came to the airport to pick me up. As we were driving back to their house, the daughter asked me in English, “So what are you planning to do here?” And I replied in broken Russian, “I will work and also speak of Christ.” (It was a phrase I had been practicing for several weeks and it still came out mangled.)

Immediately, she began speaking eagerly about her church. That very day, we went to a service, where I met other eager young Christians. I was impressed by their fervor and glad to quickly find a spiritual community to keep me sharp. Even though I knew the group to be Church of Christ, I tried to keep an open mind.

And in fact, over the two months I worshiped with them, I came to appreciate much about the Church of Christ. American Christianity swings to the other end of the pendulum, to the point that many churched folks ignore clear Biblical teachings about the connection between faith and works to, in my opinion, their eternal damnation. The Church of Christ’s constant focus on evangelism, while twisted in its motivation (many a time I heard my host family’s daughter lament about not having shared her faith with anyone on a particular day, as if it was a performance metric that made her less of a believer in God’s eyes), challenged my own apathy when it came to spiritual things. These young adherents boldly spoke to practically everyone they came into contact with, as if they had something eternally important to share. Which, of course, they did.

Because of my limited communications abilities, I decided that my role in this community would be to help them to fill in their newfound faith with a balanced understanding of the Christian life. In other words, rather than throwing out everything they had learned because it had come from a cult, keep what is Biblical but understand that it represents an incomplete picture of what it means to follow Jesus and proclaim His existence in this world. And over the course of my time in Moscow, I built some significant relationships and was able to sharpen and be sharpened by others. I even defended the group when I was visited by some American friends of mine who were passing through Moscow en route to another part of the former Soviet Union for a missions trip, and who immediately dismissed the church group once I told them they were Church of Christ. “Before you point fingers,” I interjected, “understand that we have a lot to learn from them.” I enjoyed being with these young Russian people who desired to serve God with all their heart, and while I understood that their doctrine wasn’t quite right, I was happy to learn from them and to be an edifying presence and a positive influence amongst them.

But the leader of the group, an American named Mike, didn’t seem too happy with my presence and influence in the group. He warned people, including the daughter of my host family, that American Christians don’t take the Bible and obedience and evangelism seriously enough, that my focus on servanthood did not represent true Christianity, and that I should not be befriended or encouraged. The last week I was in Moscow, he invited me and one of the other key leaders, who I come to admire and look up to, to his house for a private conversation. I knew what was coming but decided to go anyway.

Mike got right to the point as soon as we walked in, steering us to the stock Bible passages that people in Church of Christ use to justify their ways. He quoted Psalms about how we are to “proclaim salvation daily,” and asked me if I was doing that. We went to the gospel and epistles and read about the call to radical obedience. At one point, I even saved us some time by jumping in and asking that we read a passage that I knew he would be getting to. I wasn’t trying to discount what he was doing; in fact, I remember praying in the back of my head that I would be open to God teaching me something and not closed off because I was familiar with how Church of Christ people go this way.

But then Mike started to get more into things. He questioned my salvation and mocked my lack of converts I had won for God during my Christian life. He accused and chastised and rebuked. My calm demeanor turned to an uneasiness, even at the same time that my pride kept me from pulling the parachute cord and respectfully leaving the scene. His attack continued, now with pointing and yelling and all with a sly grin, while the other young leader looked on. I looked to my friend and then turning back to Mike, I responded: “Yes, I agree. I have not measured up to the standard set by Jesus. I desire to be like Him in every way. By God’s grace, I accept His forgiveness and I open myself up to His power to make me a better Christian.” I wanted my young leader friend to see what a Christian looked like who sought obedience radically and yet lived humbly and assuredly in a place of grace and favor in spite of glaring sinfulness. I wanted to be that kind of person so he could see, and also so Mike could see.

But most of all, I wanted to be that kind of person because in that moment, I desperately needed to be that kind of person for myself. Mike finally relented, a little satisfied that he had been able to get off his chest what he had probably wanted to say to me from since I first arrived in Moscow, but a little dissatisfied that he hadn’t gotten through to me. I walked home alone, my legs feeling wobbly. It was the worst kind of attack: spiritual, personal, and with more than enough Biblical truth that I couldn’t just discount the whole thing. I prayed, thought, and journaled a long time that night.

Over a month later, with the help of a dear spiritual advisor who helped me look inside my own heart and see the unresolved feelings I had not yet let go, I forgave Mike in my heart for attacking me in that way. And when I did, some of that same grace which kept me on that day rushed into my heart to fill the space those nasty feelings had once taken residence. Ten years later, I must confess I still harbor some icky feelings about it all, but thankfully I can mostly look back and draw lessons for life. I can recollect the incident and not think about being attacked to my core, but rather about being held by grace by a God who is as a father ought to be: setting high standards, but offering unconditional love.

TO THE WOMAN I LOVE

My wife turns 30 today. Last weekend, I was in Cincy for a buddy’s wedding, and the homily was given by a good friend of mine whose speaking skills and spiritual insights I admire. The main point of his talk was that people change, and that marriage isn’t about being with the person you love as much as it is about loving the person you’re being with. He looked straight at my buddy and his fiancée and said, “Sorry to break it to you, but the other person who you’re so madly in love with today? S/he’s not going to stay the same. People change over time.”

Some people in the audience squirmed a little, but I knew where he was going. “Marriage is saying, ‘Whoever happens to be in that body today, I’m going to figure out a way to love him/her.’ That’s the beautiful thing about marriage, because that’s how God is with us. He loves us, whoever we happen to be that day. And by loving each other in this way, you will be giving and experiencing something of God’s grace.”

It got me thinking, of course, about my own marriage. And it occurred to me that the reason why things are going so well in our marriage right now is that we’re learning how to love each other in this way, rather than just loving certain things about each other. I mean, while we are physically and intellectually attracted to each other and admire character qualities about each other, there exists a deeper form of love. It’s a love that doesn’t require the other “body” to be anybody or anything, but rather, as my friend put it, that seeks love whoever happens to be in that body on any given day.

I can certainly recall feelings of frustration when I was measuring my wife against a certain standard. Whether that standard was unrealistic and fed by mass media, or completely realistic and based on what I knew about her, is besides the point. The fact of the matter was that I was withholding feelings of genuine love until I saw something in the other person; if one day I saw it, I was happy as a clam, but if the next day I didn’t, I was disappointed or frustrated.

Which is not to say I don’t still think in this way. Or that we don’t seek to help the other person become better in some way. But rather, that we learn to offer genuine and unconditional love to “whoever happens to be in that body today.” More and more so, I have given and received that love. My wife and I have a ways to go, but in another sense we are hitting a nice groove. Sure, we still love things about each other. But we are learning to truly love one another, even and especially as we change over time, even and especially as we go through our human cycles of good days and bad days. I love you, baby.

ANOTHER SIDE OF RACE RELATIONS

As an Asian-American married to a Caucasian-American and living and working in an African-American neighborhood, I often think about the role of Asians in American race relations. I wonder if God hasn’t laid on my heart a special burden to help play a special role in His reconciling work in this country. And I wonder if God isn’t calling on others like me to be involved in this way.

After all, Asians can play a special role in racial reconciliation in the US. Many of us are socio-economically and familially well-connected in Caucasian-American circles. Yet we are more able to connect with the African-American plight of being seen as “different” in mainstream circles, and with the Latino-American challenge of speaking one language at home and another outside the home.

Race issues specific to Asian-Americans are manifold, as well, from the “model minority” and “perpetual foreigner” stereotypes to the same kinds of discriminatory patterns other ethnic groups face. And like the African-American and the Latino-American, we struggle with what it means to be a minority in America, from “passing” to “assimilation vs. multi-culturalism” and particularly what it means to identify oneself as Asian-American in relation to one’s identification with one’s own particular country of origin.

“To whom more has been given, more is expected” is, I believe, not just a Biblical truth but one all people should be held to, regardless of their individual creed. And for Asian-Americans like me, who are well-educated and bi-cultural, we have been given much in the way of material and educational resources, for which we ought to be thankful. But with those resources come opportunities. To build bridges, to be a voice for other groups and not just our own, and to together form a pan-Asian identity that gives us the strength in numbers that will help all sub-groups within – Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Taiwanese, Filipino, Vietnamese, and so on.

It is a theme I have blogged on before, this concept of looking beyond the self to enrich those around. Strong family values and high quality education have been invested in us. We can hole up comfortably in our own familial and ethnic enclaves. Or we can use our voice and our access to do good in ways for which we are uniquely positioned. The latter is, I believe, the nobler and richer life. May I do God and myself proud to live so.

SONGS THAT REMIND ME OF PEOPLE WHO SUFFER

We sang two songs in our morning service at church today that hold particular significance for me. “His Banner Over Me” tells of a heavenly celebration in which God brings us to his banquet hall where there is a banner of love hanging on the wall just for us (Song of Songs, chapter 2). When I sing it, I think of the many people around the world who have been abused by religious leaders and for whom being intimate with God is a loaded subject. I think particularly of three of my closest friends in college who were sexually abused by priests. And I imagine us all together in heaven, my three friends and I, as well as the multitudes of men and women who have lived with unspeakable shame. And the conflicted feelings and raw emotions and sinful residue have all been wiped away. And together we can be completely lavished with love by our Heavenly Father.

We also sang, “He is Lord,” a beautiful song that is taken from one of Paul’s letters (Philippians, chapter 2) and is the refrain all will sing upon the return of Jesus. The song makes me recall an article I read in college about a Christian in an African country hostile to Christianity. At risk of bodily harm, he continued to practice his faith and even spread it. One day, he was caught, and the punishment for worshipping the Christian God was to have his hand chopped off. Once his persecutors had chopped off his right hand, he immediately raised his left hand and began singing this song. Opposition and torture would not keep him from proclaiming his faith. And so whenever I sing this song, I pray for my brethren around the world who suffer as a result of their faith, and I join with them in raising my hand and proclaiming that Jesus is Lord.