Return to Shalom (Elijah Yip - June 29, 2020)

Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

Here’s a fun fact about me not everyone knows.  I went to a Messianic Jewish church when I was a young boy living in New York City.  (For the uninitiated, Messianic Jews believe that Jesus is the Messiah.)  Our family lived across the street from the church.  I owe my name in part to our family’s fellowship with these Jewish brothers and sisters.

I have fond memories of my time at that church.  During the Passover Seder (meal), I was summoned to open the basement door in keeping with the tradition of welcoming the prophet Elijah to come in at Passover.  We were the only Chinese people in the congregation, but they treated us like family.  When my father passed away when I was six, it was our Jewish friends who gathered around us at the burial grounds, prompting my mom to insist that my dad had Jewish blood in him.

To this day, encountering a Jewish person who follows Jesus or hearing worship songs sung in Hebrew deeply moves me.  There’s something special about Jews loving Jesus.  It’s not that they’re better than other Christians.  I think what wrecks me about Jews worshiping Christ is that it’s so, to use a Hebrew word, shalom – often translated “peace” but more appropriately “the way things ought to be.”

Here's what I mean.  God chose Israel to be a people set apart unto Himself.  God staked His name on Israel.  Israel was God’s Beloved, like a wife whom her husband adores.  (Isaiah 54:5)  God and Israel were engaged in a divine love story. 

Sadly, the relationship between Israel and God (actually, between all of humanity and God) has been more a story of unrequited love.  You know how Charlie Brown pined for the Little Red-Haired Girl but never had his affections returned?  That’s how it was between God and Israel except on an epic scale.  Throw adultery into the mix as well.

The problem was idolatry.  Despite God’s goodness, Israel turned to other gods and put its trust in foreign nations and itself.  Just what Satan wanted.  If God so prizes the affection of His beloved, wouldn’t turning her to betray God be Satan’s top priority?  Idolatry diverts affection meant for God to other places.  The result?  God’s love goes unreturned.

Idolatry takes many forms.  Some are obvious, like worship of another god or material things.  More often, idolatry is very subtle.  It can even take the disguise of good things.  For example, God’s message to the church in Ephesus in the Book of Revelations begins with recognition of its good deeds, hard work, perseverance, adherence to truth, and sacrifice in times of hardship.  But then comes the indictment: “Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first.”  (Revelation 2:4).  What did God desire but their affection?

How beautiful is it, then, when God’s beloved ones love Him back?  Call me a sucker for romance.  It’s how love stories are supposed to turn out.  It’s shalom.

Prayer:

Jesus, thank you for loving me no matter where I am and the state in which you find me.  I affirm that I am beloved in your eyes.  Please forgive me in the areas where my affection for you has waned.  I love you Lord.  In your name, Jesus, Amen.

An Idea:

What’s the one thing that has occupied most of your thoughts in the last week?  Does it draw you nearer to Jesus or away from Him?  If the latter, talk to Jesus about that and ask Him what needs to change to restore intimacy with Him.

When the Shine Wears Thin (Ben Fowler - June 26, 2020)

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

When I was a kid, my grandma would wipe down everything with Pledge. Remember Pledge? The coffee table. The chairs. Anything made of wood was constantly being Pledged. We don’t do this anymore. We buy cheap things. Things that don’t need to be polished. Things that don’t require any extra work. We don’t like wooden objects. We like plastic. And what do we do with old plastic objects? We throw them away.

Throughout my twenties and thirties, I worked as a worship director at couple different churches. This was my dream job. But as I got older, the shine began to wear off. When talking to others who did the same thing for a living, we would discuss the endless and ongoing nature of working at a church. It is filled with moments of true fulfillment but like anything else, it is a week-in, week-out labor of love. Even working at a church loses it's shine. 

After a while, the shine wears thin on almost anything. This is true when it comes to marriage and relationships. This true when it comes to our careers.  And this is even true when it comes to the church we choose to spend our years. The grass is always greener. The house across the street looks so much better. And often we trade our current circumstances for something new and shiny before taking out the Pledge.

About 10 years ago my father started showing signs of dementia. He was only 60 years old. I finally busted free to pursue my graduate degree in California and then this happened. The season that was supposed to be shiny began to fog up. When things got bad, I flew to visit him and found he was a different person. My Dad was always a sharp dresser but now he was happily dressed in beat up jeans and a tucked in tee shirt. I wondered what had happened to my dapper Dad. His shine was wearing off.

Five years later I became his legal guardian and took him into my home. I tried my best to care for him but neither of us could fend off his disease. It continued to progress until his level of care required something more robust than I could provide.

He now lives in a nursing in Kaneohe and the staff is shining him up. They do their best to polish his mind everyday. In shifts, the nurses play games with him. Read with him. Sing with him. And literally shower him. Instead of throwing old things away, they’re doing what my grandma did.

All of us have experienced the shine of a new opportunity, career, person, and all of us have seen that shine wear thin. I always thought the Christian life was different. That somehow when we meet Jesus, He makes everything shiny forever. 

The truth is, Jesus doesn't do that. He gives us the ability to care for what have and restore the things we have let slip into disrepair. He gives us the ability to forgive and persevere. The ability to 'Try' for the ump-teenth time. The ability to believe God for a miracle of resurrection as we partner with Him in that work. 

Prayer:

Father, right now, some of us are facing hard situations that require a lot of polish. Some of us are ready to throw in the towel. Give us a vision of what each of our situations could look like with your help. And help us to not lose heart as we begin the process of restoration. Amen.

An Idea:

“I am the resurrection and the life; the one believing in Me, even if he should die, he will live” Mat. 11:25. 

I know some situations feel beyond repair (and some sadly might be) but most can be restored. Let's remember what the situation looked like in the beginning... and start polishing. Start small. Start with a prayer. Then let's give God a chance to resurrect the things in our lives that have lost their shine. 

Good to Go (Sonya Seng - June 25, 2020)

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

photo by pixabay

Hi everyone!

Sonya here. We’ve been bringing this Bluewater Break Blog to you for about 3 months and as June closes and we start emerging from our homes, we’ll also be wrapping up the blog. I'm so appreciative to our team of writers who committed to bring encouragement while they, too, had their lives turned upside down. Thanks for reading and watching. I hope this has helped all of us know that we aren’t alone, especially those in the Bluewater ohana.

For this, my last blog post, I want to give you the good news that YOU are doing great. And my thinking goes like this....

My mom used to tell us when we were young that when you can’t fully bathe, then just be sure you wash your, um, "privates" and your feet. Do just THOSE TWO bit and you’ll be good to go.

Was that TMI? Sorry. 

It’s meaningful to me because my mom was really a clean freak, especially when we were young. We were trained that vacuuming the floors included wiping down all the floor moldings. And you need to soak all the hairbrushes in Borax regularly. She also trained us up to balance our check books to the penny, and she would stay up all night chasing the one or two cents unaccounted for in my dad’s office accounts. Little details. They were crucial to save us from the encroaching threats of vagrancy, bankruptcy, and early death from old hair oil.

So, for my mom to say, hey, there’s such a thing as “good enough”. Well– that was GOOD news in the midst of the scrupulous details. I wonder if any of you need that good news, too?

Because we've all been living in a sense of crisis for over 4 months now.  First with Covid, health and financial fears now with pain and anger over racism. Without exception, every person I know has struggled to respond responsibly in all these high-anxiety realms. 

To use my childhood metaphors, we’ve been up all night trying to dust the moldings; and digging through our linty pocket for pennies to reconcile the accounts. The continuous effort and the high stakes can ferment an unwary soul --into a vinegary pickle, one that tastes like either hopeless detachment or bitterness.

But if you are a Christian, particularly a Bluewater one, I want to tell you something:

You’re doing great! Yes, that’s right. You are doing really good!

Now, how dare I say that?  You don’t know me, you say. Well, here are 3 reasons that I think I can say “You’re doing great.”

#1. The bar is low.  You may not be fresh as a daisy, but you’re not funky.  Most of you are still feeding your children.  Are you still talking occasionally to your spouse or friends? Maybe you’ve even watered your plants. So many of you have extended help to others, to feed neighbours or to show support for wounded souls. Good. Give yourself a pat on the back.

I don’t know anyone personally who ran through stores willfully unmasked and spewing on clerks or aged. Neither have any of my friends flipped off or come to blows with any color of protestor nor police officer, at least not yet.  So again, that’s really good! Seriously, this is a respectable baseline we can work from.

#2. God is optimistic. And optimistic toward us specifically.  In the gospel stories, Jesus focuses on people’s raw talent and not the rough edges. (Peter, you’re a builder, not a coward; Mary, you’re a worshipper, not a loose woman.) 

Even when the Romans and Jews joined forces to murder him in cold blood – Jesus says in that moment “Dad, forgive them – they’re naïve.” He always overlooks an enormous amount of yuck. And he encourages what is working well. I want to share Jesus’ “half-full” mindset about you and me. I want to be guided by his big picture of inevitable kingdom victory, not inevitable catastrophe. So, with Jesus’ optimism, I’m saying to you and me: “You’re doing this. You got this”.

#3. Finally, I can say “you’re doing great” because I trust you are lovers, and love is what God is looking for.

Once a teacher asked Jesus which God command should be prioritized over the rest, and the Lord famously said “Love God and love your neighbor.” Bam. All the details are taken care of in these.  Simple. Giant, doable target.

The religious experts hated Jesus for simplifying the details because details gave them control over the people: serve God this way, on this day, with these words, in these clothes, not too much, not too little. And don’t forget the Borax.

But Jesus said, “Be children, not experts. That’s better.” And he said, kids, YOU can drive this car – here are the lane markers: One one side, Love God and on the other, love that person you see there. Now go. Pedal to the metal. Give meals and cups of water to people; visit the prisoners and the sick. Those simple acts of love will mean everything to Me on Judgement Day.

It's like my mom said. You are free to overlook your elbows and your neck sometimes. Just take care of the majors areas, the ones that get stinky fast and the ones with the most traffic. That, you CAN do. And surprise, when you do that, you’ll probably smell good all around.

Especially if you’re a part of Bluewater, I am confident in our kingdom culture and record of love.

• You are thoughtful, taking care of folding chairs and little children.
• You welcome each other in your differentness and are used to uncomfortable conversations.
• You pray for strangers.
• You’ve obediently forgiven those who trashed you.
• You’ve done hard things on faith.
• You worship God boldly with voice and feet and hands.
• You practice focusing on truth in the middle of sweat and noise.
• Every week, you give mission a try in your homes and workplaces.

You are people I trust to love.

So relax. It’s not easy but in June 2020 it is still simple. Love may cost you everything, like it did Jesus, but it’s a target you can’t miss if you try.

You’re doing great. And you’re good to go!

Prayer:

Lord Jesus, thank you for talking up my best attributes and minimizing my long record of sin. Help me carry that attitude to everyone around me. Help me get a few arrows into the giant target of love you've painted for me today. Thank you for everything. Amen.

An Idea:

Catch someone doing something good today and tell them you saw it.

The Embrace That Lets Me Let Go (Elijah Yip - June 19, 2020)

Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

I’ve been dealing with rage lately.  It’s not the recent controversy over racism and police brutality I’m talking about, though I suppose my experience could apply to any rage-inducing situation including that one.  No, I’m referring to my work. 

As a civil litigator (in layman terms, a lawyer who works on lawsuits), I deal with disputes daily.  Most times, the lawyers on the opposite side are cordial enough.  We might have to navigate through the contentious positions of our respective clients, but we manage to keep it civil. 

Every so often, I come across someone whose litigation style I can’t describe any other way than “nasty.”  These are the kinds of lawyers who bully their way through a case.  They take unreasonably aggressive positions that drive up tempers and costs.  Baseless accusations are their weapon of choice.  They mischaracterize innocent actions as grave miscarriages of justice while refusing to own up to their mistakes.

Lately, I’ve been dealing with members of the species Lawyerus Toxica.  My natural inclination is to give in to my base instincts – call out their bad behavior, retaliate with barbs of my own, send emails brimming with snark.  And then there are my inner thoughts.  I tend to see the opposing side as my enemy.  I’d like to belittle and bad-mouth them to anyone who cares to listen.  I might never actually do these things, but I want to.

That isn’t the place I should or want to be.  Even if I see these lawyers as my enemies, Jesus says enemies are to be loved.  (Matt. 5:44)  So each day I examine the motivations behind how I respond to my adversaries, checking for alignment with the Holy Spirit.  I collect my bitterness and anger and drain it at the foot of the Cross.  It’s a worthy exercise, but frankly, it’s tiresome.  I wouldn’t do it but for the fear of the Lord.

The phrase “fear of the Lord” gets a bad rap.  It conjures thoughts of a watchful judge in the sky, a cosmic Big Brother of sorts, waiting to strike us down for the slightest infraction.  That’s not the fear of the Lord.  You know why I purge daily? Because loving my enemies doesn’t mean I stop fighting them – my clients hired me to fight on their behalf – but to fight with a pure heart.  Why?  “Blessed are the pure in heart for they see God.”  (Matt. 5:8)  Never do I want to lose sight of Jesus.  I don’t want my thirst for vengeance to cloud my vision of the One whose presence I crave.  Apart from Christ, I wither.  Fear of letting sin separate me from my Beloved is what drives me to purge.

That’s why I choose to cling to Jesus rather than the poisonous rage that seeks self-vindication.  I go to him, and his lovingkindness and tenderness overwhelm me.  Any offense I hold on to melts away.  I turn over the false accusations, frustrations, and fury to him, and he gives me dignity, peace, and freedom.  A beautiful exchange.  It’s the embrace of Jesus that lets me let go of the hurt from others’ sins.  Cleansed of all vitriol, I see the world through his eyes, a Kingdom reigned by paradoxical peace.  A world where no one is too far from the love of God – even an enemy.

Prayer:

Lord, you know there are lots of people who hurt us (or who want to).  Please help me to forgive and love them as you would.  Embrace me and set me free.  Thank you.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

An Idea:

The next time you feel like lashing out at someone who’s hurt you, stop for a moment and imagine what he or she was like as an infant and also how he or she might be at the last moments of life.  The Lord sees a person through the lens of eternity.  Consider how the Lord’s vision of that person might affect your perspective.

Trying for Justice: Personal Stories (Sonya Seng - June 16, 2020)

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

It’s been such a difficult time for many of us. The national spotlight on the deep sins of racism has shown the terrible burdens of Black American men, women and children and provoked godly tears and righteous anger.  

But it's also been blinding as waves of murderous violence and indiscriminate destruction have covered the country. I've been troubled to learn that some of the most influential justice activists are also expressly "committed to disrupting the Western-prescribed nuclear family structure". Whoa. I want to embrace the wounded without welcoming "Trojan horses". 

One way I'm trying to stand firm in this rapidly evolving chaos is to de-prioritize media consumption and re-prioritize personal justice stories. Textured. Imperfect. Local if possible. Like those of the families in our church fostering traumatized kids or friends who have adopted children irrespective of race. Of middle class friends who lived on the street for two weeks so they could love the homeless better. And I’ve wondered how my own spotty experiences might speak to our ongoing commitment to justice. In this spirit, I revisited an early, awkward moment I had. It was when I first felt the discomfort of pursuing justice and had to decide what to do with it. It’s what we might call in our faith community “a Bluewater try”.  It’s simply my story. And it includes ugly crying. I hope you'll enjoy it.

When I was 22 and a recent Stanford grad, I was in a serious dating relationship with my-now-husband Jordan. I had never spent a Christmas away from my family in Honolulu, but at this stage of the game it seemed reasonable for me to visit his family for Christmas in southern Oregon. At that time Jordan was living in East Palo Alto, California with 2 college friends, acting on what he felt was God’s direction to “minister to the poor”.  I lived 20 minutes away in Mountain View but spent large chunks of time in EPA. So I began to learn about justice, and how it played out socio-economically, racially and personally.

In 1989 EPA was a largely African-American, suburban ghetto with the nation’s highest per capita murder rate. The sound of gunfire and sirens was as common as barking dogs.  Shortly after moving into the beige, stucco house on Azalia Street, the guys came under the wing of Miss Lovie Lewis, a well-known matriarchal force in the neighborhood.
We sat for hours in her stuffy front room, getting to know the burdens she worked against and the many people she loved and helped. The rusted fans chided that this kind of heat could not be dissipated, only pushed this way and that; but we shared her faith that God could change the climate.  Lovie opened her missional, mother’s heart to us. She brought us to her church, where, dressed to the hilt, we respectfully swayed and clapped our hands for the 3-4 hour service. She taught us her one-two punch of tough love followed by the endless soup pot, liberally seasoned with “Accent” brand MSG.  She was aptly named, embodying faithful, long-suffering love.

When they weren’t working their daytime tech jobs, the guys ministered and made a way for the rest of their friends to get involved. They built a shower in the backyard and opened it up for the neighborhood’s homeless to clean and find some dignity. Many men were invited to live in the converted garage and several women received temporary shelter in the main house. We cooked up hearty soup and sandwiches which were regularly distributed from the less-than-pristine bed of Jordan’s little white pickup – some things never change. The hot meal was served messily into paper bowls and passed out on the sidewalk to a regular crowd, and sometimes dinners were hand-carried into the dark crack dens at the abandoned lot, which the cops largely avoided. There was always a sense of danger and improvisation.
The guys learned to disarm violent men, carry peace where doors were bullet-ridden and pray for addicts. I didn’t like that Jordan’s favorite running route along the Baylands was also the best place to dump dead bodies. But they called it home. (One of Jordan’s old roommates has lived in EPA to this day. He godfathered Lovie’s young nephew, supporting him through private highschool and making his dream of entering the police force possible.)

Meanwhile at our home church on the other side of the tracks in wealthy Palo Alto, we worshipped alongside pioneers of the internet and old, Jesus hippies. 

We proposed hosting one of the church’s weekly "kinship" groups at the EPA house; these groups met for prayer, Bible study and fellowship. Leaders discouraged our attempt saying, “you’re nuts – no one’s going to cross the 101 to go a kinship group in EPA.” But by the time we left the area, it was the biggest group in the church with up to 52 people attending the dynamic weekly gathering. It was the first group Jordan and I ever led together and, though diverse, was deeply bonded by a rare sense of fellowship. We spent a long season studying racial reconciliation together and practiced “identificational repentance”, asking one another for forgiveness for atrocities committed by our various people groups, Black, White, Asian and Latino. The weekly gathering became well known on the block. Friendly drug dealers would spot clueless looking people driving slowly down the street, realize they weren’t there to buy, and give them directions to “Jordan, Steve and Erick’s house”.

So, it was in the middle of this great effort that Jordan and I were also moving toward marriage, our own little cultural collision.  After all, he was a working class, White boy from a rural town, and I was a wealthy Asian girl from a big city.  And now his calling to minister to the poor, and by extension to heal racial wounds, was starting to push against my comfort zone. Because of my Christian faith, I was eager to participate but was so unfamiliar with the whole scene. Then Christmas came. 

We decided to host a little Christmas Eve dinner for some of the Azalia house regulars before driving to Oregon on Christmas morning, to spend our first Christmas ever together! Jordan’s roommates had headed off to Seattle and Kansas City earlier for the holidays so it was just him and me.  I was excited to be working as a ministry team – serving the poor together on Christmas. What could be more romantic and spiritual? We made a spaghetti dinner. I was used to parties of a certain type and busied myself with decor, drinks, plates and utensils. But from then on I found the night extremely trying.

For a time I tried to make meaningful conversation with our guests, mostly homeless, black folk. But I couldn’t seem to come up with anything that led anywhere. And they seemed to have no category for relating with me either. Particularly because it was Christmas, I wanted the evening to be a particular way. I mean, this wasn't the street-side soup and sandwich distribution. But beyond the plates of food, there wasn’t a whole lot more to say. I was a fish out of water. We may have sung a Christmas carol or two – which meant, Jordan and I sang them. Finally, scrambling for a way to make a connection, I found paper and scissors and began showing two really loud, messy, pregnant gals how to make paper snowflakes. 
They were streetwise way beyond anything I could imagine, but the only way I could relate with them was to do a child’s craft. Over and over and over and over again. And over.  Again. Whee. So much fun. At least we made a lot! We taped them to the large bay window under the string of white lights. Then the ladies fell asleep on the floor amid their dirty dinner dishes, tomato sauce on the carpet. I kept my happy game face on the whole night but I was completely exhausted from the effort. We cleaned up around our guests and then Jordan, observing my distress, prudently sent me to the most distant bedroom to sleep so no one could disturb me.

The next morning, we hugged our guests goodbye and watched them lumber down the block. We closed up the house and started the 7 hour drive north. I cried about 6 hours of the ride, angry, ashamed, afraid and disappointed. Merry Christmas. The process of resolving these feelings was both mystifying and educating – and honestly continued long into our married life. I wanted a romantic first holiday away with my boyfriend and I had idealized that serving the poor could easily accommodate that. But I'd overestimated my social limitations, underestimated my personal preferences, ignored factors of time and energy, and got blindsided by the unpredictability of working with another mere mortal. I was pretty naive.

That Christmas started my recognition of my own “sacred cows” which included feel-good family time and fanciful holidays. That Christmas was my first opportunity to sacrifice one of them. (And I haven’t even talked about the interesting time I had the rest of the week with Jordan’s family.) And that Christmas was a powerful lesson that a “try story” can be meaningful even if you can’t “put a bow on it” yet.

Two more short, related, personal stories.

First, Hyde Park.  A month after we were married, Jordan and I moved from California to the notorious South Side of Chicago so he could get a Ph.D. He began in Race Relations and moved into International Security Studies. But living on the South Side for seven years was like getting a double Ph.D. in both race relations and security studies. South Chicago was far worse than EPA for its massive size and long history of black poverty and ongoing violence. The oppression was palpable. 

For 4 of those years, we lived 5 doors down from Louis Farrakhan, founder of the unabashedly violent, black supremacist Nation of Islam and a constant presence due to his 24/7 armed guards on the street. In the neighborhood, students were regularly mugged. I learned to don a hard game face in order to survive in public and not get harassed but I was a wreck; really we both were. I began looking for a way out. Maybe a cute apartment on the north side, close to safe cafes and theaters? 

But I had the very strongest impression that God wanted us in Hyde Park, so I sacrificed my cows of safety and beauty, and stayed put. I walked our dog daily in front of Farrakhan's guards, got pushed off the sidewalk by African American teenage girls and hurried past Polish construction workers heckling “China Doll!” at me. 
And I did my weekly wash at the corner laundry, admiring the exquisite braids of the scampering, black children, their young mothers sparing no effort with their colorful beads and clips while chatting and laboring under giant loads. I learned from those seven long years that there are super saintly people and super twisted people in every color, so I’m not free to wave the banner of any one race. And I have no pride over my own efforts there because I whined so much and was not strong in so many ways. I simply marvel that when we left Hyde Park at age 31 we had somehow, unintentionally, planted a neighborhood church. It had a racially diverse core, a girl from Korea, one from Africa, several Jersey kids, a well-pierced Vietnamese girl from LA, and a band of white boys known as “Dickey’s Funky Love Bomb”.  The day Jordan and I loaded up our moving truck and drove away, we were very tired. I may have even shed tears again, this time of relief. But that beautiful church has continued to grow, 20 years strong now, worshipping humbly and joyfully across race and class.  What else could God plant right in the middle of our fears and discomfort?

Lastly, SEED. Eight years ago, I was the general manager of Bluewater’s justice restaurant, SEED, which we created to employ trafficking victims and former prisoners. It was time to “try justice” again.  I had to put on my big girl panties to tough-love some very rough people with minimal skills and horrific personal issues. A good percentage of these hires were racial minorities, Hawaiian, Micronesian, and African-American but everyone, including myself and our team of volunteers, was dealing with areas of brokenness. Everyone needs the healing grace of justice. 
I had to learn about administering urine drug tests and bear the responsibility and frustration of firing those who came to work high or who didn’t show up at all. I still have PTSD from the 5am text that for the 3rd time, the Micronesian kid, one of 9 children and a new father himself, wasn’t going to make his shift.  I was going to have to fire him AND tell Jordan to get his SEED shirt on and go wash dishes. I was regularly late picking up my kids from school. Some days, I worked until 2am trying to help our team to clean the greasy floor from hell. I had to humbly ask friends for money when our equipment failed and I suffered a lot of well-placed YELP wounds.

Lives WERE changed for the better. The 60 year old, Hawaiian convict who worked at SEED after serving a 20 year sentence. The 50 year old White mamasan who came to us after 30 years on the Waikiki track. Still, the personal costs were massive and the eventual failure of SEED as a business was devastating for a lot of people. Pain over the venture simmered in our marriage for a long time, too. It was like ugly crying all the way up to Oregon again but a much longer drive. When can you tell if an awkward and costly try for justice is worth it?

These 3 snapshots of some of my “tries” are just that. Freeze frames. Like an embarrassing picture of you chewing mid-bite while something is also in your eye. Our "tries" show beautiful humanity but also cringy incompleteness. They remind me that I am not the author of my own faith, nor of any ultimate justice on earth. But God is, Hebrews 12 says. He calls all of us to participate, to try. Maybe all of our freeze frames will connect masterfully one day. But according to Isaiah 9, only Jesus' reign can establish and sustain justice for us:

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore.”

When Christ returns to this wounded world, his perfect justice will, I think, bring ugly crying as has never been seen on earth. There will be tears of the most bone-chilling sorrow and tears of unimagined joy and long-delayed relief.  And every knee, from every class and color, will bend in worship.

Until then, will I do my part and keep trying? I hope so.

A Prayer:

Lord Jesus. You know what complete justice will look like and it's beyond what I could dare approach in my sinfulness. Yet through the Cross, you made a way for us. Help me to work for justice without judging anyone else, even myself. Thank you that you will cover my costs in the end. Lord, strengthen each person who is doing their level best to live just lives. Show me how to encourage the best in those around me. Amen.

An Idea:

Don't watch the news today. Instead do something healing that can become good news.

The Humbler (Ben Fowler - June 12, 2020)

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

In his book, The Road to Character, David Brooks writes about two competing sets of virtues in the human heart; the Resume virtues and the Eulogy virtues.

Resume virtues are things we put on our resumes. The skills we bring to the marketplace. They are less about our character and more about our accomplishments. Eulogy virtues are the things said about you at your funeral. Things about your character; Were you bold, loving, dependable, consistent, kind, generous, and humble?

When I think about someone who exemplifies the Eulogy virtues, I am reminded of one of my favorite people, my landlord Cindy.

Cindy was born into war torn Laos in the 1940's, she has seen her share of struggle. She lived through two wars (Korea, Viet Nam). Cindy escaped Laos after the war and made it to Hawaii with 100.00 in her pocket. She worked her way up the ladder, raising 5 children on her own, and became a small business owner. She fed her children, bought her first home, and overcame all odds by the sweat of her brow, literally. She owned her own farm in Mililiani for over 30 years and worked the Farmers Markets before they were cool. She is my current hero. 

Because of her struggle, she knows the pain of others. She is full of empathy, built into her from years of hard work and responsibility. Now every time she sees someone in need, she wants to help. She has helped me many times. In fact, she has a super power, she humbles everyone around her. I call her The Humbler. 

People like her, those rich in the Eulogy virtues, hover around our world, bringing a quiet humility and a listening ear. They are not boastful. They don't say much but when you're around them, you are aware you have a problem. You realize you are transfixed on yourself, your ambitions, and your own little world. You are humbled in their presence.

The frantic pace of this internet induced world has rewarded the resume virtues but we are not fooled. We know that in the end all that matters is not what you did but how much you loved and were loved by others. In the end, the Humblers win out.

What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul? Mark 8:36

Prayer:

Lord, let us be more like you. As we care about the lasting things, the things that have eternal value, may we inspire those around us. Lord send Your Humblers to keep us honest. Amen. 

An Idea:

Let us encourage those that are rich in character, humility, and the eulogy virtues. Let's celebrate what God celebrates, not just the things that are fading away. 

The Heart of the Question (Elijah Yip - June 10, 2020)

Observation, Perspiration or Inspiration: 

Growing up in the ‘90s, I remember the Christian catchphrase “What would Jesus do?” explode in popularity.  WWJD bracelets were in vogue with Christian youth groups.  Ah, the ‘90s …

WWJD bracelets might have fallen out of fashion, but “What would Jesus do” still gets asked quite a lot in some shape or form.  It’s a fair question.  If you’re a follower of Christ, wouldn’t you want to know what your leader thinks about any given situation?

Answering the question can be tricky, though.  Humility is key.  We might think we know how Jesus would act because we’re students of Scripture.  We’ve read what Jesus has done, so we can just extract principles from those accounts and apply them to our situation right?  Yes, but if we stop there, we might just miss something.

WWJD, if asked in earnest, is supposed to glorify a person, not principles.  That person is Jesus.  Reducing Jesus to a set of propositions, even true ones, doesn’t adequately capture who he is.  Would it be fair to sum up your friend by describing her as “the one who loves donuts” or “the one who’s always late”?  Both statements might be true, but surely there’s more to your friend than that.

The personality of Christ is complex and nuanced.  Should we expect anything less of an infinite God?  Assumptions bred by familiarity stifle revelation about the richness of Jesus’ character and power.  Jesus found little honor in his hometown because the folks who grew up with him assumed they knew who he is.  Sadly, they missed out on knowing Jesus as God. 

WWJD is less about obeying conversation-ending commands and more about dialoguing with the Master.  It’s an invitation to intimacy.  Here are some conversation suggestions for talking to Jesus to get to know him better:

• What’s the Father doing?  Jesus said he does nothing except what he sees the Father doing (John 5:19).  So what’s the Father up to?  What’s his agenda for the situation at hand?  It might differ or transcend the issue prompting us to ask WWJD.

• Don’t underestimate what Jesus can do.  WWJD isn’t simply a morality question.  It’s also a question of power.  What Jesus can do affects what he would do.  Sometimes the range of responses we deem appropriate is shaped by limits we place on God’s power.  We think, “this must be the right choice because there’s no other way.”  What should you do with a hungry crowd of 5,000 staying late to listen to Jesus teach?  The disciples thought the right thing to do is send the crowd away because they didn’t have enough money to feed them.  What did Jesus do?  Tell the disciples to feed them and then proceed to multiply food miraculously.  Jesus’ supernatural power shaped the response.

• What’s the character of Jesus?  Acting like Jesus means aligning with his character.  Even if an action has a ring of righteousness to it, if it’s out of step with Jesus’ character, that’s a red flag.  For example, Jesus is life-giving.  (John 10:10).  If a response to an action destroys life, consider if it’s right in Jesus’ eyes.

• Why do you ask?  The answer to WWJD cannot be separated from the motivation behind the question.  Do we ask out of a sincere desire to please the Father’s heart?  Or are we wielding the question as a rebuke to bring others in line with personal notions of how Christians ought to act?  What would Jesus do with those who are “out of line?”

Prayer:

Jesus, we want to know you better.  Thank you that you reveal yourselves to others who draw near to you.  We need you more than ever, and we come close to you so that our heart might become like yours and that we might show your love to a heartbroken world.  In your name we pray, Amen.

An Idea:

Read about the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22-26 and prayerfully meditate on it.  How is God ministering to you after his heart?  How can you minister to others after his heart?