This weekend, I was privileged to officiate my first wedding. While there was quite a bit of running around, it was a joy to watch two members of our community begin a new life together as a husband and wife in Christ.

In the chaotic run-up to the wedding, between setting up a projector in an outlet that, hopefully, wouldn’t catch fire, sound-checking the new system, locating lost candles and pins for the boutonnieres, a random church member stopped me for a quick conversation.

It went something like this:

Person: I know a friend of your family’s from back home.

Me: That’s great!

Person: I heard from them that you went to Wharton.

Me: Yes, that true.

Person: Well, my daughter graduated from there.

Me: That’s great!

Person: She graduated with a degree in finance. What was your major?

Me: Marketing.

Person: Oh, really? Then why don’t you have a job?

Me: My parents ask me that every time I talk to them.

Person: (Turns and walks away)

I suppose if I had a minute (or twenty), I would have spoken to her about the nature of vocation and calling, and that, while I don’t believe in the “professionalization” of ministry (i.e., let the paid professionals provide the religious goods & services to a passive consumer audience), I still believe being a pastor is a legitimate job. An awfully-paying job, but a legit job nonetheless.

I would have told her that it only becomes more difficult over time to realize what I sacrificed when I answered God’s call to go to seminary and enter vocational church ministry, and that – most of the time – I believe it is worth it, but I have a small panic attack every time I think of how we’ll pay for my daughter’s college education or the sting I feel when I realize we’ll most likely never own (or even be able to rent) a house.

I probably would want to tell her about how what seems small or insignificant looks like (and often feels like) failure, but that I’m convinced this is what it looks like to actually follow Jesus around, and that I want my significance to be found in joining God’s work of redemption in the world around me, not in owning more stuff (most of the time), and that I believe in the mission of God enough to hustle and scrap together what it takes to do this and still support my family.

It’s good to know I’m among friends in this journey.

The theme for the upcoming Idea Camp in Las Vegas is sex.

Oh boy.

For many of us in the church, myself included, this is a really tough topic. Talking about it can be awkward, embarrassing, or confusing. Throw on top of that the vast amounts of Christians who struggle with pornography and sexual-based sin, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for sweeping this conversation under the rug as fast as possible.

However, I deeply appreciate the leadership of Charles Lee (founder of the Idea Camp) in being willing to go there because these conversations need to happen. Sex shouldn’t be some shameful thing (no matter how badly our culture has skewed things); in the light of Christ and His redemption, it can and should be a beautiful thing.

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My friend Jason Coker is hosting a great blog series over at Pastoralia called “3 Questions About Jesus.”

The idea is to ask different people how they would explain Jesus Christ to someone who had heard about him, but really knew nothing about Christianity. Their questions are:

Who is Jesus the Christ?

What has he done?

Why does it matter?

You can read my guest post over at Jason’s blog — I’ve also cross-posted it below:

_______________________

Jesus is the most remarkable person I’ve ever known.

In him, everything that has gone wrong is being put back together, in all the most important relationships we know — with God, others, ourselves, and the world. For many years, because of my disconnected sense of identity, I sought escape. The longer I have followed Jesus, though, the more I have come to see that he offers something better than escape: in him is genuine hope.  That which is lost, broken, and dead is found, restored, and made alive in Jesus.

Before Jesus found me, I struggled with a sense of being “neither/nor” as an Asian American — neither fully accepted as “American” nor fitting in a “home” culture to which we never belonged. In, through, and because of Jesus, I am learning to see another way forward. “Both/and” people learn to navigate fluidly between worlds and cultures, with empathy for those at the margins. Jesus is not obliterating my ethnic identity; rather, he is restoring it and freeing me to embrace it for the sake of loving God and people more fully.

On one day recently, I sent my daughter off to her first day of school, prayed at a funeral service, and visited a family in the hospital who was celebrating the birth of their child.  Life, death, new beginnings – everything all at once.  Days like those remind me of why I love and follow Jesus: the world we long for, which requires the courage, compassion, and creativity he fills our lives with, is already here and is on its way.

Among the slew of robocall messages urging our church to reply to various offers, scams and odd promotions, I found a message on our answering machine from an irate neighbor (anonymous, of course) to our church building.  The message went something like this:

Around 7:30 last night, I saw several homeless people on your church property. They are a nuisance to our neighborhood. This is our neighborhood.  It’s your church, so you should call the police and take care of this problem.

Apologies for the over-italicization of the above quote; the message basically sounded the way it looks, though.  So much anger in such a short message.

Our church community is continually trying to figure out how to be a redemptive part of our neighborhood and, in Point Loma, that means doing our best to reach out to the homeless community there. Through efforts like Laundry Love and the Ladle Fellowship downtown, we’re in the process of demonstrating Christ’s love to those in need.

But what to do about angry, territorial neighbors who aren’t so, well, neighborly?

I am certain they need to know the redemptive, transformative love of Jesus.  Maybe it’s because the brokenness of so many of the homeless people I’ve met is so evident, but my capacity for empathy and compassion comes more easily for them than for the person who left the message on our answering machine.

Reminds me of a story Jesus told.  Instead of asking, “Who is my neighbor?” the real question is, “To whom can I be a neighbor?”

It’s been forever and a half since I’ve had business cards but, last week, I finally received new cards — both for our church community and for personal use (astute observers will note that my headsparks* cards match the new header above).

I have been a big fan of Moo minicards for awhile now, so I’m glad to finally have a set of my own to pass out — perhaps if I see you at The Idea Camp Las Vegas in September!

(Sorry for the image quality – they’re courtesy of my blurry phone camera!)