My wife and I spent most of the day picking up pastors at the airport and dropping them off at our church for a conference on transitioning into house church ministry.  We started around 9:00 am, and because of a distinct lack of planning, we ended up going back and forth about ten times throughout the day — wrapping up around 5:30 pm.

It wasn’t until we picked up our daughter, purchased up some much-needed groceries and got settled in at home that we found out the extent of the tragedy at Virginia Tech.  When we left our place in the morning, the story was just starting to register on the morning news.  By the end of the day, an unimaginable tragedy.

It’s strange how these types of events move us to self-reflection.  Hopefully, it’s more than just narcissism at work, where even world events point back to ourselves.  Massive tragedy reminds us that we are not in control, and how frightening that can be.  I remember when the Columbine shootings happened, during my seminary years.  I was sitting in a roomful of bright, devoted, funny and usually very chatty youth workers in a youth ministry class.  But there was a heavy silence that day, tears and confusion filling the space where thoughtful conversation normally existed.

I hate how the news anchors, and even the entertainment wrap-up hosts, roll out stories like this as the “big story” of the night.  They try to behave with a professional demeanor, forehead slightly wrinkled to convey sincerity. But there is always a hint of enthusiasm in the voice, almost as if they are glad to move on from tainted pet food and car bombings far away.  The graphic in the background lays out the statistics of the highest death tolls from different shootings in our recent history as if we were checking batting averages or free throw percentages.

Evil can be so real and present.  That lingering fear disrupts our security, brings up those dormant questions of theodicy — how can such evil and a good God coexist?  There are answers, great answers, to those questions. But to someone who just lived through such terror, how does any of this make any sense?

I hear the words of the psalmist and I want to be comforted.  I want these words to comfort others.  I want to believe.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging

May the real presence of God be closer than any terror, a refuge in the face of violence, strength when ours crumbles into the foamy waters.

Today’s Christian magazine, a publication of Christianity Today, just published this interview with Soong-Chan Rah entitled, “Speaking Up for Asian Americans.” [h/t to DJ for the heads-up on this interview]

In the interview, Soong-Chan gives a brief overview of the recent Youth Specialties/Skit Guys controversy and the LifeWay Rickshaw Rally debacle. More importantly, he is able to discuss some of the larger, underlying issues regarding race, faith and the church. For example:

Why do you think this type of incident happens in Christian circles?

We’ve simplified issues of race so much in the American church that we fail to see some elements, some larger issues of race. It’s not just individual prejudice, but larger racial injustice. Sometimes, these are issues we don’t talk about in the Christian community. American society is changing; there are more non-whites. Yet in leadership, those writing and reviewing Christian books still tend to come from the white community. It limits the point of view.

We assume if we’re Christians, we are all the same, equal. That’s not the way life operates.

Though many of us are probably going through a bit of “Skit Guys” burnout, I am glad to see that the larger issues at play here are still being discussed. It would be too easy to say we’re sorry, make nice and then pretend like nothing ever happened. Sort of like those “last night of the big retreat” testimony times where one sibling tearfully apologizes to the other for using a shovel to bash in the other’s nose and then, upon returning home, immediately reengages the same lifestyle patterns. Reconciliation is slower than we’d like, most costly than we might imagine and messier than we plan, but can we pursue anything else?

Because of DJ’s glowing review, I am hoping to pick up went out and picked up Reconciliation Blues by Edward Gilbreath in the near future today. I am encouraged to see, both in his book and on his blog, that Edward has raised in voice in support of the Asian American community. So often, we treat racial reconciliation as a zero-sum proposition — if one racial ethnic group advances, it must be at the expense of another. During my seminary days, there was a series of ugly racial incidents. Most involved African American students, but one was directed at an Asian American student. During the ensuing fallout, I remember feeling that the Asian American incident was lost in the shuffle. Looking back on it, I realize that this was due to the lack of participation of Asian American voices — not the strength of other voices. I don’t know if we were too wrapped up in balancing studies and ministry, or if we gave into apathy, but in the end we abdicated responsibility for justice and reconciliation to others. This could have been a powerful witness of solidarity with our African American sisters & brothers, as well as speaking out on behalf of our own community.

That’s why I am also challenged by Edward’s post linking to the aforementioned article. While it is a significant step for us no longer to play the role of the quiet, passive Asian American and to let our voice be heard, it is also vital for us to speak in solidarity with other members of the body of Christ. While some in the majority culture might be tempted to brush us off if they perceive our indignation to be self-serving (which is not right, but it happens), it is an extremely powerful witness for us to stand up for those who might not be members of our communities.

There are certain media personalities I avoid because they are too frustrating. I know, I know… That’s their deal, their bread-and-butter — their notoriety is directly proportional to their ability to raise listeners’ blood pressure which, in turn, is directly proportional to their ratings. So they insult, mock and humiliate others with their derision, sarcasm and general stomping about. They “speak for the people” and shoot from the hip — until they are confronted with someone who will not stand for their nonsense. Then, they perform a little two-step: first, issue a public non-apology (attention shock jocks, pundits and talking heads: it’s not that difficult to learn how to apologize) and, then, a quick retreat behind the first amendment.

Last week, Don Imus (to whom I will not link) went on the air and called the women’s basketball team from Rutgers University “nappy headed hos.” Initially, he tried to brush this off as a poorly conceived attempt at humor but started backpedaling once he realized his job might be on the line. Instead, he received a two-week suspension from his employers. Eventually, after losing corporate sponsorship and high-profile guests, he was fired from his job. Here a couple of interesting responses to this controversy I have seen over the last couple of days:

Certainly, issues of race have been on my heart and mind over the last several weeks. But this recent controversy brings to the forefront of my thoughts another idea with which I have been wrestling for quite some time as well — that is, the idea of church-sanctioned misogyny.

The church is often guilty of following the culture’s lead. Sometimes, the results are almost surreal (sigh. double-sigh.). But it is genuinely troubling when the church begins to imitate the values of the culture around us. I’m not talking about pushing hot-button topics like abortion or homosexuality. It is clear that the religious right has used these topics to manipulate Christians into voting in their larger agenda. What has been on my mind is more subtle than these issues, and I see it coming up again and again in discussions of the church — what it is to be a man.

Over the last couple of years there have been numerous television ads that have attempted to define what manhood is all about. Beer ad after beer ad tells us that a real man is a hard-drinkin’, woman-objectifyin’, lovable dolt (who never experiences the negative consequences of this lifestyle). This burger ad declares “I am man” — hungry and incorrigible. A soap company urges the male of species to take back the shower (Because it smelled nice? Was it too clean?). This would just be an interesting anomaly, perhaps a response from those who felt left behind by the metrosexual movement of a couple years back, were it not for the apparent eagerness of many churches to sign up for this same agenda.

Here is how the thinking seems to go these days:

  • Identify the problem: There are not enough men in the church today
  • Identify the reasons behind the problem: Church is wimpy. The church has been neutered. Church is for girls. There is not enough bare-knuckled ultimate fighting. Most men could probably beat up the pastor in the pulpit (This is an actual reason stated by a church leader. With a straight face.), so they cannot be a part of such a group. Church takes too long.
  • Address the problem: Proclaim that Jesus is basically a tattooed street fighter who wants to throw down with all the namby-pampy wimps out there (Again, an actual description of our Lord. Apparently, also with a straight face). Start a “Church for Men” (Being a marketing major in college, I would have advised them to choose a name that wouldn’t immediately register “Hairclub for Men” in most people’s minds. But that’s just me).

While I agree that it is important to bring more men into the church, I strongly disagree with this movement within the church. On a personal level, none of these chest-pounding scenarios is particularly attractive to me. So, while I think it is really funny that the Church for Men times the pastor’s sermon on a scoreboard, I do not believe that only men find long sermons boring. I’m pretty sure no one, man or woman, likes a long-winded sermon. Sure, I love SportsCenter (much to the confusion of my beleaguered wife, I will watch the same SC twice in a row — guys, you know what I’m talking about) and I can finish most of the Rock’s singalong catchphrases (although I’m not sure I should be so proud about that one), most of my reading is limited to Page Two over at ESPN.com and I cannot walk through a museum without saying “I don’t get it” at least seven or eight times — but I refuse to believe that this is what defines me as a man.

It is the worst-case example of cultural eisegesis for churches to project the white, American definition of manhood onto Scripture (or our Savior, for that matter). Many proponents of this view say we got into this whole mess in the first place by catering to the felt needs of women (as if there were something wrong with upholding and valuing the intrinsic dignity and worth God has placed upon women), which drove men out of the church — bored and in tears (well, not really crying, because there’s no crying in church). Their approach does exactly what they claim caused this massive failure, except this time it works in their favor (as if this were a zero-sum proposition). They are catering to the felt needs of men in order to bring them into the church. The essential message is, “Hey, manly men! Jesus doesn’t want to transform your heart or redeem your perspective. No, He loves your belligerent pride — and your cage fighting! Spouting off hateful rhetoric? Great! Degrading and insulting others – yeah! Intimidation and slander – now you’re getting it! Jesus wants you to be a decider!”

I am not speaking about people like John Eldredge, whose “wild at heart” movement has spoken to scores of men (including me). However, I take significant issue with those who equate biblical masculinity with our Western culture’s view of masculinity. It makes me sad to think that there are pastors and leaders who are basically telling the men of their churches that God wants them to be hard drinking tough guys, or that it is the fault of women that they don’t want to come to church.

There is no one in human history mightier than Jesus. We remembered that this Easter Sunday, that even the cords of death could not contain our risen Lord. But Scripture tells us that Jesus did not use His immeasurable power to subjugate or harass others. Jesus laid down His life. The truest measure of strength is our ability to give it away. Those who become resentful when asked to submit themselves to God or to others are not genuinely powerful. Any jerk can get upset and stomp around. It takes a truly powerful person to lay down personal rights, agendas and pride for the sake of Christ — it takes a real man, if you will.

My family attended the Saddleback Easter service after our own church services were done (which was a pretty incredible answer to prayer, as we were able to bring several family members who are not Christians) and, interestingly, Rick Warren touched on some of these ideas during his sermon (which certainly would not have cut it at the man’s church because it was really, really long!). He pointed out that the early Christians were not fighting champions, but martyrs. They gave their lives away, down to their final breath, for the Gospel. Warren identified a similar problem within the church (sometimes men are not good at/don’t want to sit around and talk about their “feelings”) but went much deeper in addressing these issues. His definition of being a man (roughly paraphrased): Finding, and answering, a challenge that forces me to become something greater than myself. This journey will take integrity, courage and a willingness to risk.

One of my favorite quotes from him that night (about which one of my non-Christian family members smiled and said, “Wow, he just says it like it is, doesn’t he?” after the service) was, “It’s easy to live for yourself. Any fool can do that. But it takes real courage to live for something greater than yourself.”

These are issues with which I wrestle not only as a pastor, but as a follower of Jesus everyday. Last week, a pretty ugly encounter in the parking lot of a local shopping plaza made that abundantly clear. I will spare you the details, but what started off as a relatively small disagreement quickly boiled over into a direct confrontation. I stood there in the parking lot facing some guy who was clearly in the wrong, had purposely provoked a response from me and then walked away — quite an unholy trinity ;) Needless to say, I was extremely upset. And, to make matters worse, this guy’s demeanor basically said to me, “What are you going to do about it, Asian guy?”

I was tempted to subscribe, momentarily, to the myth of redemptive violence so that I could work this guy over (thanks, Jack Bauer!). In the end, gladly, I did not resort to physical violence. But I did perpetuate the problem by confronting this person with hostility. Although I never threatened this person, it was readily apparent that I was extraordinarily upset. No sooner did I confront this person than did he begin backpedaling, revealing that his tough guy front to be little more than a mask to cover his inner fear and insecurity. I experienced no satisfaction from letting this person know that he could not push me around. Instead, I felt a sort of creeping rot within me. Appropriately, I spent quite a bit of time in repentance before God this past Good Friday.

I don’t want to be part of a church that encourages these ugly, sinful tendencies within me. I refuse to believe that the story is that small. I long for God to transform the deepest parts of my heart, soul and body. I refuse to let culture or my own misguided heart tell me what it means to be a man. I want to be defined by God, and to build communities defined by Him.

Doesn’t it always work out that way?

Somehow, it has just been one of those weeks.  Some things were out of my hands – external forces creating extremely difficult and frustrating situations.  Some things were completely my responsibility – my internal response to adversity, my frustration at my lack of Christ-likeness, my guilt at venting my hurt on those closest to my heart.

I don’t want to over-spiritualize things here, but it is very interesting that the last couple of days have led me, quite literally, back to the cross.  I don’t want to be one of those jaded ministry professionals who looks at the cross as just another tool of the trade, a familiar company logo.  It frightens me that my heart, when left unchecked, seems to drift in that direction.

For Good Friday, our youth group had a night of interactive prayer stations, each one centered around a different aspect of the cross and Jesus’ crucifixion.  At a station called “Bitterness” we tasted a bit of vinegar, just as Jesus drank the vinegar after declaring His thirst from the cross.  There, we experienced a small taste of the bitterness of sin – the brokenness it has wrought upon the world, the shock it causes when we see its ugliness within us, the distance it creates between us and God (and between one another).

I didn’t want this to be a guilt trip.  That’s usually not a worthwhile journey.  But sometimes, in order to experience the uplifting victory of Easter, we need to go through the depths of Good Friday.  At least, I know that I must. The cross puts my life back into perspective.  At the cross, I see more than just the devastating effects of sinful depravity or the immeasurable love of Christ who bore the consequences of that sin.  I still can’t get my head around it fully, but I am starting to see the cross as a place where God is putting the world back in order.  The way things are meant to be.  Something that we dare not speak aloud (maybe fearing that we would sound foolish or naive for even hoping such a thing).  And yet, at the cross, I see God restoring our broken world.

One of my students sent me an email this morning that, in a way, set me on the right track.  During Passion Week, our church has been having a special round of early morning prayer meetings.  Well, she had been meaning to attend all week but, because of a number of different circumstances, she had not been able to come out until this morning.  So, there she is at her car, getting ready to leave the house at 5:00 am (yes, 5 o’clock in the morning) when she notices that her stereo is missing.  Worse, the trunk is open and also missing are fifty dollars worth of fundraising chocolate and a gift for a friend.

Here’s the amazing thing: Instead of shaking her fist to the still-darkened sky and cursing God for her misfortune (after all, hadn’t she gone above and beyond the call of duty by seeking Him first thing in the not-quite-morning?), she decided that she would still go to church to pray.  And she was actually thankful — not in a masochistic, self-flagellating kind of way, but with the kind of gratitude that usually comes with many more years of walking with God.   First, she wrote, she was thankful for the opportunity to start her day in prayer because, otherwise, her day really would have been ruined.  And, beyond that, she took this as an opportunity not to run from God but to run to Him and trust Him through difficulty.

May God bless your journey to Easter with wonder, gratitude and joy.

Serving in a Korean American church creates a strange sense of both being intimately connected and profoundly disconnected from the first-generation (1G) congregation. At times, I experience almost a sense of extended family when I spend time with the 1G congregants. For example, over the past several Sundays I have been playing tennis with a group of 1G families. Usually, we will end the evening by sharing a nice meal together (pho, even!). At the same time, in my ministry to second-generation (2G) students there is a deep sense of disconnection. The only time anyone seems to notice the youth ministry is if there is a major problem (or a cluster of heavy boxes to move). Other than vague notions of raising “good Christians,” there is no sense of purpose or mission when it comes to the spiritual formation of these 2G students.

In this third installment of this series of thoughts, I would like to continue to engage some of the thoughts Marko shared here at his blog. His third observation about Asian American youth ministry centers around the idea of integrating youth into the overall life and ministry of the church. As Marko notes, this isn’t really a choice for most AA youth ministries — whether we like it or not, we exist as the lopsided little 2G ear, attached to the larger 1G “Mickey” head.

Misnomers

Most of the churches I have served have at least attempted to organize some kind of ministry to families. Unfortunately, though they have had good intentions, these attempts ultimately failed. Perhaps the most frustrating of these programs were the ones we called “family” ministries but did not integrate a holistic sense of cross-generational ministry. For example, unless we count being in relatively close physical proximity as being a meaningful inter-generational ministry, it is wrong for many of the churches I have served to call their programs “family” retreats or “family” worship services. In my experience, at these retreats there are usually completely separate worship & activity programs set up for each group and at these worship services the 1G parents often refuse to sit with their 2G children.

I applaud the attempts of a couple of forward-thinking 1G senior pastors I have known who have tried to break through this kind of thinking. Unfortunately, they have encountered seemingly insurmountable walls when it comes to the actual practice of cross-generational ministry. For example, attempts at integrating both 1G and 2G language and culture into one worship service usually makes it very long, and not particularly meaningful for either group. It’s a little bit of this and a little bit of that, and in the end, no one is happy with the result.

After a couple of frustrating attempts (and numerous complaints), the natural tendency for churches is to stop trying. It’s easier to walk away than to work through the awkwardness.

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