11strikes

Today I began sponsoring a girl from Zimbabwe through World Vision. I had been thinking about it for a while, but I'm glad I waited until tonight, otherwise I might have missed this little girl whose name alone just about stopped me dead.

Her name is Pride Dumani. She was born on September 12th, 2003. She lives with one sister and both parents in a community affected by AIDS/HIV. She likes singing and playing handball. She is currently not in school, helping to care for the animals at home. And she has a name that is freaking awesome and brilliant.

pride:
n.
1. A sense of one's own proper dignity or value; self-respect.

Am I bragging because I happened to chance upon a kid with an amazing name? Absolutely. You know she's totally going to grow into that one.

I visited Gurnee Community Church today for the first time. They sang this song, which really moved me:

Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be.
Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be.

All of my ambitions, hopes and plans
I surrender these into Your hands.
All of my ambitions, hopes and plans
I surrender these into Your hands.

For it's only in Your will that I am free,
For it's only in Your will that I am free,
Jesus, all for Jesus,
All I am and have and ever hope to be.

Copyright © 1990 Word Music / Adm. by Copycare.

Here's a link to the song on Youtube.

I saw an elderly couple sitting in the contemporary service. I like seeing older couples at church. It makes me happy to see that 1) they are still together, and 2)they still feel that it's important to go to church, even to hear a younger pastor speak - that even with all of their life experiences, they do not consider themselves above the teaching of Scripture week-in and week-out.

The pastor announced that the church was coming to its 150th anniversary next year. I thought of the cloud of witnesses, and how they would include men and women like that elderly couple, quietly and faithfully walking the path until whenever Christ calls them home. I hope I will be counted among that number.

Today my friend in California told me that her younger sister has converted to Mormonism. She is shocked and devastated. This was the sister that spent years going on missions with YWAM, even participating in a forty-day fast. Earlier this summer, she had been doing some research refuting the Mormon faith. Then she began her freshman year at Berkeley, got lonely, and then it was her Mormon friends that came to the rescue. When she moved, it was her Mormon friend who called and mobilized other Mormon friends to help move her furniture, refusing to be compensated for their labor. Guess what happened next?

In her head, she seems to know it's wrong. She tells her other sister that she still thinks Mormon theology is "nonsense," but that didn't keep her from getting baptized at their temple ("What?" you say? Yeah. That's what I said), and dating a Mormon boy. Apparently, they are so nice and such great people that she simply doesn't care anymore.

Actually, I can understand that. I'm not sure what it is -- I've only met this sister once -- but loneliness can be pretty unbearable. Going alone as a Christian at an ultra-liberal school like Berkeley can be downright miserable. Given a choice between staying alone, and running into the open arms of a super warm group of loving, charitable people who are always checking up with you? From this point of view, it's not hard to see how this happened. But other questions arise, like, "Why didn't she seek out one of the parachurch fellowships on campus? Surely as a seasoned, churchgoing Christian, she should have known how to find one." I can only guess that that was part of the problem. I'm sure she knew perfectly well how to find them. She just didn't want to.

There are probably a mess of reasons for that. Possibly at the forefront: disillusionment with the church. Given the ever-growing emergent church movement, it seems to be a pretty common experience these days. I picked up a copy of D.A. Carson's Becoming Conversant With The Emergent Church the other month because I think a clinical dissemination of the movement is just what the movement needs: a balancing response from "the establishment"--which in modern American Evangelicalism, D.A. Carson safely represents without drawing ire from either side of the peanut gallery.

Emergent churches are incredibly diverse on the theological spectrum, but one characteristic they seem to have in common a tendency to shy away from hard definitions and structures. They want to be more "fluid" and Spirit-led. This is actually a terrific thing--when tempered with Biblical discretion. But as Hamlet says, "Ay, there's the rub." How do you define and interpret Biblical discretion? Carson worries about the movement swinging too far on the other side of the pendulum. And he should be. At the same time, can we admit that some people are worried about teaching believers to be "Spirit-led" because such things are totally outside the control of man? Just a thought.

But back to my friend's sister and the Mormon thing: this has been said before concerning cults and other fringe religious groups that "love people into the fold," but again I'm reminded of how much Christians are put to shame by the persistence and dedication of people of other faiths. The bottom line is, Mormons were there for this girl when Christians were not. And between a Christian that "hopes things go well," and a Mormon that shows up in time of need and takes care of you, which one shows real love? It's the parable of the Good Samaritan again, and it happens right in our backyards everyday. In one sense, I'm thankful that somebody was there to show her love, but at the same time I ask, "Where were the Christians?" It convicts me, because the way I live sometimes, you'd think I never read that passage where Jesus told his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few" (Luke 10:2). You'd never think that I knew that things like this happen right at work, right next door, right under my nose all the time. Why do I never turn and think instead, "Here I am, Lord! Send me!" (Isaiah 6:8)?

Well, I'm thinking that now. I want God to send me. It's an emergency. We were born into a crossfire between heaven and hell, and having grown up in it, you'd think we'd know better. But the workers are terribly, terribly few. I only realize that now as I wish some God-loving, on-fire Christian had been there for that sister of mine. We won't give up praying for her, but if we continue to allow these things to happen on our watch without a fight--and it is a spiritual fight (Ephesians 6:12)--we should be kicking ourselves. Seriously.

Jaded by holiday commercialism? Consider a deeply practical alternative of immediate significance.

Today I visited Elmbrook Church in Brookfield, WI with my sister. The guest speaker challenged us with an argument from Child Theology for aiding at-risk children in our communities and around the world.  In so many words, he basically said, "There is no excuse for inaction in the face of so great an injustice." 

I can't really think of anything to add to that.

It just occurred that I have no record on this blog of the article I was so excited about having published in Wunderkammer Magazine back in June.  Here is the permalink:

www.wunderkammermag.com/20090615/evelyn-yang-imitation-and-desire

Matthew 25:31-46 (New International Version)

The Sheep and the Goats

 ³¹"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. ³²All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. ³³He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

 ³⁴"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. ³⁵For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, ³⁶I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

 ³⁷"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? ³⁸When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? ³⁹When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

 ⁴⁰"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

 ⁴¹"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. ⁴²For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

 ⁴⁴"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

 ⁴⁵"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

 ⁴⁶"Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."

--

God loves everyone.  But it seems like he reserves a particular tenderheartedness for the most forgotten, the most disenfranchised, and the most suffering.

"I was in prison, and you came to Me."

I can't seem to get this verse out of my mind lately.  Not because I feel any particular pull towards prison ministry, but because it speaks to me about the actual nature of God.  He is not indifferent to those who are suffering from loneliness or any other kind of emotional turmoil any more than he is to the physical pains of the hungry and the needy.  Support isn't a fluffy, pansy thing of only sentimental or surface value.  For one human being to affirm and value the existence of another human being is too crucial - it's the thing that separates the sheep from the goats.

"There's no such place as Paradise.  At the ends of the earth, there's nothing at all.  No matter how far you walk, the same road just keeps going on and on.  But in spite of that... why am I so driven to find it?"  - Kiba, from the opening monologue of "Wolf's Rain"

One time, a young couple from my former church invited me over for dinner.   We somehow got onto talking about movies and shows.  I began to tell the husband, who began making the meal while the wife went upstairs to take care of the kids, about one show that had touched me recently.  It was a Japanese animated series called "Wolf's Rain."  He nodded and looked busy as he prepared the meat in the kitchen sink.  While he half-listened, I told him how I was moved by the concept of the story, and one scene in particular.  The characters are looking for paradise.  They are compelled to find it, although they don't know why, or what it looks like.  And the four of them journey together through a post-apocalyptic world characterized by hopelessness and ennui.  Think Paul Bunyan with a heavy dose of Eastern mysticism, pseudo-pagan mythology, and a killer soundtrack, and you sort of have "Wolf's Rain."

Anyway, these four young men--really, wolves of a creationist myth with the ability to take human form--eventually follow the scent of a single, paradisal flower to a dead town on the seashore.  There, they encounter other wolves who had once tried to reach Paradise.  The wolves in the town are older, hardened... able to betray their own kind to slave traders without a second thought.  This is because they no longer believe in Paradise.  It is a very bleak and depressing town for the younger wolves, who, mocked and harrassed by the older wolves and beset by weariness and hunger pains, begin to wonder whether they have been following the right path at all.  However, there is a dark and abandoned tunnel in town where the young wolves finally are able to trace the scent of the paradisal flower.  The leader of the older wolves warns the young wolves not to go in.  Then he tells his story: how, in his prime, he led his pack of wolves into the tunnel searching for paradise, and how many of his friends died along the way.  Finally he gave up and turned back, refusing to lose anymore of his companions, and has spent the rest of his life wasting away in this town.  He urges the young wolves to turn back before they make the same mistake he did.  Angrily, he tells them that there is no paradise.  The leader of the younger wolves, however, simply says, "We will find it."  He urges the older wolf to come with them, but he refuses, instead replying, "If you do find Paradise, come back to tell me." 

Subtext:  "If you make it, maybe it's real.  Maybe I can afford to hope in it as well."  As a Christian, I sometimes feel like a deep sea diver, searching for remains of Atlantis.  It could be a futile effort--not because it isn't real, but because nothing is ever watertight or comprehensive, and someone will inevitably find alternative explanations for every one clue I bring to the surface.  "The Bible tells me so" is a circular argument--if God did not author it.  "Who wrote the Bible?  Who decided what went into the anthology called the Bible?  Isn't it all arbitrary?"  Good questions with legitimate answers, if you search them out.  Not good questions to toss into the air without any intention of following through.  Doubt is not an excuse.

Maybe it was my lack of effective phrasing.  I've always been a little clumsy speaking aloud.  By the time I finished talking, the man said, "Uh... OK.  That's interesting."  He had been listening, but I had the impression he did not find it interesting at all.  Then he started talking about another movie, lecturing his kids...  oh well.  I thought it was pretty exciting.

I also see spiritual parallels in the Hollow's mask that threatens to overtake the protagonist of Bleach.  The mask represents inner darkness--a hard shell that is also brittle, the armor of bitterness and resentment, with a face like a skull.  Because that is what bitterness leads to: death of the soul.  In Princess Mononoke, the worms that eat away at the flesh of the living wounded also represent the destructive power of unforgiveness.  Interestingly, in that story, the three-toed God of Life also restores creation by his death. 

We are living in an age two-thousand years removed from Christ, but the most interesting stories we have today, I think, are the ones that illustrate spiritual principles like these most palpably.

Well, first things first: this film is not for younger viewers.

The concepts of violence and human evil are more disturbing on a psychological level, but it is graphic nonetheless. Somehow the film manages to be gory without turning gratuitous, but it is still very, very intense. If your child is especially desensitized to violence, he might be fine. Though it seems a waste to go and enjoy the spectacular visuals and effects without any appreciation for the interesting level empathy that this film aims to inspire in viewers for the aliens--and for those within our own species who we might truthfully consider ugly, dirty, and generally detestable.

Michael Phillips from the Chicago Tribune says, "The casting of Copley is problematic: He’s not really an actor; his resume is heavy on producing, directing and effects work, and his overeager hamming would be better suited to a movie such as 'Dead Alive,' the Peter Jackson zombie romp."

I disagree with this.  Sharlto Copley might not be an actor, but Isn't the premise really just about as ridiculous as a zombie romp? I don't have a problem with Copley at all. He's a bit of a ham on the cell phone, but with his spineless character thrown into these outrageous circumstances, he is perfectly believable to me.

I might come back and write a full review, but for now, I just want to say yes, it is necessary for the aliens to appear THAT repulsive in the beginning in order for the racial allegory to simulate an effective turnaround in the viewer.

A friend of mine is getting married in Princeton soon.  I am excited to have an excuse to fly over and see her.  Also, it's Princeton--I will have the chance to walk around campus and waste time imagining whether or not I could have gone there.  I like to view the university admissions process as a kind of gauntlet for testing the validity of my existence.  But the ideal student probably sees acceptance as inconsequential except where it functions as a stepping stone towards the exceedingly great accomplishments he fully intends to make anyway.  Successful people, I have heard, are quite visionary that way. 

As much as I wish I had a mentor dedicated to counseling me through work and study, support doesn't create excellence.  Excellence requires self-discipline, and self-discipline requires motivation.  All this I tell myself repeatedly.

When I was in high school, I was overachieving, friendless, focused, driven.  Everything I put my mind to, I succeeded in, and I never saw anything but success in my future.  Then a girl that I knew from church began to call me--for months, hours on end--so that we could talk about why God didn't love her, and why she wanted to end her life.  The August before I entered 12th grade, she almost did it.  I held her clammy hand as she lost consciousness in the bunk, and released it after the paramedics arrived.  When I stepped back to make room for the stretcher, all the feelings of love and care that I had previously preached, that I was supposed to have harbored for my friend, I realized, were crucially nonexistent.  While I stood there completely horrified with myself and the situation, it occurred to me that, in my heart, I probably actually hated this person.  I had dreaded her phone calls, and up until that point, never dared to wonder why.  She asked questions--"Do you really like me?  Be honest.  Do you hate talking to me?"  "Yes yes no no no no NO."  She tested my sincerity to the breaking point, bringing me face-to-face with a self that I was neither ready nor willing to identify, and what could I do but resent her for it?

You might argue that acting in love is love, regardless of how you feel.  I had prayed, fasted, listened.  But my feelings toward her were far from love, or even like.  The worst part was, it wasn't her fault.  And even if it was, how could she be held responsible?  My eyes were violently opened, and the person that I thought I was, wished I was, and truly believed I could become, was taken from me anticlimactically, like a comfort blanket that I couldn't even begin to accept parting with.

There might have been a part of me that thought that if I had truly loved her--instead of repulsing her the way I secretly did--she might have been healed through my Christian zeal alone the way that I had always healed myself: alone.  Of course, my zeal completely evaporated that day, and I was never the same again.  The laughable thing is, I realize that I was and still am more concerned with how this all affected me than what it did to her.  Truly, my narcissism knows no bounds.  Surely in childhood I created a disingenuous self to protect my fragile sense of worth, designed by trauma and preserved through adolescence by sheer force of ego.  But now I'm just making excuses.  I want to know what I will do with the rest of my life, and whether or not I will ever, ever find the love to do it.

Incidentally, she gave her life to Christ and recently published a book about that.

This blog has become a kind of catacomb that I like to revisit and inhabit now that it has lost all traces of earlier attempts at emulating life. And wow does that sound mopey and ridiculously sad. I never claimed to be immune to this.

But I like this handle, and this LJ. It's my secret, public, personal dump. Secret yet familiar, like a hidden, well-worn and familiar campsite. Public for the chance that others might a) understand and empathize, and b) somehow benefit.

It's abandoned and secret enough that I can monkey around with any turn of phrase to my heart's content, without anyone really being able to accuse me of being pompous, amateurish, or--fear of all fears--pretentious. It's public enough to be experimental.

It's private enough that I can say anything I want, however I want, to whomever I want. It's public enough for me to try and make it worthwhile.

I was reading an article on CNN today (http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/05/19/dna.cleared/index.html)   about another man released from prison after having served so many years for a crime he didn't commit.  They threw him 120k in reparations, and he was homeless within a year.  Now he's missing, and it seems like another sad story of how long-term inmates fail to readjust to society.  You see a lot of mugshots on the news, but the one they've got of Wiley Fountain after his release from prison just makes you think, "How could they do this to a man?"

I like to think about the parallelism of physical and spiritual realities.  From the Old Testament and its prefigurations of Christ and his kingdom, to our physical bodies and the principle of "use it or lose it" more broadly prescribed in Jesus' parable of the talents.  

Jesus is risen, Satan is defeated--but we live in the interim.  Loss is a consequence of the fall, yet there is provision for loss.  Plants and trees grow around obstacles, toward water, toward the sun.  If a man gets an arm chopped off, the body still tries to heal over.  A child grows a tumor on her face, but she takes some extra pains in her routine and the day becomes normal.  A crippled dog struggles along, grotesque and happy.  People leave, divorce, sleep around, beat their kids, get addicted to drugs, get molested, and the human being just keeps on rolling, absorbing the all the nail and glass in the carpet like a big ball of clay.  Adapting for better or for worse is what life does to stay alive.  But there's something troubling about a man jumping off the operating table when he's still bleeding to death, or a woman doing push-ups with shrapnel in her back.  Communities lose limbs and try to move on.  Are we healing over, or are we running ourselves to death?  Do we even know how to stop? 

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Negative_capability