Back from break
Apologies for the long silence--things have been busy these last few weeks: after Ash passed away, I headed to the UK for a few days for his funeral. Then I was away at the Fresh Expressions US National Gathering for a couple days. And then I was off to California for a vacation/catch-up-with-friends for a week, from which I got back at 6:30am this morning.
It's been good--tough and tiring, but good. God has been present even in the midst of some difficult situations. And while I'm physically tired from traveling, the last couple weeks have been spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and relationally refreshing. So I'm thankful for that.
I can't wait to get back to life as normal, including blogging regularly again. There are plenty of things that God's been laying on me that I'm looking forward to sharing soon.
But I have to say, being at the beach is always restful, and I've missed it. Manhattan Beach (below) is definitely one of my faves.
Rest in peace, dear friend
This morning, I woke to a text informing me that one of my closest friends from university passed away yesterday morning.
Ashley was one of the first people I ever met at University College London when we both started studying law in 2000. We also lived in the same dorms in Camden Town, and we became good friends. And over the years, though he went on to practice law and I didn't, though I moved to the US and he stayed in Europe, we made sure to touch base once in a while, just to check in.
Last year, we were finally catching up on a long-overdue chat, and he shared with me that he'd been battling a brain tumor for the better part of the last decade, beginning shortly after we graduated in 2003. He hadn't really told very many people. He said didn't want to be a burden on people; he didn't want people to feel sorry for him or to treat him any differently just because he was sick.
We spoke in November. He had just gone through a particularly difficult episode and was back recovering in hospital. His sister Shardi served as our translator because he was on morphine to fight the intense pain. He expressed his gratitude that we were able to talk. I told him not to strain himself, that we'd talk again when he was better, that I'd see him next time I was in the UK, or he could come visit me in DC. He said he'd always wanted to come to DC.
That was the last time we talked.
I'll always remember Ash as the life and soul of the party, always full of energy. To some he was brash and in-your-face; to others he was confident and self-assured. To some he was obstinate and hard-headed; to others he was a man of conviction. I knew him as fiercely, fiercely loyal--you always knew that Ash had your back. I remember that one of his favorite songs was Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise," that he knew the words back to front and inside out and had no problem rapping it in your face. I remember him getting our gang into and then out of trouble. You could never accuse him of not living life.
Over the years, we had several conversations about faith. Ash never adhered to a certain religion, though he always expressed his support for my faith. In one conversation this last year, he said, "I just think it's great when someone believes something and then actually lives it out." He was about as excited for me becoming a pastor and getting ordained as anyone--even more so than many of my Christian friends. He followed my email updates and even listened to my sermons on occasion. We even got to pray together during one of our conversations last year.
Somehow--I don't know how--I hope and pray that I get to see him someday. The world has lost a colorful character, someone who took his knocks in life and learned many, many lessons, someone who mellowed out and grew up. Someone I call friend.
Ash, buddy, I miss you already. Rest in peace, dear friend.
Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
Horatio (Hamlet, V.ii)
Go about your business
[Adapted from this week's sermon: "Have a Little Faith."]
I’ll be honest: for most of my life, I’ve interacted with God in much the same way that Daniel does in chapter 12, verse 8:
I heard but could not understand; so I said, ‘My lord, what shall be the outcome of these things?’
Have you ever felt like that? “I could not understand.” Maybe you don’t know why you’re even in the place you are—literally or figurative; relationally, spiritually, emotionally, mentally. Maybe you don’t know where you’re going next. Maybe you don’t even think you’re still on the map!
A little bit of context for these verses: this is the end of the story of Daniel—at least what’s told in the Bible. This passage comes after several chapters of visions and dreams and prophecies that are hard to understand. God reveals them to Daniel, yet they concern social, political, historical events that will happen hundreds of years after Daniel’s death.
So understandably, his response is: “I don’t understand; can you explain it to me?”
Sometimes we like to think that if we only knew more, we’d be able to live life better.
If only I knew what school I’m getting into; or what I'm going to major in; or what job I'm going to get (or that I'm going to get a job!); or who I'm going to marry (or that I'm going to get married!). If I only knew that my kids would turn out okay; if I only knew that I’d be looked after when I’m old. If only ... If only I knew, God, what you have planned for me, that would make things so much easier. God, just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Show me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.
Really?
If you’d told me in 1999, when I was at boarding school in Surrey, England, applying to go to university in London to study law, that twelve years later, I’d be working at a church in Washington, D.C., I would laugh at you. If you told me in 2004, when I was studying music and playing in a rock band, that I would end up preaching more than performing, I would think you’re crazy. If you told me even a few years ago, when I was immersed in the world of politics and advocacy, that God wanted me to be a pastor ...
If you’d told me that my path would include leaving good friends—best friends—and family behind while I moved across oceans and countries, that it would mean seeing my nieces and nephews only once every few years because we all live in different places, that it would mean almost getting married … and then not, and then enduring several relationships that would be better characterized as “false starts,” that it would mean deep feelings of rootlessness, struggling through the issue of my own self-worth, and learning many, many lessons the hard way, I’d say, “Thanks, but no, thanks. God, would you mind designing something a little less tortuous, something a little cleaner, something a little more to my preference?”
On the journey of life, we all come up against things in life as Daniel did at the end of his--things that we just can’t get our minds around, things we just don’t get--and we say as Daniel did, “I don’t understand. God, what shall be the outcome of all this?”
Sometimes, God tells us; sometimes, we get an explanation. Sometimes things are revealed to us; sometimes we catch a glimpse of what God is doing.
But more often than not, we get the response that God gives Daniel. This is how Eugene Peterson translates it in the Message, from verses 9 and 13:
Go on about your business, Daniel. … Go about your business without fretting or worrying. Relax. When it's all over, you will be on your feet to receive your reward.
And we can imagine Daniel's response (as ours often is): “You didn’t answer the question. You didn’t tell me what I wanted to know. You haven’t told me what to do.”
But that's where the book ends--with God's answer.
Throughout the story, even leading up to this moment, we've seen Daniel “going about his business.” And that doesn’t mean living however he pleases, with no reference to God. That means living according to what he does know, what has been revealed, and with what understanding he does have.
In doing this, Daniel shows us what it means to have faith. He doesn’t have to know it all before acting. He doesn’t have to have the assurance that things are going to work out how he thinks they ought to work out. He trusts.
You see, the point that Jesus is actually making is this, and I said this a few weeks ago, but it bears restating: it's not about how hard you try, it’s not about how much faith you’re eking out; what’s important isn’t the size of your faith, it’s the God in whom you have faith.
Have faith in God, just a little bit. Trust in him, just a little bit. Put your life in his hands, just a little bit. And see what happens.
Because God has given us plenty to go on already. We are very capable of “going about our business” as Daniel did; God’s given us much of what we already need. Listen to this:
- Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength. (Deuteronomy 6:5)
- Love your neighbor as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)
- Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you. (Matthew 5:44)
- Seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)
- Preach and live out the good news of Jesus Christ, make disciples of all nations, teaching them to do as Christ commands. (Matthew 28:19-20)
- Be holy as your heavenly Father is holy. (Leviticus 11:44; 1 Peter 1:15-16)
- Pray to your heavenly Father that his kingdom would come and his will would be done on earth as it is in heaven. (Matthew 6:9-10)
That’s all in the Bible already, and if we think about the implications of each of these, that’s plenty to get on with. If we even sought to live out one of these fully, we’d begin to see how much God has already said to us.
God has already shown us and given us his grace and his peace and his love in the person and life of Jesus Christ, and he says, “I will be with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you. And I give you my Spirit.” And as the Apostle Paul reminds the church in Rome, this is “the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead [who] lives in you.”
The same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you.
When you begin to grasp that, when you begin to tap into the truth of that, when you begin to get your sin and self and pride out of the way and truly let the Spirit live and speak and love through you, your life will somehow seem fuller, more exciting, more pregnant with possibilities.
Elton Trueblood, former chaplain at both Harvard and Stanford, said, “The deepest conviction of the Christian is that Christ was not wrong.” And John Ortberg writes, “At its core, faith is trusting a person.”
Trust that Jesus means what he says:
If you have just a little bit of faith in me—just a mustard seed’s worth—even when you don’t understand, even when you’re questioning what’s going on, even when you can’t see the whole picture, even then, you will say to this mountain, move from here to there, and it will be so, and nothing will be impossible for you.
Don’t let your fear of the unknown, your clinging to the concept of certainty, your confusion in the midst of chaos, keep you from living life to the full, from loving God and loving people with everything you’ve got. God has things in store that we can’t even imagine, a story so grand that we can’t even conceive.
So … go about your business. And have a little faith.
Come see Hong Kong
Welcome to the city where I grew up. Such good memories.
I haven't been back in a few years (2007, in fact; pic below). Might be time to plan a trip!
Lent
In case you weren't aware (or aren't liturgically-inclined), the season of Lent begins tomorrow on Ash Wednesday (which means today is Mardi Gras, Shrove Tuesday, or Fat Tuesday). While Lent has become, in pop culture, a time for simply giving up unhealthy habits, the tradition is to take this time to humbly and thoughtfully prepare our hearts and lives to commemorate Holy Week, which begins on Palm Sunday and culminates with Easter Sunday; it's supposed to be a focused time of self-denial, just like Christmas is a focused time of celebrating the birth of Christ--not that we don't do these things every day, but that we take seasons during the year to elevate and examine particular aspects of our faith.
I didn't grow up in a church that was particularly liturgical, and so didn't really mark Lent at all (beyond gorging myself on pre-Lenten pancakes) until I moved to the UK. And in recent years, I've begun not only giving something up, but taking something on. Not simply for the purpose of ditching unhealthy habits and collecting healthy ones, but because these are beneficial for me--mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. The journey that we are all on as Christians is to be more like Christ, more of who God made us to be, both in our own lives (bodies, relationships, habits, practices) and in the ways that we relate to God and others. (I talked about some of this in a Lenten post from two years ago, too.)
So my plan this Lent is twofold:
- To give up my time first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I've already begun implementing the practice of spending time with God before I start my day (even before checking email!) and before I go to bed, but I want to double down on this.
- To pick up working out every day. Since last summer, when I got injured playing soccer, I've been recuperating. And then recuperating turned into relaxing. And relaxing turned into indolence. And that's just not a good feeling for someone who's naturally inclined toward activity! So this in itself serves the dual purpose of being a physical manifestation of what I'm hoping is going on spiritually (training!) and getting me ready for the next season of soccer as well!
And as we think about what it means to deny ourselves, I hope this word from John Stott is as challenging and encouraging to you as it was for me this morning:
We need to rescue this vocabulary [of self-denial] from being debased. We should not suppose that self-denial is giving up luxuries during Lent or that “my cross” is some personal and painful trial. We are always in danger of trivializing Christian discipleship, as if it were no more than adding a thin veneer of piety to an otherwise secular life. Then prick the veneer, and there is the same old pagan underneath. No, becoming and being a Christian involves a change so radical that no imagery can do it justice except death and resurrection—dying to the old life of self-centeredness and rising to a new life of holiness and love.
(Through the Bible Through the Year, 210)
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P.S. If you're in the DC area, please join The District Church, Church of the Advent, and National Baptist Memorial Church as we hold a joint Ash Wednesday service tomorrow evening at 7pm at NBMC (on the corner of 15th St and Columbia).