Broken relationships are so difficult.
From parents to friends… from one minute-long international phone calls where both parties end on a sour click to unresolved silences that stretch from days to months, they leave a feeling of, “All is not right here…”
Something is not right, and if we have fought to resist callousness, we notice that it makes everything else wrong. It makes so much sense to just do what everyone else does. It sounds so reasonable when a friend tells you that enough is enough because he’s just as tired of watching you thrash as you are of drowning. But as much sense as it makes, it doesn’t feel… right.
Cost-benefit asks, “Is it worth it? Is it worth it to keep going? Is it worth it to keep trying to make things ‘right’?” And I have to say, “Well, that depends on if I really believe that J-sus is about making things right between people.” “Is it worth it to make things right when you know you might be setting yourself up again?” I don’t know man. If I knew the answer I wouldn’t be having this damn conversation.
Love is an ideal. One that puts my realities to shame. But when I strive for it, I carry the feelings and thoughts that drag that ideal through dirt. I wonder if I’m just being a fool in the name of “faithfulness.” I try not to lie to myself. But that just makes my motives all the messier.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Tit for tat.
The Harry Potter books 1-6 in our NGO library are gone.
The staff hypothesized that some zealous brother or sister has deemed them heretical, and thus has taken it upon themselves to prevent the further pollution of innocent Chr-stian minds from witchcraft and sorcery.
I say we take the Left Behind books as hostage until the Harry Potters are returned.
The staff hypothesized that some zealous brother or sister has deemed them heretical, and thus has taken it upon themselves to prevent the further pollution of innocent Chr-stian minds from witchcraft and sorcery.
I say we take the Left Behind books as hostage until the Harry Potters are returned.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
In necessariis, Unitas. (Evolution? Non-essential.)
Pope Benedict has issued a statement saying that the clash between Evolution and Creation is an "absurdity." I think he's going to get a lot of flack for that, from both Protestants and Catholics alike.
However, I would be one to agree with him.
Evolution, in and of itself, does not lead to the death of G-d, or of G-d's domain over creation. Evolution doesn't even challenge Creationism in its purest form. It does however, necessitate a demise of using Scripture as a science text book, challenging the modernist post-enlightenment framework of interpretation.
In its proper form, evolution should not carry philosophical baggage that it has acquired. Historically, in the Fundamentalist's fight to adhere to a supernatural Chr-stianity (to whom we owe much, as recognized by Mark Noll), and in an effort of the Naturalists to discount G-d through science, evolution has been viewed as a weapon by one side and a tool by the other, neither of which should be the case.
A belief that says it is not impossible for G-d to work through such means does nothing to undermine the authority of Scripture in terms of faith and practice (infallibility of Scripture versus Inerrancy). It says nothing about the work of redemption or of Chr-st's atoning sacrifice, nor of His historicity. It is not (or rather, should not be) an all-or-nothing "if we concede this point, then our whole faith is going to fall apart" sort of slippery slope argument.
Personally, I have reservations about the theory. Behe's Darwin's Black Box was quite convincing, though that spoke of nothing concerning the nature of Biblical creationism. Creationism, in the sense of, "In the beginning, G-d...." is critical to an orthodox Chr-stian faith. "In the beginning, G-d did it in six literal days, and certainly not through evolution" is not essential.
A Chr-stian has every right to believe in a literal interpretation of the Creation narrative. Most conservative Chr-stians believe it in the States and in the rest of the world. I will respect those who do. But in the post-modern context that is Western Chr-stianity, I would say it would behoove us to re-examine whether or not this battle so many people vehemently fight is a straw man. Perhaps if the effort spent in proving and perpetuating Young Earth Creationism were spent on living and preaching essential G-spel, we might not (at least in the West) be viewed as having smaller brains (which, again, Mark Noll argues in Scandal of the Ev-ngelical Mind, is not a far from being incorrect). This is not for the sake of avoiding persecution or compromising truth to appease those who challenge us... this is for the sake of tearing down unnecessary and imaginary stumbling blocks. J-sus himself is enough to be their stumbling stone. We don't need to impose our (in my opinion, incorrect) requirements on others.
However, I would be one to agree with him.
Evolution, in and of itself, does not lead to the death of G-d, or of G-d's domain over creation. Evolution doesn't even challenge Creationism in its purest form. It does however, necessitate a demise of using Scripture as a science text book, challenging the modernist post-enlightenment framework of interpretation.
In its proper form, evolution should not carry philosophical baggage that it has acquired. Historically, in the Fundamentalist's fight to adhere to a supernatural Chr-stianity (to whom we owe much, as recognized by Mark Noll), and in an effort of the Naturalists to discount G-d through science, evolution has been viewed as a weapon by one side and a tool by the other, neither of which should be the case.
A belief that says it is not impossible for G-d to work through such means does nothing to undermine the authority of Scripture in terms of faith and practice (infallibility of Scripture versus Inerrancy). It says nothing about the work of redemption or of Chr-st's atoning sacrifice, nor of His historicity. It is not (or rather, should not be) an all-or-nothing "if we concede this point, then our whole faith is going to fall apart" sort of slippery slope argument.
Personally, I have reservations about the theory. Behe's Darwin's Black Box was quite convincing, though that spoke of nothing concerning the nature of Biblical creationism. Creationism, in the sense of, "In the beginning, G-d...." is critical to an orthodox Chr-stian faith. "In the beginning, G-d did it in six literal days, and certainly not through evolution" is not essential.
A Chr-stian has every right to believe in a literal interpretation of the Creation narrative. Most conservative Chr-stians believe it in the States and in the rest of the world. I will respect those who do. But in the post-modern context that is Western Chr-stianity, I would say it would behoove us to re-examine whether or not this battle so many people vehemently fight is a straw man. Perhaps if the effort spent in proving and perpetuating Young Earth Creationism were spent on living and preaching essential G-spel, we might not (at least in the West) be viewed as having smaller brains (which, again, Mark Noll argues in Scandal of the Ev-ngelical Mind, is not a far from being incorrect). This is not for the sake of avoiding persecution or compromising truth to appease those who challenge us... this is for the sake of tearing down unnecessary and imaginary stumbling blocks. J-sus himself is enough to be their stumbling stone. We don't need to impose our (in my opinion, incorrect) requirements on others.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
An American in Tianjin
[Labels are not static, at least not when it comes to people. They define as much as they are defined by those whom they attempt to define. The relationship is reciprocal. They were invented, given, placed for the sake of identifying something with a common characteristic. They are used to cluster, group, simplify, for easy identification, simple mental processing. (Categorization. It’s how our brains seek to simplify the amount of processing it has to do to come up with an appropriate response to a certain stimuli. It’s also how the brain, in many cases, keeps us alive during instantaneous threats that we would otherwise not have enough time to process.)
However, it is these same labels that define those in the group. Once we are labeled as something, should we choose to internally appropriate that label, we will seek to act in ways that are defined by the label, even if we have not previously had those characteristics. A simple example, if I claim to be a follower of Chr-st, then I am given the label of “Chr-stian.” Should I choose to accept that label, I not realize that I am not everything that the label should entail, therefore I change my actions to better live up to that label. (A simple reductionistic socio-psycho explanation, minus nuances and theology, or even what the label should/can/actually means.) So, apart from the implications of our tendency to label, our actions and beliefs determine what labels we acquire, just as much as the labels dictate our actions and beliefs. A dynamic symbiotic relationship, if you will.]
I spent part of today catching up on American politics and international news. I read presidential candidate bios [Obama!] and skimmed a Newsweek article about the state of Muslim-Americans.
Hyphenated-American. The article noted that first generation Muslims often felt an attachment to America, perhaps because of the opportunities it had given them and the lives they knew they had left behind. Many were proud to be Americans. However, the children of these first generation Americans did not feel the same way. Oftentimes, this second or third generation, which had grown up in the prosperity provided for them by their parents, were the ones considered to be in the greatest danger of becoming ideologically extreme. They don’t feel the same attachment to America as their parents did. Having grown up as “Americans” by name, but living in a culture that always viewed them differently, having never grown up in their “motherlands,” they sought to understand what it meant to be a Muslim in the midst of a certain amount of discrimination and fear. Some chose to be defined by the label they already acquired, emphasizing and exerting their differences to define themselves.
In America, I am a hyphenated-American, with the emphasis placed on my former half. My differences have been stressed. I am American, sure, but I am *Chinese*. And perhaps somewhat akin to the Muslim-Americans, I have been trying to understand what it means to be the Chinese part.
But in China, I cannot say that I’m a “Zhong Guo Ren.” The natives here will not accept it. It seems that “Zhong Guo Ren” (what we would translate as “Chinese”) refers more to the nationality, within the borders of the People’s Republic. My teacher will not let me say that I am a “Zhong Guo Ren.” I have been told that I look like a proper Chinese person, but I have been labeled “Han yi” or “Mei ji hua ren” but strictly an American, meaning that I am of the Han “race” or people group. The reference to me being a Han person doesn’t necessarily have any cultural connotations, merely a genetic descriptor. And so in China, I am an American who happens to be Han.
I don’t disagree with that descriptor, as I’ve found that I am indeed very very American. I think, dress, and act like an American. I feel it every day from riding my bike down the street to having conversations with others. My boss at work, who has lived in China for 7 years but is a Caucasian from Michigan, in a lot of ways is more “Chinese” than me.
One quote by a first generation Muslim said something to the effect that when he went back to his home country, he realized he was American. He didn’t understand the jokes anymore. He felt like an outsider. I think I know what he means. And perhaps I also know what the second-generation youth feel like when they say, in perfect English, that they are looking for that first half of the hyphenation to define them. Sometimes they mistakenly view it in an idealized form, having never actually fully participated in it.
And so here I am, an American in a motherland that doesn’t seem to recognize me (except for appearance), but a Chinese in America.
No, I haven’t figured it out yet. Things just aren’t black and white like fundamentalists want them to be. (Alright. Sorry. Totally uncalled for and unrelated jab. But hey, it’s a reality of life.)
However, it is these same labels that define those in the group. Once we are labeled as something, should we choose to internally appropriate that label, we will seek to act in ways that are defined by the label, even if we have not previously had those characteristics. A simple example, if I claim to be a follower of Chr-st, then I am given the label of “Chr-stian.” Should I choose to accept that label, I not realize that I am not everything that the label should entail, therefore I change my actions to better live up to that label. (A simple reductionistic socio-psycho explanation, minus nuances and theology, or even what the label should/can/actually means.) So, apart from the implications of our tendency to label, our actions and beliefs determine what labels we acquire, just as much as the labels dictate our actions and beliefs. A dynamic symbiotic relationship, if you will.]
I spent part of today catching up on American politics and international news. I read presidential candidate bios [Obama!] and skimmed a Newsweek article about the state of Muslim-Americans.
Hyphenated-American. The article noted that first generation Muslims often felt an attachment to America, perhaps because of the opportunities it had given them and the lives they knew they had left behind. Many were proud to be Americans. However, the children of these first generation Americans did not feel the same way. Oftentimes, this second or third generation, which had grown up in the prosperity provided for them by their parents, were the ones considered to be in the greatest danger of becoming ideologically extreme. They don’t feel the same attachment to America as their parents did. Having grown up as “Americans” by name, but living in a culture that always viewed them differently, having never grown up in their “motherlands,” they sought to understand what it meant to be a Muslim in the midst of a certain amount of discrimination and fear. Some chose to be defined by the label they already acquired, emphasizing and exerting their differences to define themselves.
In America, I am a hyphenated-American, with the emphasis placed on my former half. My differences have been stressed. I am American, sure, but I am *Chinese*. And perhaps somewhat akin to the Muslim-Americans, I have been trying to understand what it means to be the Chinese part.
But in China, I cannot say that I’m a “Zhong Guo Ren.” The natives here will not accept it. It seems that “Zhong Guo Ren” (what we would translate as “Chinese”) refers more to the nationality, within the borders of the People’s Republic. My teacher will not let me say that I am a “Zhong Guo Ren.” I have been told that I look like a proper Chinese person, but I have been labeled “Han yi” or “Mei ji hua ren” but strictly an American, meaning that I am of the Han “race” or people group. The reference to me being a Han person doesn’t necessarily have any cultural connotations, merely a genetic descriptor. And so in China, I am an American who happens to be Han.
I don’t disagree with that descriptor, as I’ve found that I am indeed very very American. I think, dress, and act like an American. I feel it every day from riding my bike down the street to having conversations with others. My boss at work, who has lived in China for 7 years but is a Caucasian from Michigan, in a lot of ways is more “Chinese” than me.
One quote by a first generation Muslim said something to the effect that when he went back to his home country, he realized he was American. He didn’t understand the jokes anymore. He felt like an outsider. I think I know what he means. And perhaps I also know what the second-generation youth feel like when they say, in perfect English, that they are looking for that first half of the hyphenation to define them. Sometimes they mistakenly view it in an idealized form, having never actually fully participated in it.
And so here I am, an American in a motherland that doesn’t seem to recognize me (except for appearance), but a Chinese in America.
No, I haven’t figured it out yet. Things just aren’t black and white like fundamentalists want them to be. (Alright. Sorry. Totally uncalled for and unrelated jab. But hey, it’s a reality of life.)
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Words they don't teach you in language school.
"Cao." With a fourth tone, if you care. It's the Chinese equivalent of "fuck," in the expletive form. Depending on what it is you're cursing at, you can say things like "Wo de cao" or "Cao ni ma." (Oh, this blog isn't PG, by the way.) You can hear Taxi drivers swearing away with a creative combination of other words (which I don't need to repeat here).
Being the good Chinese language student that I am, had an opportunity to use it today, when the barber cut my ear with his dull scissors. I chose the form, "Wo de cao," the more generic expression. I figured it wouldn't be nice to curse his mom out.
Who knew ears bled so much? (Who knew hair could be cut so dang short?? Thank goodness the stuff grows back.) They bandaged me up good, wouldn't let me pay, and sent me off with a bag of snacks despite my adamant protesting. Now I have Oreos to eat.
Humorous. Kinda. For free, I can't complain too much.
(Hey, this is HNGR. It's all good.)
That's not my middle finger, by the way.
Being the good Chinese language student that I am, had an opportunity to use it today, when the barber cut my ear with his dull scissors. I chose the form, "Wo de cao," the more generic expression. I figured it wouldn't be nice to curse his mom out.
Who knew ears bled so much? (Who knew hair could be cut so dang short?? Thank goodness the stuff grows back.) They bandaged me up good, wouldn't let me pay, and sent me off with a bag of snacks despite my adamant protesting. Now I have Oreos to eat.
Humorous. Kinda. For free, I can't complain too much.
(Hey, this is HNGR. It's all good.)
That's not my middle finger, by the way.
Friday, July 20, 2007
"We all struggle with forward motion.."
Art of any sort is an expression that either rusts or shines, depending on the time and heart invested. For those of us who have always dabbled in trying to paint words, play colors, or capture the fleeting, our very sensitivity to the depth we seek to express can be desensitized through neglect. Even if we've never been very good at sharing it with others, the neglect will dull our own experience of it.
After a 9:00-5:30 in an office and a bike ride home, my energy to perceive and think about the transcendent is nigh nonexistent, let alone my ability to express that which I have no strength to grasp.
To some, expression is a luxury. To others, it is a necessity for survival. I fall somewhere in between those two categories, perhaps resting most of my weight in its survival value. Maybe this is why 7th chords on a piano or some walking bass notes on a guitar will hold me over even if I don't have the luxury of digging into the dirt of my heart with words. (After all, my linguistic energy is expended on trying to understand the Tianjin accent of taxi drivers and street vendors or attempting to read store signs and restaurant menus.)
Though learning Damien Rice and Over the Rhine songs on the guitar and piano have been my reprieves, the melancholy of others never fully manages to express one's own, no matter how beautiful it sounds.
In the same way, as much as Henri Nouwen manages to find resonance in my soul, I have found that he can be the Novocain that numbs my real need for the Sp-rit's presence. Vicarious spirituality isn’t the same as the imminent presence of G-d.
It's amazing how sin and a little bit of surface spirituality manage to inoculate against the Incarnate Word. I'm afraid of not hearing the Sp-rit's voice, but I'm petrified of ever coming to a place where I don't care about not hearing Him speak. I don't ever want the daily grind to be my excuse for mediocrity. I find it shocking that callousness is so much easier than sensitivity. Perhaps that's because rolling backwards merely requires passivity, but as some latter day poets with modern harps have rocked out to, "We all struggle with forward motion… Cuz forward motion is harder than it sounds, every time I gain some ground I gotta turn myself around again.''
I'm rather low maintenance externally. Give me a mat on the floor, some food in my tummy (just not celery), and I'm gravy. I'm not that picky. But spiritually… I can't be having no shit. I need to be rollin' out the spiritual caviar and filet mignon.
If ya'll are pr-yer warriors, I certainly wouldn't mind some spiritual throwing-down on my behalf. Over here, the gloves need to come off, Satan needs to know his role, and I need to live this reality of being dead to sin, but resurrected with Chr-st, Romans 6 style. I need space and strength to know His presence again.
Word.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Sure, I like trains.
My two goals in China:
1. To not get pick-pocketed.
2. To not get hit by a car while riding a bike.
The Family on this side of the world has been wonderfully hospitable to me. I have not lacked food or a place to rest my head since I've been here, even though I don't know my way around and only knew a few people. But Jan is gone, and now so are the Bevis's. The Coons are in the States. Being stretched is good.
I've been a wanderer as of late. I haven't really stayed in one spot for more than a few days. Korea, Guangzhou, Tianjin, Jixian, Inner Mongolia, Back to Tianjin, and now I'm off to Chang Chun. It's an interesting way of life, dependent upon the hospitality and help of others, yet never still enough to sit down and take a deep breath. At least not yet... maybe when I get back from Chang Chun... maybe. Always maybe.
It's not quite there yet, but I'm going to need some down time in the near future.
The conference in Chang Chun is about psychological counseling among Chinese and dealing with the cultural barriers that prevent effective practice. It's totally my cup of tea.
Chang Chun means "Forever Spring." I hear it's beautiful (though for Chinese cities, the definition of "beauty" must be held loosely). But I have to manage to get there first... aka, get on the train, make sure I don't oversleep and miss the stop, and find my way into town. I'm much more inept than you'd think, (or perhaps just as inept as you think).
If I'm not wrong, that's where my parents went to school and met each other...
1. To not get pick-pocketed.
2. To not get hit by a car while riding a bike.
The Family on this side of the world has been wonderfully hospitable to me. I have not lacked food or a place to rest my head since I've been here, even though I don't know my way around and only knew a few people. But Jan is gone, and now so are the Bevis's. The Coons are in the States. Being stretched is good.
I've been a wanderer as of late. I haven't really stayed in one spot for more than a few days. Korea, Guangzhou, Tianjin, Jixian, Inner Mongolia, Back to Tianjin, and now I'm off to Chang Chun. It's an interesting way of life, dependent upon the hospitality and help of others, yet never still enough to sit down and take a deep breath. At least not yet... maybe when I get back from Chang Chun... maybe. Always maybe.
It's not quite there yet, but I'm going to need some down time in the near future.
The conference in Chang Chun is about psychological counseling among Chinese and dealing with the cultural barriers that prevent effective practice. It's totally my cup of tea.
Chang Chun means "Forever Spring." I hear it's beautiful (though for Chinese cities, the definition of "beauty" must be held loosely). But I have to manage to get there first... aka, get on the train, make sure I don't oversleep and miss the stop, and find my way into town. I'm much more inept than you'd think, (or perhaps just as inept as you think).
If I'm not wrong, that's where my parents went to school and met each other...
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