image by Philippe Toupet from Unsplash It's been a long silence, I know. But I'm alive and well! and ready to start writing again (perhaps not as regularly still, but at least enough to start the ball rolling again.) I've tried to maintain this blog regularly on a weekly basis since I first started it, taking it as a challenge to help myself grow, spiritually as well as in discipline for writing. However, as I've grown and struggled, I've realized that sometimes, in certain seasons of life the specific way to grow that I determined for myself may not always be the one I need right now. The desire and goal remains the same, to grow; but, I'm realizing, perhaps not always in the way I had envisioned or planned for myself. This is something I've been forced to see, not just in this particular area of my life, but in almost everything else. By God's providence, these 2 pandemic years have been significant and full of challenges for me. I think these 2 years have changed me in many ways, humbling ones for sure, ones which actually leave me feeling less strong, less confident, less sure of myself--yet, if they ultimately make me more Christ-like, can only be for the better. Uncertainty. Self-doubt. Fear of the future, of what it will bring, and of future regret/guilt over decisions I make now. Realizing how much I lack wisdom and how much I need guidance, even though I thought I already knew that. I remember being so depressed last year when the pandemic first hit and I was struggling with fears about my work, future, relationships (or the lack thereof,) and establishing/proving myself in my writing; issues of identity, achievement, and fulfilment. Times like those are when we need to journal our thoughts and emotions, try to process and understand ourselves; and I did a lot of that, but it also sucked a lot of my energy and confidence to write for this platform. Acknowledging and dealing with my own messiness and confusion was as much as I could handle. However, the pressure of feeling like I had a backlog of self-imposed writing assignments only added to the crisis of internalized definitions of success/benchmarks of achievement that I was wrestling with. I realized that if I was to deal with this at all, and learn to stop seeking my fulfilment/identity in meeting all these standards, as God was showing me with increasing clarity and urgency, I would have to change my mindset on this as well. So I took a purposeful break from blogging and firmly told myself that page views, or the satisfying posting "streak" I had maintained so doggedly and determinedly, should not be something I cling to in order to pat myself on the back. I would take a break and come back when I was ready. It hasn't been a fun experience, to say the least, but it has also been one of thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful and soberly amazed. That, even when I'm still very much bogged down in this phase, I can still honestly say that. I wouldn't have expected that of myself. I have learnt a lot about myself (mostly bad things) and God (all good things.) At the very least, I can acknowledge the goodness of that. My church Bible study program has gone on to the Minor Prophets, and we're currently on Habakkuk. Minor Prophets are tough. I used to wince at the depressing, dark visions of judgment, lamentation, and destruction. What a painful and heavy message to bear. Habakkuk especially--the prophet himself is torn, pleading with God, dismayed by the visions of war and judgment. There seems nothing to be thankful for, and everything to mourn for. In the early chapters, there is much to learn about the historical context, of sin and idolatry and judgment and God's mercy as well as God's holiness and justice. But the ending of Habakkuk was a beautiful note of transcendent hope amidst the chaos and darkness of the previous chapters. 16 I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. 17 Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, 18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. 19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. My heart echoed these verses almost painfully. A world stricken with disease, fear, conflict, suffering, and war. We see that today, everyday, in the news from different countries, in the headlines reporting suspicion, hate, and disunity, in the death tolls and the accounts of desperate needs, physical and financial and spiritual. I see that in my own life, when I'm tempted to fear the future and wonder what is going to become of me, what opportunities or hope there is for me, how I might be ruining my life and setting myself up for future regret. It seems so impossible once you consider how little you can control or know--how can one look forward to happiness and fulfilment? (yes, I probably have some anxiety issues.) Habakkuk's joy was in a Person, not a situation. Therefore, it was constant and resilient, because God is unchanging. Like Habakkuk, I hope to cultivate this kind of attitude of humble faith and peace. Regardless of my situation--which I can't control--I have joy and strength, not in myself or others, but in Who He is, and what He has done for me/how He stands in relation to me, as my Saviour. (v 18) Verse 19 especially seemed so unreal--could I somehow have this strength, this sureness and confidence of a deer scaling dizzyingly high mountain tracks, to navigate my own murky and confusing path right now? I feel much more like a stranded hiker with a fear of heights, clinging desperately onto the scrubby bushes by the narrow track, and feeling like any one false step would plunge me irrevocably down. And, this surreal joy and strength that Habakkuk describes isn't some flimsy, blind emotional high. It is a conscious choice that he makes even when fully acknowledging the bleakness of the circumstances and his own fears (v 16)--even in the midst of what sounds to me like a panic attack (pounding heart! quivering lips! trembling legs and weakened bones!) as he waits--"patiently"!!-- for the coming judgment. Wow. For the rest of 2021, and whatever unknown lies ahead--may we cling to this hope, and find the joy and strength we need.
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image from Unsplash by Umit Bulut With the COVID19 virus trending everywhere as the greatest concern, especially here in Singapore--where we currently have the highest number of cases outside of China--more and more Christians have taken to fasting and praying. Fasting is not something that we in the 21st century do often. In fact, it's surrounded by awkwardness, often eyed with suspicion. We mumble about legalism, wonder if trends like intermittent fasting have taken away its significance, and feel embarrassed talking about it in a society which celebrates food and the enjoyment of food (what to eat for lunch is the highlight of many Singaporeans's working day!) at the same time as having a heightened awareness of eating disorders. In light of all these, a simple question is at the root--is fasting still valid and useful today? While preparing to do so as a church, my pastor gave a helpful sermon on fasting which I felt was applicable in helping us develop the right attitudes towards not just fasting, but other spiritual disciplines as well. First of all, as many New Testament Bible references to fasting indicate--Jesus Himself fasted in Matthew 4--fasting is still valid for us today. Having said that, how do we avoid the legalistic attitude towards it which the Pharisees and scribes had, and which Christ so clearly condemned? In Matthew 6: 16-18, Christ gives detailed instructions on what fasting should be like, and what it shouldn't. Instead of focusing on the external specifications--what we fast from, how long we fast, etc--He brought the focus to our hearts. Where it should be. (There is definitely a lot more that can and should be discussed on the topic of fasting, eg. guidelines, types of fasts, etc but I would like to focus on just this aspect of the topic, for this post.) Firstly, what is the purpose of fasting? To help us pray better. Not because it can change God's mind, akin to a hunger strike, but by helping us to: 1. get rid of a casual attitude towards prayer. All too often we take prayer for granted, pushing it to the corners of our routines and schedules, since we can do it "anytime anywhere." Like coming for prayer meeting--a specific event/time slot carved out for prayer--fasting helps remind us of how important prayer is, and not to become complacent about it. 2. strengthening our fervency and making our prayers more focused. Similar to the first point, it helps us to take our prayers more seriously, because it costs us more. Though we can pray just as sincerely lying on the sofa after a full meal on a Friday night with no plans, humanly speaking it certainly helps us to take prayer more seriously when we've actually skipped a meal because of it. 3. teaches us to be more submissive and have spiritual wisdom in responding to God's answers for our prayers, EVEN IF they are not what we want. This was a new thought which I appreciated, because it reinforces how fasting is so much more than the "hunger strike" idea we tend to associate it with. Its ultimate purpose is even greater than the request at hand; we also grow spiritually through the process of seeking God's will, praying fervently, and learning to listen in faith. Even if the answer is not what we wanted. 4. to help us make time to pray/pray more/pray for things that we don't usually have time to pray for. This is the perfect comeback to whenever we fall back on the old excuse that we don't have time for that in our regular prayer routine (*raises hand*) I find myself often feeling overwhelmed at the number of things to pray for on my prayer list. What more when there's a special case which requires more time, how can we possibly squeeze everything in? Well, this is what Jesus did. Surrounded by people who needed Him, all clamouring for His help, He regularly sought out time to pray. Even removing Himself to fast in the wilderness. As a spiritual discipline--and as with any other spiritual discipline, eg. prayer, studying the Word etc-- fasting should not be treated as a painful duty that makes us feel sorry for ourselves. Exercising spiritual disciplines should be a joyful thing, just like how Jesus commands His disciples to anoint their heads and be cheerful when they fast in Matthew 6. This sounds simple, but in principle is quite ground-breaking to me when I realize how much it applies to the attitude I have towards other spiritual disciplines. Do I read spiritual books out of a sense of duty, so I can feel good/not feel guilty? Do I feel sorry for myself when I sacrifice time/sleep to serve in church, or taking time from my schedule to pray? Perhaps I'm fostering the wrong attitude towards these spiritual disciplines, which keeps me not only from truly benefiting from them, but also prevents me from experiencing joy in them. Perhaps, when we wonder how those "super spiritual" Christians seem to actually enjoy these activities, and feel almost guilty that we *don't*--this is what we've neglected to see. Likewise, the focus in Matthew 6 is not about whether others see you or not. Jesus' emphasis is rather on the words "in order that" (others might see you.) If we are doing this because we want to fit in, or please others--then we are already failing to do it for the right reason. Simply put: fasting should strip us of our pride, remind us of our weaknesses and limitations. It should help us to humble ourselves to seek God more sincerely, to pray more fervently, and to accept His will with peace and trust after having wrestled in prayer. Ironically, the exact opposite would be if it caused us to become proud of our discipline/endurance/holiness in doing it, the way the scribes and Pharisees did. Which unfortunately is what so easily happens if we do it with the wrong motivations or understandings. ***************************************************************** I had my first attempt at fasting last week and it was...rather comical. I blame it on foolish decisions and a lack of experience/proper preparation. Pragmatically speaking, I figured lunch was the best meal to skip. But because I had a class to teach right after that, and I made the mistake of thinking, "oh, I'm fasting for lunch today, so I'll have more than enough time for prayer and other things." Having fallen into the trap of thinking I could combine fasting with skipping-lunch-to-be-more-productive, I definitely wasn't in the right frame of mind for prayer. Sure enough, I found myself running late--even though I had skipped lunch!--let alone with enough time to pray. I hustled off to work feeling bad for my foolish decisions. On my way back, tired out and feebly resolving to make some time to pray that evening (to make up for my fasting failure haha) I ended up falling asleep on the bus and overshot when I should have gotten off by two stops. It was drizzling too. I hurried off the bus in that semi-panicky sleepy daze and realized with a sinking heart that it would be a long walk back. The traffic was so slow on the opposite side that it probably wasn't worth it catching the bus back. Struggling with my umbrella, I was about to give way to the usual woe-is-me-today-is-a-Terrible-No-good-Day response, when it suddenly hit me. Now. Now was the perfect time to pray. Despite all my good intentions, I had messed up my intended fasting/prayer slot, but God had granted me this perfect little pocket of time. Trudging up that path with the scent of rain washed earth, wet trees plashing tears softly onto my umbrella, alone except for an occasional food delivery rider, everything just fell into place. My sleepy daze sorted itself out into a calm, focused, peaceful frame of mind, where I could remember most of the prayer points I had jotted down. For just ten minutes I experienced a little haven of a prayer corner under my umbrella; and God's gentleness in the face of our comical human failures. Truly, it's so much more than the prayer item at hand, or how perfectly we execute it. God uses this to teach us, how to grow in understanding Him and trusting Him, how to experience joy in obedience and peacefulness in His presence. image by Logan Fisher from Unsplash I was halfway typing this post only to realize the red squiggly lines were trying to tell me I had consistently typed "drunkardness" instead of "drunkenness." Ephesians 5:1-21 is a long passage which gives many weighty guidelines for us as Christians on what our new life should be like, and drunkenness is only one thing mentioned briefly towards the end. We tend to not talk much about this term, at least in my experience, perhaps because we limit our understanding of drunkenness to its literal definition; alcohol. But drunkenness can be more broadly understood as a state of addiction. And in our time, addictions have only morphed into more and more mutations; it's never been more relatable. How do we recognize an addiction? It reduces your life to two categories--when you're feeding the addiction, and when you're anticipating/waiting to feed it. That itchy, restless feeling that we've all experienced before. Being hooked on a drama series, for example. You go to work daydreaming about it and wishing you could just stay home and binge watch the rest of the episodes, pick up where you ended last night. Wishing you could just do that all day.Waiting impatiently to get back to it, getting annoyed when anything gets in the way or delays your gratification. Addictions could be anything ranging from the obvious ones like drugs and porn, to the where-do-we-draw-the-line ones like social media, handphone or video gaming, entertainment, movies, sports, shopping, etc. Like an alcoholic, whose life is wholly measured in relation to his/her addiction (when they're sober or drunk,) addictions make us see our every day in light of whether we're doing It, or waiting to do It; living in anticipation of the gratification it gives us. "Drunkenness is the product of repeated involvement." We may realize our problem, or we may not. In either case, lack of self-control keeps us trapped in it; lack of the motivation, desire, and willpower to break free of the cycle we're living in. It saps our energy, prevents us from using our abilities and resources, from taking an interest in other things, in people. And it gets harder and harder to envision and experience joy and intimacy with God, when our experience of pleasure and satisfaction is increasingly defined by what our addiction gives us. As C.S. Lewis said, "...We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud-pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased." (The Weight of Glory, and Other Addresses) And it is this joy--joy which the Spirit gives, joy in God--which is our weapon against drunkenness. This joy needs to be cultivated, to be actively nurtured and exercised by repeated involvement in the means of grace as our God-appointed means of accessing it. Having said that, joy is so much more than simply mindlessly, if dutifully, going about spiritual disciplines. Joy can be cultivated in our conscious mindset of thankfulness. Joy can be cultivated in meditating on God's attributes. Joy can be cultivated in learning to lay our hearts before God when we pray. Our sins. Our fears. Our desires. Our longings. Even our flawed, often insufficient trust. Joy can be cultivated in the fellowship of His people, where we strive to model Christ's love. As a Christian: what comes to your mind when you think of joy? How distant and unrelatable does the concept of joy in God seem to you? image by Aaron Burden from Unsplash Psalm 51, in my Bible, is the only page that has a special fawn book tab sticker to mark it out. Partially because the moment I stuck it on I regretted it big time--I didn't realize how thin my Bible pages were, and they tore around the sticker edges if I wasn't careful turning the page. AbortMissionAbortMission-- But that's just standard characteristically bad decision making; Psalm 51is the psalm that became meaningful to me when I was seeking to be saved. Perhaps the first time that the Bible really 'spoke' to me, to use a trite phrase. When the aptness and timing almost frightened me. When I realized for the first time why reading the Bible is not like reading War and Peace or any other old thick book with tiny text. I still remember a particularly low point, struggling with feeling depressed and hopeless because I was forced to accept that no matter how hard I tried, I could not make it through a single day without regret, without realizing I had acted selfishly or proudly; without anger and impatience--and the list goes on. During this time, crushed by the appalling proof of the limits of my self-control, of just how useless "trying harder" was, I found myself drawn more and more--not to the deep theological discussions and records of Jesus's life in the New Testament, or the multi-faceted stories of the Old Testament that I had always enjoyed as a child, but to the Psalms--that unassuming book somewhere in the middle which I had always passed by. David's intimately personal "I" and the honest, vulnerable expressions of his emotions--his frank, child-like joy in God, or his most wretched moments of guilt and self-doubt--were something that drew my own restless, unhappy heart. David had always been one of my favourite characters. I tried my best to forget about that horrid incident in and as a result the preface to Psalm 51--"To the Chief Musician. A Psalm of David when Nathan the prophet went to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba"--kind of put me off the rest of the Psalm. For the first time, however, I remember looking past the shadow of that incident and feeling verse one hit me in the pit of the stomach; "Have mercy upon me, O God..." In the 21st century vocabulary we don't speak like that. This was what my heart had been groaning wordlessly, and it felt almost like relief, hearing it articulated so honestly and simply for me. Yes. Mercy. Simply mercy--I had no excuses, no reasons, only a wracking yearning need to be lifted out of this swampy morass of guilt and self-doubt, even self-loathing, that I could see no way out of. With a small sighing sob I felt the smart of tears, and looked through them at the rest of the psalm, blinking. Empathy. Catharsis. Comfort. Guidance. But more importantly, hope. I found those as I made my way slowly through the rest of Psalm 51. And each time I reread it, I find more things to carry away, to store up, picking up pearls that only add to the beauty and significance this particular psalm has for me. Psalm 51 Have mercy upon me, O God, According to Your lovingkindness; According to the multitude of Your tender mercies, Blot out my transgressions. 2 Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, And cleanse me from my sin. 3 For I acknowledge my transgressions, And my sin is always before me. Guilt, ever-present, forcing us to realize that something is wrong with us, something is wrong with this world, that we have a gaping hole, a desperate need of Someone greater than ourselves... 4 Against You, You only, have I sinned, And done this evil in Your sight-- That You may be found just when You speak,[a] And blameless when You judge. This always caught me unexpected--a reminder to see our sin in its full scope; as primarily an act of rebellion and rejection against God Himself. 5 Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, And in sin my mother conceived me. 6 Behold, You desire truth in the inward parts, And in the hidden part You will make me to know wisdom. This is not the problem of isolated acts, isolated "bad decisions," moments of weakness, as we'd like to think--because we want to think that we can manage it, we are basically good despite these small flaws. This is something intrinsic to our human condition, from our very conception; something that underlies our whole world. And to change--to fix it--we need likewise a transformative change. Not a quick fix or a coverup, but from the inside, from our "inward parts". You need to change us. You need to plant truth and wisdom in the very core of our being, to transform us from the inside out. Our hearts, not just our external actions, need to be changed. 7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 8 Make me hear joy and gladness, That the bones You have broken may rejoice. 9 Hide Your face from my sins, And blot out all my iniquities. The self-aware, cringing consciousness of guilt, of impurity--washed away. Cleansed, as thoroughly and simply and effectively as physical cleansing. The satisfaction of watching the dirt being blasted away, watching the cleanliness being restored. Free! Free, and joyful. No longer trapped inside the swampy morass, even though we might have broken a few bones in our fierce struggle to get out. Wounded and weak and still vulnerable, still raw from the struggle, perhaps; but rejoicing. 10 Create in me a clean heart, O God, And renew a steadfast spirit within me. 11 Do not cast me away from Your presence, And do not take Your Holy Spirit from me. 12 Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, And uphold me by Your generous Spirit. 13 Then I will teach transgressors Your ways, And sinners shall be converted to You. 14 Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God, The God of my salvation, And my tongue shall sing aloud of Your righteousness. 15 O Lord, open my lips, And my mouth shall show forth Your praise. And here you have the new convert's earnest prayer--for sanctification, for perseverance. With a vivid awareness of how much, how intensely you need God's presence. The power and guidance of the Spirit. In order to have a "clean heart"--to persevere--to have joy. And even--I found this point especially enlightening--to spread the Gospel. David prays, not simply to evangelize as a duty, but for God's abundant mercy and joy on him, which overflows into the most powerful and effective--and sincere--evangelism. Evangelism akin to praise. 16 For You do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it; You do not delight in burnt offering. 17 The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, A broken and a contrite heart-- These, O God, You will not despise. And to balance that, David acknowledges that yet, all these things, all the things he promises to DO for God, they are not what is actually important. They do not earn him merit. That's not why he does them. As John Piper said in Desiring God, our desire to be like God, to be righteous like God, should be our motivation--arising from our deep love and joy in Him; like a boy to whom the most intense, direct enjoyment of football would be to play the game himself, rather than simply watch others play. Instead, how do we please Him? With humility. With repentance. With faith in Him, not in ourselves. 18 Do good in Your good pleasure to Zion; Build the walls of Jerusalem. 19 Then You shall be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, With burnt offering and whole burnt offering; Then they shall offer bulls on Your altar. With that as our foundation, we are empowered to truly serve in the more common, concrete action-oriented understanding of the word. To change lives for the better, to nurture and bless and build up our communities and the people around us. To build the walls of our own Jerusalems, not because God is depending on us to get it done, but because we see ourselves as the instruments of His good pleasure, of His power. Without the pride, self-reliance, anxiety, and doubt that characterizes human achievements. With humility and purity in our personal lives as the foundation for these "sacrifices". Those are the sacrifices of righteousness, the sacrifices that please You. |
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