THE TRIUNE GOD AND ME

Yesterday, I received a text message from Hoon, whom I featured and asked for prayers on his behalf in the April 18 entry, asking to meet for coffee. I replied enthusiastically, “Of course, I would love to.” Though we exchanged a few text messages in between, regarding his health, I was eager to see him in person.

The latest news about his vocal cords was not what I wanted to hear. Since April, he had one surgery done, but removing the tube from his vocal cords was deemed to be too dangerous. So the tube will remain for at least one more year, and then a plan is to reevaluate. Hoon sounded more assured this time of accepting his fragile condition as of now without giving up hope.

He did not have an update on his health at the forefront of his mind when he wanted to meet with me. After a brief, meaningful check-in, he was eager to pepper me with questions he deemed were more important. The gravity of his questions floored me. As I tried my best to respond, I framed my responses as my personal, developing understanding: “This is what I have experienced so far. And don’t take my response as the answer.” Somehow, our conversation flowed into a relationship with the Triune God. Notice it was not about a concept but about a relationship. Someone wise has said, “Try to explain it (The Trinity), and you’ll lose your mind, but try to deny it, and you’ll lose your soul.” It is loosely attributed to St. Augustine, but that attribution is not conclusive. Perhaps the invitation is to live and experience it? That way, it becomes a personal, intimate knowing, which is what the Bible says about knowing anyway.

Seeing Hoon’s wide-eyed attention and how serious he was, I rambled on about my latest “experience” with the Trinity. (I did not exactly say how I wrote below, but you can get the drift.)

I came from God and will return to God. My overarching life vision is to be in union with God as Jesus exemplified and prayed for his followers. I came from Love and will return to Love, growing in my love for God and for everything else in between. Another way of saying it is that my “home” is God, and I will return to my Home, who created me. (The concept of home has been at the center of my recent life’s journey.) The life that is given to me is the only arena in which to walk the journey of returning to God. God is our home not just at the journey's end, but every step of the way.

On my journey back to God, Jesus, through the incarnation, is the ultimate example, the inspiration, the way, the truth, and the life. He walked this earth, like any other human being, yet unlike anyone else. Jesus is the only “visual” and accessible God I try to become like. Thus, I follow Jesus’ footsteps to learn how to be in union with God. All that Jesus was and is, including his death, resurrection, and teachings, inspires and motivates me in how to live this life. Apostle Paul’s assertion makes sense to me: “I deliberately kept it plain and simple: first Jesus and who he is; then Jesus and what he did—Jesus crucified.” (1 Corinthians 2:2) I would also like to believe there is ample room for imagination, creativity, and freedom to envision how Jesus would go about living my life if he were me. The truth that Jesus never condemns and always loves compels and woos me to accept my sins and gifts and to continue the path before me.

The Holy Spirit, these days, is like wind. I don’t know where it comes from and where it is going. But I know and feel the wind on my face. The Holy Spirit is the ultimate, perfect Guide, Helper, and Intercessor in wayfaring toward the union with God. True to its name, the Holy Spirit rarely takes center stage but tirelessly provides, corrects, examines, and discerns, residing in me. Being in tune with the Holy Spirit in me is often elusive, full of trial and error, and foremostly invites me to pay attention, pay attention to what is happening around me and also in me. The Acts of the Apostles or the disciples can only be understood in tandem with the Acts of the Holy Spirit. As such, some of my acts are in step with the Holy Spirit. And some are my own, requiring the work of the Holy Spirit to correct, mend, and restore.

God invites, waits, and is present in all things, drawing everything back to God, including me. The oneness with God will happen in the end. At the same time, as God is everywhere and in everything, oneness with God can be experienced, albeit temporarily, giving us a taste of what can be, luring us for more on this earth. My eyes are squarely on Jesus, again as faithful as I know how, who walked this earth and experienced perfect divine union with God in an utterly human way. The Holy Spirit is the perfect Helper, inviting and guiding every step of the way if we seek, never demanding or coercing.

As our deep conversation waned, I took the liberty to change the trajectory of our conversation, sheepish about the impending topic. As the annual monsoon season rolled in, it has been extremely humid with manageable heat, thankfully. As we get ready for our trip to the US, many people have been advising us to get dehumidifiers. We came to our senses and finally purchased one and received another as a gift (one for each floor). But we still need someone to come to our house frequently and turn on the dehumidifiers and AC while we are away. I asked Hoon, and before I finished my ask, he knew where I was going and said, “I would be happy to help.” After coffee, he invited me to his place to tour his woodworking shop. Seeing his extensive professional-grade workspace and learning that he built his own home left me completely blown away. I could see how working with his hands has provided sanity and vitality. Driving home, in less than five minutes away on a country road, I was consoled that he had a significant, creative outlet to work with his skillful hands, surely an expression of his love for his young family.

A JOY MUSING

I just finished a six-week online course on Embracing Emotions through CenterQuest’s Lifelong Learning Community. This week’s blog is a further musing on joy.

Grace and I will be in Pasadena, California, from mid-July to mid-August, welcoming our second grandchild and celebrating our first grandchild’s (Jaelen Yunseul) first birthday. We anticipate a lot of family time, including some grandparent duties, which spell joy. 

Joy, as “the queen of emotions,” according to Karla McLaren, helps “one feel a blissful sense of open-hearted communion and connection to others, to ideas, or to experiences.” I appreciate the breadth of communion and connection that includes ideas or experiences. Joy is ultimately founded on the Trinitarian community; the uniqueness of my being meets the oneness of everything without losing my existential self. Joy, as a shared emotion, constantly seeks and waits to be one, one with the One or the One in Three and with everything.

Joy arises from both interior-led discipline, without demands, and exterior-led serendipity, without control. I echo Mary Oliver’s first two lines of her poem, Don’t Hesitate, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.” The invitation is for me to be aware and to embrace the unexpected, the serendipitous, and the passing. I find this increasingly untrammeled and uncomplicated.

I “gave in to joy” through the cool ocean breeze on my face, making me “Aah,” on our most recent trip to the southern coast of Korea; the thought of facilitating Suji Enneagram with various groups; the sumptuous feasts that appeased my eyes and stomach, connecting me to nature’s bounty; special Father’s Day text messages; the happy daily ritual of peeking into our grandson’s world through Google Photos, praying for loved ones who are ill; promoting and interceding for CenterQuest School of Spiritual Direction Cohort 2; (btw, if you are interested in signing up for the program, there is still room as the registration closes by the end of July) and the anticipation of welcoming our second grandchild in less than two weeks.

Experiencing spring (fall is gorgeous, but I have come to treasure spring more) in Korea over the years has opened my eyes and my soul to a level of joy of connection and communion I did not know existed. Rainer Maria Rilke pens, “It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.” Particularly, the morning walks, aided by crisp air, along the farmland by the small river, occasionally spotting elegant, fierce white and grey herons, have been transformative. My love for poetry exploded during this season, as nature became one of the best teachers. No wonder many poets and mystics were avid nature walkers, drawing inspiration and imagination.

Joy is my world colliding with the worlds of others and otherness, painting new horizons and redefining the meaning of my existence. Joy is a “living frontier” that captures “the sheer intoxicating beauty of the world inhabited as an edge between what we previously thought was us and what we thought was other than us.” (David Whyte) Once crossed, what was once a living frontier becomes a living place of “intoxicating beauty.” The gift of beauty can be found in human nature as well as in nature, which is to say everywhere. Joy, then, is the emotion that naturally arises in discovering the connection and communion between the two, it seems.

Joy is a face of communion and love. It cannot be acquired by trying but by giving away, paving the way for graceful reciprocity, as communion invites and insists. Joy is elusive and fleeting, yet it offers a deep, momentary expression of mutuality and love. The impermanence of such joy does not bother me; it invites me to be present and to enjoy the gift of joy as it comes. Joy enters and leaves as it likes, serving as a glorious reminder of whose we are and how to navigate this life with zest, openness, and childlike wonder.

RIVER, OCEAN, AND WIND

In recent years, I’ve probably dealt with more sadness than any other emotion. As we downsized most of our belongings into four large suitcases to move to Korea, we had to shed most of our stuff, not to mention leaving our four adult children behind in the US. There is the letting go of material belongings and the familiar, close network of relationships for 50 years. No other sadness, however, comes remotely close to leaving our children. Then, the biggest sadness came from the death of a dream, a dream of living in proximity with our children and grandchildren.

The biggest work of sadness came from letting go of dreams rather than the realities of saying goodbyes. Sadness involves the release of what is, tied and amplified by the extension of what could be. Thus, what I projected or envisioned my future-to-be died: the dream of being near our children and growing grandchildren, the dream of growing old with friends, and even the small dream of hiking all the national parks in the US with a lifetime senior national park pass, etc. It is the letting go of the future “fields of gold,” poetically sung by Sting.

A few days ago, my wife and I finished watching the K-drama, When Life Gives You Tangerines. There is a scene in which the father walks his daughter down the aisle. As it unfolded, I knew what was coming and promptly cried, joining the father in the drama. More than 30 years ago, when my first daughter was about two years old, I was in Chicago, parked in front of Maggiano’s Little Italy restaurant. (The fact that I remember the scene so clearly tells me it was a big deal.) As I was about to leave, the song Butterfly Kisses by Bob Carlisle came on the radio. It was my first time hearing it. I quickly became a wreck, unable to drive, crying my eyeballs out, envisioning the day I would walk my daughter down the aisle. I was not prepared for my own tears at the time.

A few years ago, when my second daughter got married, I only cried three times. :) The second time I cried at the wedding was when I was beaming in happiness and crying in sadness at the same time, walking my daughter down the aisle. It was a time of release for her to live her life with her husband and children by her side, not my projection of her future.

“Sadness isn’t just about loss and letting go. It’s also about restoring your flow and your ease so that you can reset yourself,” Karla McLaren writes. The idea of resetting resonates with me. Looking back, there was definitely a restoration of flow and ease. And I have no illusion that it is a one-time release either. Acknowledged sadness, as I experienced at the recent Closing Residency during the ritual of leaving, is beauty itself. It opens the circuit of my entire being, allowing me to flow. As we empty, God fills and renews.

With this feeling of awakened-ness and flow, the new dreams began to emerge: the dream of being healthy and happy with my wife right by my side, the dream of witnessing wonders in Asia, the dream of deep communion with communities in Asia, and the dream of companioning people to fully come alive.

After the release, rejuvenation arrives, according to Karla McLaren. I am like a house host who lets the old, welcomed guest named “sadness” honorably leave, then the same guest returns with the gift of “rejuvenation and renewal.”

In recent years, the imagery of the river spoke to me deeply. For an inordinate amount of time, I told myself, “Chong, trust the river you are on. Trust the flow.” As of last fall, the river imagery transformed into a vast, wide-open ocean. At least while on the river, whether moving fast or slow, you see where you are going, the bends, the banks, the villages, the trees, and occasionally the sky. As I am on the vast ocean, scared and excited, sometimes with no bearings on where I am, the imagery of wind recently grabbed hold of me.

Wind is more unpredictable, unplanned (so it seems), and breathtaking outworkings of the Spirit of God. Someone in my Group Spiritual Guidance companioned me, “wind is the invisible impacting the visibles.” When one is on the ocean, one is dependent on the wind, being carried and impacted. I know full well that there is nothing I can do or can’t do to prepare for welcoming wind in my life. So, I am willing to tell myself today, “trust the wind, son.”

FLOW & BLOW

“Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time. The mind that responds to the intellectual and spiritual values that lie hidden in a poem, a painting, or a piece of music, discovers a spiritual vitality that lifts it above itself, takes it out of itself, and makes it present to itself on a level of being that it did not know it could ever achieve.” Thomas Merton

Finally, the long-awaited season two of CenterQuest’s Asia Poet Society huddled over Zoom last week. We welcomed four new poets to the group, adding to the original six, all graduates from the recent cohort. As one of my biggest surprises in recent years has been the discovery of my love for poetry, I circled this date with great anticipation and excitement. As I had the privilege of facilitating this time, we had spontaneous fun composing acrostic poems based on the word FLOW as a warm-up. The main theme I chose was “close,” as in near or intimate. We wrote for 12 minutes, came together, presented each of our poems, and then companioned one person at a time.

Art, or in this case, poetry, allows us to find ourselves. Our words, the economy, and the luxury of words dig, search, and draw something from deep or even the subconscious. When words show up, we are surprised “on a level of being that it did know it could ever achieve.” It is the kind of experiential union with myself that beckons me back. Our modern mind looks for reasons and rationale to prove, with precision and certainty to follow. So we think. Comparatively, our imprecise intuitive soul suffers until it is given room to operate and express in words, art, or music. Our words can be both frustratingly limited and delightfully limitless.

On numerous occasions, I have been surprised by the impact and invitation of one word or phrase buried in the sentence being conceived. I have been surprised by heart-tugging, soul-grabbing images while trying desperately to translate them into words. Sometimes words feel so intimate that I might as well be naked. Sometimes, lucidity arrives at a time least expected. The last line of the poem I wrote ends with this sentence. “Close is an elusive, earthly home between longing and belonging.” Close is a seductive, blissful space of being human, having arrived, and yet not arrived. To use biblical imagery, close is the Kingdom of God, residing between now and not yet.

My words are clearly my own, but at the same time, I am aware of the fact that they are not mine. They reflect perennial wisdom gleaned and processed in the context of my own life, spilling into the page for my rumination and inspiration, perhaps benefitting others. I am very aware of the “communal” human process that spans centuries and millennia. In this sense, I am part of a proud and prudent human tradition of expression, one that can never be contained in trying to make sense of life and its meaning.

Art also allows me to lose myself. I would not find myself without losing myself first. They are so interdependent that it must be “at the same time.” Art is not an addition to what we already are without losing oneself. Art must take some things away to add. I translate losing ourselves as suffering, a suffering of letting go. Art rediscovers who we are by both losing and finding ourselves. Richard Rohr talks about the two great agents of transformation: love and suffering. In the end, we are transformed only by love and suffering. To paraphrase Meister Eckhart, our spiritual maturity does not take place by addition, but by subtraction. I resonate deeply with the idea that art embodies this spiritual truth of losing oneself. I want to think that suffering unites humanity by leveling the playing field, thus providing solidarity. It is on this foundation of solidarity that art speaks and unites across all humanity at all times.

I honestly have no idea where this love for poetry and art will lead me. As of now, I am content to let it flow and blow, like “the wind of God” (John 3:8, The Message).

A GRAND SILENCE BEER CLUB

As I expected the afterglow from the Closing Residency would fade, I find myself trying to hold on to the ebbing glimmers of sweet memories. It is the air, the view from the mountain top, the bamboo forest, and the wild colors of the spring. It is also the look, the eyes, the teary smiles, shared meals, and just being around people who are on a similar journey of taking their God-given selves seriously, with and for one another, and for the sake of the world.

On one of the nights after compline, a few of the brothers planned to get together during the grand silence. After a few rounds of banter and an exchange of ideas over lunch, five of us decided to kick off an early graduation celebration with a cold brewski together, representing four different countries. The one hurdle was the grand silence that would kick in right after compline. We quickly brushed that aside and rationalized by agreeing that our celebration was more important.

I do not know how I forgot about the celebration, but after receiving a text message from one of the brothers, “Chong, are you coming?” I bolted from my room to the secret spot they found, a small kitchen tucked away in the men’s wing. As I entered, the room was already glowing and “flowing,” and the guys were merry and boisterous, far from being silent. I slid right into the mix, amused and excited, and someone promptly popped a can and handed it over to me, shouting, “Congratulations, Chong!” We clinked our cans; theirs were mostly empty already. The beer tasted sweet and smooth to boot. Some guys were already in their comfortable pajamas and white tank tops, signaling that this was the last event of the day. Our conversations flowed like decades-long friends. We exchanged our stories, sharing first impressions during the Opening Residency and during online learning. As if to embrace grand silence, the night “slowed down” (sports lingo to say we were in the zone) and we savored our precious time. Though this was technically our second face-to-face meeting, since we had bared our souls during the previous 18 months, we might as well be bosom buddies.

We regrettably ended our celebration after midnight. After saying goodbye to them, I needed to make my way back to my quarters, which were about 100 meters from one end of the building to the other. I left their building, then quickly realized the connecting doors to other buildings were all locked. I decided to venture out altogether and walk across the labyrinth and the yard to see if I could enter from the other side. The security guard did his job meticulously, as I could not find any openings, including the windows. My head was scanning for plan B or C—what would Jason Bourne do? :) I knew my wife was asleep, so waking her up was not an option. Besides, I did not have my phone with me. I glanced at the building and saw that some lights were still on in the building where my room was.

Cupping my hands to muffle the sound, I called out softly toward the lit second-floor window, "Hello? Is anybody there?" After a few desperate pleas, to my delight, I saw someone looking out the window. Then, just as quickly, the curtain was drawn closed. I did not have time to say, “Hey, it’s me, Chong.” My heart sank. Just then, my wife whispered from inside our room, “Honey, what are you doing?” I walked to the other side of the building, where the entrance door was, and another woman had also heard the commotion and was about to open it. After my wife told the woman she had everything under control, she could not help but laugh about the incident. I felt like a rascally teenager, but I was still basking in the men’s secret beer party.

After the adrenaline settled and thanks to the beer, I slept like a “teenager” baby. The next day, after Lauds and during breakfast, when I met the brothers’ eyes, we exchanged mischievous, approving smiles, as if to say we now had our own proud secret. After hearing my locked-out story the night before, they busted out laughing.

Soon thereafter, I found out who had been looking out the second-floor window and shut the curtain. She told me she was scared because she thought I was a hooligan. We also busted out laughing. It was a fine day. It is a sweet memory.

THE GIFT OF ANGER

This week, I thought of Heimdall and Gandalf. Heimdall is a lesser-known Marvel character, a friend of Thor, and a sentry to Asgard. Of course, need I elaborate on Gandalf as an ancient sage in The Lord of the Rings? Both are fictional characters, but imagined heroes based on perennial reality: an honorable sentry and an ancient sage.

Anger, when functioning well, serves both as an honorable sentry and an ancient sage. The sentry in me protects the boundaries and preserves the values I hold dearly. One of the defining moments of Gandalf was when he faced Balrog and bellowed, “You shall not pass!” Thus, anger is an honorable gift to celebrate. When anger is provoked, it has a mission to accomplish or a job to do if I activate the sentry and sage in me.

One particular incident took place some thirty years ago. I was a missionary sent by my home church, working in the organization I founded, less than an hour from the church. I remember the missions pastor visiting us one day. He was essentially asking me and others to get more involved in the home church. More than the words, the way he spoke to me offended me, as if he were above me, position-wise, in front of my staff. (I did know the propriety, especially in Korean culture, but I have refused to accept the norm and expectation.) I “stood” my ground and firmly and calmly told him that I could and would not, because of a conviction of mine that when a local church sends off missionaries, they are to do the work in the “field,” not serve both. Additionally, I told him that I would be serving with no days off all week.

Another episode comes to mind. When the organization I started began to gain influence nationally, one significant, older Korean missions leader essentially wanted to fold our organization under his. It was a power play, I knew. This, too, infuriated me. I gave him a firm no in a culturally appropriate way. Inside, I remember being profoundly upset.

Looking back, several of my values were crossed. The accepted hierarchical norm of placing pastors above missionaries infuriates me. I knew he could have cut off or reduced our support, but I couldn’t care at the time. My theological conviction, then, was that the “Church” includes both local churches and what people call “para-churches,” a term I detested. (Now, my definition of “Church” is much bigger.) When I smell a “power play” at work to me or to others, I am infuriated. Parochialism and uniformity suffocate me. I have a tendency to resist the well-worn paths. When everyone thought I should go to seminary, I didn’t. When some thought I should not start another new missions organizations, I didn’t listen. I am far more comfortable and excitable blazing new trails and learning as I go. Doing my emotions work over the last two weeks, I discovered that independence had been a value of mine since childhood. While both incidents were of medium anger, I knew I was offended and thus “fought” back.

The “righteous anger” Jesus embodied throughout his human life empowers me, and I love this Jesus. I resonated with the concept of “letting my anger flow freely,” according to Karla McLaren, The Language of Emotions. This idea of letting anger flow freely is the work of a sage. The image and invitation for me are to let anger flow out of me freely as it comes, neither repressing nor over-expressing. As my anger is not someone else’s and someone else’s anger is not mine, I would like to think that we all benefit and grow in our collective consciousness from all our “righteous” angers. When channeled well, anger is brave and wise. Anger tirelessly works to safeguard and preserve each of our God-given selves’ paths.

LIFE'S PARAMOUNT QUESTIONS

I have always been fascinated by the questions Jesus asked. Though he did not need to, in his divinity and in his humanity, his questions were genuine and compendious. I have been mulling over and rehearsing some of Jesus' questions for the last several days as I ransacked the questions in the Book of John. I believe his questions pierced the hearts of those he spoke to and sparked introspection unlike any other. I also believe Jesus is still asking the same questions of today's hearers. Knowing the state of our souls perfectly, he waits patiently, without condemnation, until we “come clean” and are honest with ourselves. When we do, we discover our souls’ true longings, which have always been aligned with what Jesus desires in and from us.

What do you want?
According to John, this question is the first words spoken by Jesus in the Book of John. It must have seared into John’s mind that decades later, the first sentence out of Jesus’ mouth that John wrote was this question. It is easy to blow by this question and not take it seriously. I did. I was taught that what I want or desire was not important. All I needed was complete and undivided obedience. Later in life, this question changed my life. As I began to take my desires seriously, a whole new world opened up for me. My current life trajectory would not be possible without asking this question over and over again.

Do you want to get well again?

Technically, this is a closed question, at least in the translation. We have two responses: yes or no. Jesus is compelling us to say yes and to consider what getting well means for us. Being well or getting well is impossible without Jesus’ healing, because Jesus is the source of our wellness. In the original Greek, the word for well means “whole.” Jesus is after our wholeness: body, mind, emotion, and spirit. I am in the middle of a six-week online course called Embracing Emotions. I have long known that emotion is the most deficient aspect in pursuing my wholeness. Then there is the word again. “Again” represents unceasing hope and grace, like the morning sun, whether we see it or not. Grace will not be grace unless it is forever unconditional.

Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?
Here, Jesus wants our participation. He is not merely asking where. Like a good Jew, he is communicating slantly, “testing Philip,” and inviting us to do something about people’s needs—the world’s needs. It seems that the world’s hunger must have local immediacy as the starting point. Sure enough, like good Jews, the disciples, or in this case, Peter, went to work and found a boy with five barley loaves and two fish who was willing to share. Unconvinced, Peter asked Jesus, “But what good is that with this huge crowd?” After ignoring Peter’s question, Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” After our service, Jesus does his work of making us relax, followed by a miracle. Today, Jesus still asks us where we will find bread for the world’s hunger. The invitation is to do our small part of “finding a boy.” Miracles are dependent on our small actions. 

Who are you looking for?
For most of our lives, we look in the wrong places and at the wrong people. I did. I looked at ego-building and maintenance efforts, so I could save myself and fool myself into thinking I was good or godly. Worse still, I convinced myself that I was doing God’s work in God’s way. One lesson I learned is that we do not look to the right place—Jesus—until we fall, and fall hard. From there, the only way is to look up, as we can no longer save ourselves. Paradoxically, that is a great place to look, look up. I think I understand why Julian of Norwich said, “First there is the fall, and then we recover from the fall. Both are the mercy of God.”

Do you love me?
All other questions by Jesus melt away with this uncomplicated, intimate, and yet heart-pounding question. At the end of the day and our lives, this is the only question that matters in our human and spiritual journey. Here, Jesus is personalizing the Great Commandment, which demands or invokes our obedience. I can no longer hide behind the plural “you.” By asking, “Do you love me?” with his eyes locking with mine, I have no other place to hide than to meet his eyes. The eyes of Jesus are filled with compassion as I have failed over and over again, like Peter. There is a saving grace in that our love does not have to be the “agapao” kind, but the best human “phileo” kind. Every single day and moment, the hound of heaven in Jesus goes around and asks everyone who would stop to listen, “Do you love me?” How we respond to this question can change our lives.

JESUS REVEALED HIMSELF AGAIN

It was my third time this year doing Lectio Divina on the passage John 21:1-14. Over the weekend, I facilitated a portion of the retreat with a community we belong to here in Korea. As soon as I was asked to facilitate Lectio Divina, I knew I would choose the passage above. It is one of my favorite passages in the Bible, especially in this season.

After this Jesus revealed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tibe′ri-as; and he revealed himself in this way. Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathan′a-el of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zeb′edee, and two others of his disciples were together. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat; but that night they caught nothing.

Just as day was breaking, Jesus stood on the beach; yet the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, have you any fish?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in, for the quantity of fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his clothes, for he was stripped for work, and sprang into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, but about a hundred yards[a] off.

When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish lying on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three of them; and although there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. (RSV)

The morning was flawlessly bright, and the sun almost blinded our eyes. Surrounded by the lush greenery on the foothills of a small mountain, we could smell the crisp, flowery air, the signature of May. The contrast between the different shades of lush greenery and the backdrop of an azure sky could not be mimicked by any manmade colors, my mind wandered. It seems we are always in catch-up mode with what nature offers us. Though I was struggling and constantly sniffling due to spring allergies, my eyes and body feasted on the unwrapped gift of May.

This time, the word “revealed” got hold of me. I felt like John set up the story by highlighting the word “revealed” in verse 1 and bookending it in verse 14. All the drama that happened in between is the result of Jesus’s revealing. Disciples’ recognition of Jesus as Jesus varied, as John was the first to recognize Jesus. Others followed in their own time. Toward the end of the story, they all knew it was Jesus. Jesus’ post-resurrection self-revelation was revolutionary and filled with so much hope. The surprise was not only the fact that Jesus revealed himself, but how he chose to reveal himself, according to John. There are striking similarities between how Jesus came to be among us as an infant and how Jesus revealed himself to us after the resurrection, unassuming and ready to turn the world upside down from the bottom up. And the truth is that the same resurrected Jesus continues to reveal himself to all humanity.

My reality is that Jesus reveals himself to me in disguise as my life, at the speed of my human life. The timeless invitation is for me to recognize Jesus as Jesus. It could be Jesus “speaking, standing, preparing breakfast, and inviting us to a meal with him.” With my eyes widened, my response could be “casting the net on the other side, jumping into the water, bringing fish to Jesus, and joining Jesus for a meal.”

And there is no condemnation regarding our speed of discovery of Jesus in our lives. Even if we do not recognize Jesus, Jesus’ perpetual coming never ceases, which is grace constantly at work. This Jesus is so inviting, freeing, and attractive. And I love this Jesus who continues to invite me to a meal with him, which remains an utterly human and sacred experience. As we follow Jesus, we are further invited to go into the world as Jesus came to us.

I cannot imagine Jesus chiding the disciples for failing to recognize him or confronting Peter at a meal, and thus will not accept that image. Instead, I imagine Jesus’ compassionate eyes telling them, “It is so good to be with you.” With a great sigh of relief, the disciples’ eyes must have filled with grace and hope as they responded to Jesus, “It is also so good to be with you, master.” All of this unfolded in awe and silence. . . This image offers me a vision of consolation that only Jesus could provide. Consolation, then, is our recognition of Jesus in our lives, which moves us closer to union with God because the incarnated Christ keeps coming to us.

“A SHOWER”

The small auditorium was packed to the brim. We arrived at least fifteen minutes early, but within five minutes after our arrival, most of the seats were occupied. The organizers were quick to bring out extra chairs along the aisles, but YouTube Live became the last resort for the overflow audience in a separate room. The audience was mature, casually dressed, and could have been all poets and writers. The ambiance was warm, and the room was buzzing with calm excitement.

The draw was none other than the beloved Korean poet, Na Tae-Joo. I accidentally discovered the talk as we drove by Hwang Sun-Won House of Literature, Sonagi (A Rain Shower in Korean) Village, which we do every day, and is within walking distance of our house in Yangpyeong. Coincidentally, a few weeks earlier, my wife and I went to a bookstore in Seoul, as it is our pastime. I picked up Poet Na’s poetry books, and his poems grabbed me so much that I took several pictures of the pages for future savoring.

The venue was named after “A Shower,” a much-loved short story by Hwang Sun-Won written in 1953. I remember reading the story as a requirement in junior high school, and it left my innocent heart fluttering. Connecting the serendipitous dots between the bookstore and the talk, I knew I needed to be there.

A petite, round man in his early 80s, he donned a plaid beret, which looked like his signature style or un-style (I don’t think he is trying to be stylish), as most of his online photos resemble the identical look. With his eyes twinkling, he was quick-witted and even self-deprecating at times. He openly shared his two failed one-sided loves with humor and compassion, which became the fertile ground for his earlier poignant poems in his teens and early 20s. Though an educated man, his love and flair for poetry started early, despite poor grades in secondary school.

Normally a stoic listener, I was engaged and took notes on my phone. As there were many points to ponder further, I latched on to a few thoughts immediately. One of his earlier lines, “살아있는 것을 사랑하세요,” which translates as “Love the present that you are alive,” captured the sentiment I am in right now. Every day is given to me as a gift, and I am to discover what is in store for me. After that line, which was not even the main point, he got my devoted attention. He talked briefly about how poets are not into invention (making something out of nothing), but discovery (seeing the new, surprise, and invitation in the mundane, old, and what we take for granted). He used the word “Eureka!” when describing discovery. Discovery cannot happen without loving and accepting the present. No wonder 70 percent of all poetry is about seeing and paying attention. Moreover, his sight is that of a “minor,” (his language) not the entitled or the high. At least, he wants to retain the sight. The world opens up from the low vantage point of the minor, not from the top. “Writing poetry is a lot like picking up discarded and thus forgotten gems and sharing with the world,” he said.

In one of his most beloved poems below, titled “grass flower or wildflower” (풀꽃), the wildflower is often ignored and too “minor,” but here it shines and fills us with universal hope.

자세히 보아야
예쁘다
오래 보아야
사랑스럽다
너도 그렇다

"Only a closer look can find it pretty.
Only a long look can find it lovely.
And so it is with you."

Somehow, the English translation does not do justice to the original, as poetry is almost impossible to translate well in any language. The invitation is to take a close, long look, and then one will see something pretty and lovely. At one point, he made the audience break out in laughter. “Do you know what this means? It means it was not pretty or lovely at first sight.” Then, in this uber-short poem, there is a sudden twist (or Volta, to “turn” in Italian) that draws the reader in the last line. What was personal and intimate turns into a universal and inclusive message for all.

In this season, poetry, to me, is a spiritual mandate to stay and linger in the present with a view from below. My soul quietly resonated with his view that poetry is to be useful, to make people come alive, and to heal.

“PARADISE OF RUMORS”

While I have not joined anything “officially” and have not bought or collected any merch, I am a BTS army. I have spent hours following and watching the BTS World Tour Arirang. I even dragged my wife to swing by the Gwanghwamun Plaza in Seoul the day before the comeback concert to soak in the vibe. I find it refreshing and impressive that BTS would choose Tampa and El Paso as the first two cities in the US. While not trying to read too much into it, I am aware that any kind of significant movement starts from the peripheries or the margins, representing humble beginnings, as is the case with BTS.

I am a bigger fan of AKMU, a Korean sibling duo with Lee Chan-hyuk and Lee Su-hyun. After seven years of hiatus and personal trials, their latest album captures our imagination to be human and how to relate with others.  Enchanting, playful, counter-cultural, and prophetic are some of the adjectives I would use to describe the album. I have spent all of my flying hours listening to the album, to and from the Philippines, for the closing residency.

A few of the album's recurring themes revolve around discovering “paradise” by leaving the fast, competitive city life and embracing the slow, cooperative “paradise” life. In this paradise, we can accept all of who we are, not just the presentable parts of who we are. The vision of “paradise” is one of wholism, accepting all of our “cloudy days, sunny days, aching days.” In this sense, wholism is not perfection, but acceptance of all our imperfections and “negative” emotions—“that sorrow follows after joy is a beautiful heart.” Beauty and sorrow do belong together in the same sentence.

The other recurring theme is the assertion that we are all wanderers, refugees, and travelers, out of which comes a natural affinity and solidarity with all others. The leveling reality is that we are all weary, limping, and needy travelers. The uplifting vision is that we all belong, without exception. I can embrace and help spread this vision because that is how God comes to us and invites us to come to God.

These themes resonate deeply with me as I continue to embrace a slow, contemplative life away from the city (both literally and figuratively), in nature, with and for others. The vision of wholism compels me toward greater courage and freedom to pursue my true self in safe communities. And of course, the imagery of “pilgrim” on the road, having left home but also walking toward home, has captured my imagination in recent years.

It is not lost on me that AKMU left their talent agency recently to strike out on their own, spread out their wings, and unleash their fullest creative potential.

As artists, we all create; we have to, for our very existence. Life is the only fertile ground we get to till and steward. Discovering our existence is not entirely a solitary endeavor; it is always in conjunction with how we find meaning for our existence in relationship with others and the world. What we create and do, then, is always in the context of the world around us. Better yet, our simple prayer in life is to touch as many people as possible with our interpreted creative meaning. This approach to life is simple yet grand because it is our wholistic life at stake. What I want to create for the sake of the world has shifted, or should I say, broadened, to “share” contemplation, as I highlighted last week.

As artists, we are all visionaries, dreaming of changing and touching the world in the only way we can. The world encompasses seemingly unlimited opportunities for heaven to touch down. The vision of making this side of heaven a better place is not some abstract concept, but something that can be actualized by each of us cultivating the visionaries and creators in us. The journey to heaven is heaven itself, which concerns our foundational prayer, “May Your Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.”

SUNLIT MEADOW

“Contemplation is not ultimately perfect unless it is shared.” Thomas Merton

If there is one book that has set me ablaze with contemplation, it is easily New Seeds of Contemplation by Merton. The word ablaze is overdramatic, I know, but it has decisively set me on a contemplative journey. In 2013, I turned to Merton for help while in leadership, out of sheer desperation, trying to make sense out of life, Christianity, and the world. I can still see faint dried teardrops on some pages of the book. When selecting and packing books for Korea, I did not hesitate to pick up the book and put it in my luggage, where space and weight were at a premium.

I have been going through the book again slowly. I can see my yesteryear’s notes and the dates in the margins. In most cases, it is not hard to recall the specific context I was in and why I was drawn to Merton’s words at certain times. For the first time, I thought someone actually understood enough about the intricacy of the landscape of the human soul, my soul, to put into words. My evangelical faith was mostly in my head. As a head person, I thrived, and at the same time, my soul’s language was malnourished. Merton spoke to me at a soul level.

Contemplation, simply and profoundly, is being with God in the “temple” of God (“con”–with/together plus “templum”–temple/sacred space), which means being "completely within that marked-out space." This attention leads to a focus on what is seen because that is where God is, especially since God’s “temple” is not merely confined to cathedrals, churches, or synagogues but everywhere. “Taking a long, loving look at the Real” is a long-standing tradition for capturing the word. Being present to the present adds another layer to describing it. For someone more fixated on the future, the present remains elusive. Contemplation is a way of seeing, living, and existing in the world with and for God.

As a recent graduate of the CenterQuest School of Spiritual Direction, where we hold and honor the contemplative and evocative tradition, Merton’s statement above comes to me as a calling. The recent global resurgence in attendance in the Catholic Church is a testament to people, especially the young, who are hungry for Christian meditation and contemplation, among other factors. Sometime ago, my wife and I stayed at a Franciscan retreat center in Singapore for a few days. I was told by one of the Franciscan brothers that more than half of the retreatants are Protestants.

The worthy goal of contemplation is union with God, experienced obscurely and imperfectly here on this earth but with a heavenly foretaste here and there. The greatest irony is that we grow in our union with God through the darkness of faith. In the darkness, God seems so absent and far that we become absolutely helpless. In our helplessness, our souls trust in God when God seems absent.

As John the disciple put it, as we become one with God, we experience oneness with others. Thus, the call to share. . . In our process of being united with God, we discover our true selves, which allows us to love in ways that are unique to who we are.

My true personality will be fulfilled in the Mystical Christ in this one way above all, that through me, Christ and His Spirit will be able to love you and all men and God the Father in a way that would be possible in no one else.

When I met with my spiritual director a few days ago, still glowing from the closing residency, I told him I intuitively believe this next season will set the trajectory for the rest of my life. The long season of discernment and the move to Korea/Asia have come to an end. Now a new adventure begins, with vast open, blank spaces like a sunlit meadow of rolling hills before me.

I know the calling to share contemplation occupies a significant portion of my heart’s desire. Since it is a way of being, existing, and engaging with the world, it cannot be taught merely intellectually. Sharing means embodying and living out contemplation in my own life.

LOVE, OUR HOME

It is Monday morning here, back in a familiar cafe in my neighborhood in Yangpyeong, Korea. The afterglow from the Closing Residency is bright and persistent. One of the constant routines of my life over the last eighteen months has evaporated like a sweet dream, bewildering me. . . For this week’s entry, I decided to share the speech I gave on the last night of the Closing Residency. It was a great honor to represent the cohort alongside Corinne, a classmate.

I thought I would provide a bit of context for some of the imagery and language below. First, the image of the river and the ocean comes from a poem titled Fear by Khalil Gibran, which I highlighted during the theological reflection module. Then the first line of my poem below comes from a game we played during the Opening Residency in December 2024, “Who is your neighbor?” Finally, the word "Opalite" by Taylor Swift has its origin in a surprise dance number that seven of us did, which elevated joy, fun, and celebration to a climactic level. Thank you for journeying with me.

CenterQuest Asia School of Spiritual Direction Cohort 1
Grad Speech

Rivers were us, having traveled through layered forests, enchanted villages, pinnacles, and deep gorges of life. We are about to merge with the ocean, vast, fearful, mysterious, and generous. We are all meant not only to merge but to become the ocean, with all the unique journeys we coursed through intact.

CQ Asia’s commitment to an ecumenical stance provided a safe and generous space, which enabled seeing and embracing my unique journey more deeply and widely. Additionally, its commitment to creating and safeguarding a hospitable communal space allowed all to be known and loved, empowering us to extend such a sacred calling to the world. It is no small thing in today’s context to be who we are meant to be, not who we are supposed to be or even aspire to be. CQ Asia’s communal space, I believe, unleashed a love movement from courage to freedom to service.

And service we do. We exist not only for our life’s sake, but for the sake of the world. The ocean reminds us that we are already in union with God. It is “Christ in me” and “I in Christ.” What we do, then, is not our doing but Christ who lives in us. Ultimately, love is who we are, and love is what we do.

––––––––––––––

Love, Our Home

“I love all men,” shouted a nun, 

chaos erupted, a frenzy of laughter 

unbridled joy took the center stage like 

carefree children at play who know a thing or two about joy ecstasy, 

the opalite sky kind

Children know a thing or two about 

looking and listening,
looking and listening we did

alone, together

with silent pauses and solitary punctuations

We can see because we listen

We can listen because we see

We see and listen as things are, not as we are

That is a good thing, 

for that is how our Father comes to us

the world offers sophisticated seeing and listening

shining shekels, subtleties, seductions, surety

Silent, savvy, spry our Father is

patiently waiting for those who linger, look, listen

Children we were

children we are

who shout we love everything our Father created

including all humanity

chaos will erupt,
a frenzy of laughter will return

so will joy ecstasy

All along, lurking and holding everything together,

Love was the stage, our home.

BACK IN BAGUIO

It had been almost 3 years and 3 months since I stood on the hallowed ground of Mirador Jesuit Villa Retreat House in Baguio City, Philippines. As an observer for the Opening Residency of the School of Spiritual Direction, I was my wife’s husband. My 60th birthday also fell in the same week, which added a layer of significance that only became apparent later. On the last evening, at the foot of the candle-lit, laid wooden cross, with Taizé music as the background, I knelt and cried, “Yes, yes, and yes.” Minutes earlier, Ruthie, whom I had not officially met then, approached me gingerly and gave a prophetic word, “You will be writing many books. Young people will follow you. Asia is ready for you.” Initially stunned and speechless, I knew right away it was God speaking through Ruthie. My only right response would have been three yeses.

Fast forward to last night. I was standing on the same wooden floor where I knelt and cried more than 3 years ago. Little did I know at the time that I would be back on the same floor, about to graduate from the program I attended as an observer. God is a whimsical drama King.

Last night, each of us was to present a spiritual direction symbol that is meaningful to them. Mine was a mirror. As I held the mirror, I shared, “I am a mirror holder. Mirror does not distort or lie. We see ourselves in a mirror every day. We see wrinkles, some see less hair, gray hair, or unwanted hair. For me, no hair. We see our smiles and tears. Deeper still, we can also see, recognize, embrace, and even celebrate our frailties, imperfections, as well as gifts. Ultimately, we get to face our true selves. Not only do we face our true selves in confidence, but we also are invited to feast on our lives.”

It is the next day now, and we are observing grand silence for 24 hours. My mind effortlessly floats back to 2023 and 1986. 2023 Opening Residency marked the beginning of our 6-month daring voyage of discernment, starting from the Philippines and eventually traversing Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and Korea. Back in 1986, the four countries I bounced around as a zealous short termer were Singapore, the Philippines, Indonesia, and Malaysia. God is also a redeeming Maestro.

 —————

A few days before coming to the Philippines, I met another person who had read my book. This time, he seemed more urgent. As he, a former radio host, happens to be my close neighbor, we met at a café in Yangpyeong, where I often write. I first met Hoon (pseudonym) and his wife through a mutual friend. Hoon has long, curly hair down to his shoulders and is married to two elementary school girls. Impressed and moved by his vision and vigor, I gave him a copy of my book about a month ago. Hoon has been battling a rare form of cancer for more than ten years. The lymphoma is in remission, but he is at risk of losing his voice completely because the aggressive radiation treatment melted his vocal cord. The tube he has relied on for the last four years is to be removed from his vocal cord next Monday, hence the urgency. Over those four years, he was essentially a forced mute for two years, and for the other two years, he could only muster a few sentences a day. It was only recently that he was able to speak in a raspy voice. He is hoping, against all odds, to be healed enough, at least partially, to talk. But he told me he is at peace, even if he cannot speak anymore. His unforced smile convinces me that he is indeed at peace. (Join me in prayers for him.)

As I was honored to spend time with Hoon, I excused myself from a guest we were hosting and sat with him. As with Bruce, Hoon began by telling me that one sport he plays is basketball. While flashing an unbelieving smile from ear to ear, I wondered inside what God was trying to tell me, if anything. . . While making eye contact with me, with a half-unsure smile, he then slid a ten-page document across the table to my side, detailing quotations from my book, followed by his reflections and questions, all color-coded. I have read reviews, blog entries, and recommendations regarding my book, but nothing like this. At the core of the pursuit is who God is and the freedom to be who he is. He has grown weary of lifeless textbook answers and freedom-sucking religiosity. I shared my evolving view and experiences of God and my own journey, not as answers to all his questions but simply to give permission for him to pay attention to his life.

During the grand silence today, I was able to read the document he gave me. On one of his reflections, he penned his invitation from God, “I am the master of your life, Hoon. But you have the freedom. How would you like to live your life? Live as fully as you can, as your heart desires.” What a gem of discovery. As a fellow pilgrim, it is easy to say “Amen” to that invitation. And especially this week, as I anticipate what is yet to unfold on the same ground where my current Asia trajectory was confirmed.

FROM A PILGRIM TO A PILGRIM

I have been eager and curious for this meeting, so I circled it on my calendar. The meeting was arranged for me and someone who read my book by a friend who is a Suji Enneagram workshop instructor. That someone is a man named Bruce (pseudonym), in his mid 40s, married, with no children yet. Our friend was leading a workshop, which Bruce attended without any prior relationship between them. Bruce has been on a quest to discover his true self. During the workshop, out of the blue, they started a conversation that led to Bruce sharing the impact my book had on him, unaware of my friend’s relationship with me. My friend then revealed that she knew me well. And that was it at the time.

After the workshop, my friend shared the story of meeting Bruce and asked if I would be interested in meeting him. Encouraged and intrigued by the story, I replied, “Sure, I’d be delighted.” Bruce did not know that my friend was arranging a meeting between him and me until we all agreed to meet.

Four of us, including my wife, met at a café in Seoul as we had another appointment later in the city. By the time we all got up from our seats, three hours had passed. A month or two ago, a random person recommended my book to Bruce in a book club, and Bruce packed it for a walking trip to Jeju Island. Bruce and his wife had completed Jeju Olle Trail, an impressive 437 km (271 miles) circumnavigating trail that hugs the coastline of Jeju Island in bits and pieces over the years. But this time, Bruce was alone for a four-day trip, accompanied by my book.

Inspired and envisioned by the history-rich Camino San Tiago trails, the founder, Myung Suk Suh, a native of Jeju and a former journalist, “brought” the Jeju Olle Trail to Korea, a country that was obsessed with speed (Ppali Ppali). At the same time, for a country that already knew the gift of “slowness” in its culinary mastery, the slow and contemplative spirit behind the Jeju Olle Trail attracted many trail lovers who wanted to experience Jeju more intimately, including Bruce. Honoring the spirit of slow, Bruce relayed to me that he is never in a hurry when he (and his wife) walks the trail. He would walk as much or as little as his heart desires, slip into a café or local eatery off the beaten path, and take a cab ride back to his lodging. And pick up the trail where he left off the next day, and repeat.

Impacted by Parker Palmer’s writings, Bruce had been active in facilitating a couple of rounds of “Circle of Trust” life groups modeled after Palmer’s teachings on holding safe and trusting space where no “fixing, saving, advising, or correcting” is offered. In a world and church where safe and non-judgmental spaces are hard to find, it is a welcome space for true self seekers, according to Bruce. I nodded, smiled in agreement, and encouraged him to continue.

Then our conversation took an unexpected turn when he asked me about my love for basketball, as one essay in the book highlights one of my poignant basketball experiences. After finding his love for basketball, our conversation suddenly became more energetic and lively, as if to balance the contemplative and thoughtful space. After our meeting, Bruce provided me with a few basketball clubs that meet and play on a regular basis near me. That made me very happy and alive.

Our conversation took another turn as I was asked about my spiritual direction ministry. Naturally, I shared my journey about how I got to where I am today: How it is my way of becoming who I am, who I am meant to be, and for the sake of the world. The discovery of the true self is never a detached and isolated interior journey, but always bears witness and contributes to the external hungers of the world. That my “becoming” is a continuous integration or reintegration of my being and doing.

We ended our meeting with my words of how thankful I was for him for picking up my book (for which I could never take for granted), reading it carefully and slowly, and actually getting something out of it. He re-relayed his gratitude to me for writing. This meeting served as priming the pump, as I have been readying myself for a crack at my second book this year.

SPRING SMILE

The song, Here Comes the Sun, has been on a loop in my head lately. With its melodious acoustic guitar twang and treble-heavy drums, it’s a cheerful spring tune. And spring has finally arrived. After suffering through the cold winter, the first in many years, even as an amateur winter-ian, I can now see how welcoming spring is. A long sick bed is kind of what winter felt like for me, all while trying not to sound too dramatic. If our house plants are any clue, after surviving the gloom and chill, you can almost hear the collective sighs of relief from our house friends as they grow new leaves.

Our house didn’t get much sun during winter since we face north, plus the sun flies low. It was almost as if the sun too was avoiding the frigid. A few weeks ago, I noticed we started getting morning sun rays coming through the south-facing windows. Like a cat basking in sunlit warmth, it’s enough to lift my mood and boost my spirits. My breakfast moved from my usual spot at the kitchen dining nook to the dining room, where we get the most sun in the mornings. The arrival of the sun makes me merry—I realize that all over again.

My town is coming alive, too. More people are out and about. Farmers, who know a thing or two about changing seasons, started tilling the ground at their own secret pace, and, as if taking a cue from them, our neighbors began the yardwork, one by one. The land that was laid bare and seemed wasted is turned over, showing its healthy dark brown color, ready for some action. Even my wife and I, who are not green thumbs, talked about possibly planting some spring flowers in our flower patch garden, joining the spring movement. In the daily café scene, people seem to be more jovial and wear less black.

Conversely, the colors began to sprout, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. It is a wondrous sight to behold. In our town, we started to see white and pink plum blossoms by the Bukhan River, bright yellow forsythia dotting the roadside, and cornelian cherry trees in foggy yellow. Along the rivers, willows are freshly draping themselves in fluorescent green to cover their winter bareness. In about a week or so, there will be an explosion of vibrant colors led by the main attraction of early spring, the cherry blossoms.

We were first lured to Yangpyeong by the majesty and fleeting beauty and the “flower haze” of the cherry blossom trees back in 2021. The flower haze creates a vision of misty white clouds from afar, floating in the air. Then there is the snowstorm of cherry blossoms, signaling the end of its evanescent early spring. I remember driving in such a snowstorm, hypnotized by its ephemeral beauty. The word saku in Japanese means bloom (Sakura aptly refers to cherry blossom trees in Japanese) and is related to the word smile.

“Colors are the smiles of nature,” wrote a poet, Leigh Hunt. During the festive week, we were invited by our friend Chef Lee to picnic at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Gwacheon. Delighted, we cleared our schedule and enjoyed the company and the exceptional museum, as it was our first visit. We were wowed as we discovered a few Korean artists who showed the kind of flair and vision we resonate with. Oh Chiho was one of my discoveries. He wrote, “Color is light itself, and light is the source of life. Therefore, color is nothing short of a joy to living things.” In Korean, “색채는 곧 빛이요, 빛은 곧 생명의 원천이다. 그렇다면 색채는 생명체에 대하여 '기쁨'이 아닐 수 없다.” What remarkable discovery and insight!

The image of nature smiling and signaling that spring is finally here warms my heart, not to mention my body. After the hard laborious work of the summer, farmers hope that the early spring smile will lead to big, hearty laughter as they harvest in the fall.

In our world today, it is hard to find reasons to smile.
However, nature does not budge from smiling and is trying to remind us of all that
Spring is finally here.

INTEGRATION

The idea of integration, specifically in the context of spiritual formation, captured my imagination in the last week or so. As I was trying to find words to describe, my reflection is fluid and still being formed. I decided to share my forming thoughts in this post, inviting you to reflect along with me. Drop me a note or two if you want to share your own thoughts.

The life of love is the life of integration. Conversely, the life of integration is the life of love. The life of love means that integration becomes the lens through which we see all and everything in life. As the opposite of fragmentation, integration is concerned with wholeness, as the Latin root word suggests, and is not pitting parts against others. Biases and prejudices are known barriers to integration. More precisely, it is the unknown and unrecognized biases and prejudices that remain detrimental to an integrative outlook in life, as it is impossible not to have biases and prejudices.

Integration is broad and accepting, recognizing everything without waste, even our sins, failures, and imperfections. Perhaps it is better to say that it is because of imperfections that we develop an integrative perspective. Therefore, integration does not mean perfection. Instead, it acknowledges shortcomings, failures, and sins as parts of the whole, while still maintaining the ability to see the entire picture. We begin to realize that everything is connected and interdependent. None of us is entirely good or entirely bad; we are both. A non-dualistic approach leads to greater awareness that God is present in everything and everywhere. In contrast, the world offers a divided, narrow, and controlled view that tends to fragment and shrink things.

Integration is not to be confused with convergence. In short, convergence occurs when our being merges with our doing in the context of needy external realities, creating a dynamic synergy between who we are and what we do. Experiencing convergence is a rare feat in life as it carves out a specific calling and purpose in the world. Convergence is the “coming together” of our internal and external realities, resulting in our unique, fruitful contribution.

Integration allows us to step outside of ourselves since we are a part of the bigger reality and see the bigger picture. In other words, we are far more concerned with the whole, and our integrative outlook may lead to action or perhaps non-action. Our output or productivity no longer defines us. Integration radically bears and connects all as one and whole.

It is not hard to accept that integration involves my whole being, intrapersonal, my unique history of family, cultures, and my decisions and choices. Integration also embraces interpersonal elements in our lives, including family, friends, the many communities we belong to, and even one-off, serendipitous chance encounters. Additionally, there are “interpersonal” dimensions of past mystics and saints with whom we have been conversing and learning from. Integration assumes that we see ourselves with compassion for our sinnerhood and humility for our sainthood. None of us is an island. And yet we all are distinct and unique. Then there is the God element, God’s pursuit of us, just as we are. God is the willing, constant invader of love, wooing us and leading us to love God and love the creation. Our God is the very definition of the perfect Integer.

God has been tirelessly showing each and every one of us that the goal of the integrative perspective is love. God as Love invites us to love God and love everything God created, as best as we can, including ourselves, others, and otherness. This wholistic perspective is both revelatory and revolutionary. And that is how God and God’s Kingdom come to us, perpetually.

Apostle Paul’s commanding words of “love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” speak of God as Love. God “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” As God’s image bearers, the word “all” is the very focus and goal of integration.

BROTHERS OVERNIGHTER

After a comprehensive physical exam in Korea, with a fairly clean bill of health and feeling grateful, I invited the FAN (Fully Alive Network) brothers for a weekend getaway. With the thawing weather, I was eager to get out, explore, and indulge my appetite as a reward. The School of Spiritual Direction is now essentially wrapped up, with all coursework completed. I also knew my wife would be a happy camper to have the house entirely to herself without my large presence. Five of the six brothers decided to join the trip. I took on the role of driver and asked others to help organize it. We bought a six-seater SUV specifically for occasions like this. I knew that our trip would be far from being bougie. What I desired simply was nature, good food, and brotherhood.

Buoyed by many reasons to celebrate, we chose Icheon as our destination. It’s less than an hour’s drive from our house, but I had never been south, as we had explored some parts of the north and east from Yangpyeong. (Seoul is west of us.) It turned out that we discovered a goldmine of eateries, bakeries, and stunning nature and forest gardens. Leading up to our trip, my wife and I have been watching the show called Bake Your Dream on Netflix. Our nightly torture of watching others consume all kinds of bread and pastries was about to be lifted big time. Soon, I would be mimicking oohs and aahs.

As Icheon is known for premium rice fit for Joseon dynasty royalty, its stone pot rice is nationally renowned, as many of their breads and pastries are made with rice with no flour added. Icheon is also known as the nation’s center for traditional ceramics and pottery making. We thought about signing up for a pottery class. However, we could not overcome the optics of five middle-aged men doing pottery. But after picking up a small, unadorned, charming plate for my wife, we ended up going to natural hot springs, as Icheon’s hot springs maintain their fair share of attractions. In short, it was my kind of town. As we went from warm to hot to cold, back to hot water baths, in a room filled with naked men, I was reminded of how I came to this world and how I will go. And that I must travel light, unencumbered.

I know a thing or two about joy, and we all do as we have deposits made in our joy bank. In recent years, thanks to Suji Enneagram, I discovered that one of my main heavenly invitations in life is to spread joy wherever I am. Joy cannot be manufactured and is not a solitary emotion. Joy is a relational and shared emotion. Thus, when it is shared, joy explodes exponentially and provides healing and restoration where the shalom is needed the most. The outworkings of joy are a culmination of the five senses, effortlessly working, combined with brotherly interactions of small, kind, warm gestures, smiles, laughter, and pain. In the life of love, joy is a heavenly gift of longing and belonging in the earthly. Joy cannot be bought; its priceless beauty comes only from relationships forged in the lives of love.

With the joy-filled and cheating weekend behind me, I will resume hitting the gym today with my wife while still savoring the shared gift.

GRAND EXAMEN

I just finished my final Zoom session at the CenterQuest’s School of Spiritual Direction. What's left is the closing residency in mid-April in Baguio City, Philippines. As part of my last integration essay, I was asked to reflect on the Grand Examen. I thought it would be meaningful to share this reflection with you since I’ve been an open book through my blog entries. 

A LOOKING BACK
Identify 3-4 major highlights, turning points, and landmarks in your journey.

The biggest highlight, the most significant turning point and landmark in the last several months, has been the relocation to Korea last fall from the US. This has been six plus years in the making, after much discernment. There has been an embracing of the new and a letting go of the old. These six years include hitting the wall, rediscovering God as nothing but love, and my true self. I have experienced death, deconstruction, and newfound desire during that span. Certainties and uncertainties coexisted. Fear and excitement, pain and joy were all part of my regular vocabulary. Mystery and miracles were held together.

The other major highlight has been the gift of journeying with my wife together. We have relied on each other more than any other time in the past. Seeking and discerning God happened constantly in union.

We cherish the gift of friendship throughout the US and Asia. God has gifted us and surrounded us with many communities and friends who are journeying similar paths. We are also humbly aware that our recent discerning journey has inspired and encouraged many.

A LOOKING THROUGH
Surface certain common threads that you can pinpoint out of the highlights you identified.

I no longer approach the meaning of life by “doing work or ministry,” but by living my life to the fullest. I desire to extend such perspective and conviction in encouraging and companioning others to be and do the same. My identity is no longer wrapped in what I do or what others think of me (which is a big one for Asians). I view life more generously and expansively. A non-dualistic posture is another way of expressing generosity, compassion, and mystery.

Relationships with God, myself, and others (as well as creation), viewed as one and becoming one, remain paramount. The evolution and transformation of these relationships, as one, are summarized as God as Love claiming and drawing everything to Love. And I want to be part of the divine love undertaking.

A LOOKING FORWARD
Based upon your observed patterns or trends, do a general projection of what you are envisioning for the future.

For years, the image of the river spoke to me. John O’Donohue’s Fluent (below) and “trust the river” and “be the river” became part of my inner mantra.

I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding

Looking ahead, I sense the invitation from God is to become the ocean. Khalil Gibran’s Fear (see Oct. 14 entry) spoke to me as we transitioned from the US to Korea last fall.

The image of the ocean is vast, generous, daring, fearful, and mysterious. It can be calming and raging, obeying the natural law of creation. The ocean embraces and engulfs all. At the end of the horizon, ocean meets the sky, blurring as one, reminding us that everything is one and will become one. Naturally, my mind goes to equate the ocean with the love of God. Be and do love so others and otherness (as if I could do this) can be and do love themselves, joining and expanding the divine transformational work.

A LOOKING AROUND
Determine accountability and support structures necessary to sustain your spiritual vision for the future

As I mentioned above, we remain grateful to have numerous friends and communities, including our children and spouses, who have been journeying with us. Our souls found courage through companionship and friendship. The beautiful irony is that this journey is deeply solitary and at the same time, deeply communal. The CQ Asia community has been especially life-giving and nourishing to me. It is no small thing to surround myself with like-minded people who are on a similar path, sharing similar values and DNAs. I suspect that my life will somehow be intertwined with CQ Asia moving forward.

SMALL MIRACLES | PART TWO

“While I am looking for something large, bright, and unmistakably holy, God slips something small, dark, and apparently negligible in my pocket. How many other treasures have I walked right by because they did not meet my standards? I'm learning to let go of my bright ideas about God so that my eyes are open to the God who is.”
Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark

I will stay on the topic of “small miracles” for this week, as it continues to draw energy for me. Last week, I mentioned my obsession with “fast.” What was implied was also an illusion of chasing after “large, bright, and unmistakably holy.” The small miracles (I would not have used the word "miracle" in the same sentence with "small") would have been too frivolous and not worth my time and focus.

I texted my son, Michael, to wish him a happy 32nd birthday, his first as a father, with many more to come. His reply made me pause with tears in my eyes: “I think about you every time I watch the Lakers with Jaelen.” That was and is a small miracle. We had Michael when I was 31. Even as a toddler, he was always more interested in balls than any other toys. As he grew up, I wished we could watch and follow the Lakers together. That wish came true as Michael became a passionate Lakers fan, thanks to Kobe. Over the years, we celebrated all major victories and championships together and endured the heartbreaks.

Just this morning, while still in bed, I was texting with my oldest, Elizabeth. She asked whether we would subscribe to the MLB TV package so we could watch the reigning champs, the Dodgers. Her last message was, “Miss watching games with you!” That brought a tender smile to my face and reminded me of a time when our family bonded over the Dodgers. When our children, along with my son-in-law and daughter-in-law, visited us in Malaysia in the fall of 2024, our mornings often started with watching the Dodgers in the postseason. We shouted, groaned, and high-fived our way to the championship over the Yankees.

Then there is the “big” miracle about to happen. Our third, Hannah, is pregnant with a baby girl. The baby is due in the middle of July. Hannah and the baby are healthy. My boy just had a baby boy, and now my girl is about to have a baby girl. Words fail to capture all my emotions and thoughts. We have circled the date and just booked our tickets, as we would not want to miss the arrival of our second grandchild.

Our youngest, Brad, has just moved out on his own for the first time since his college days. He was merely six months old when we moved into our current house in Pasadena. Understandably, it was a big deal for him and a small miracle. Using my words, he is thriving. “I feel like I'm finding a good rhythm, and I think I'm taking care of myself decently well. It's been fun figuring it out.“

As I mull over small miracles in the context of my family and adult children, particularly, as our family is unapologetically a foodie family, I think of preparing and sharing meals led by the renowned in-house chef, Brad. I cannot fail to mention playing Mario Kart on Nintendo Switch 2. For a fleeting while, I enjoyed blowing them by when they were little; now I am being left in the dust by everyone. I miss the midnight In-N-Out Burger run on the weekends. My miracle-seeking heart also traces back to a time when we did the “ritual of leaving,” right before our children left for the US. In recounting some of the small miracles surrounding my memory of our children, there is an unmistakable, tender aching in my heart, both because I miss them and I want more. I can sense and concur, “My eyes are open to the God who is.”

SMALL MIRACLES

You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.

John O’Donohue

My life was fast. My ministry was fast. I believed that being apostolic and slow did not go well together. I knew I had and wanted to “make stuff” happen, fast. In this current module, I am reminded of my own past journey. As I have time, a friendly space, and awareness on my side, I can look back with candor without losing self-compassion. I was true to what I knew at the time, which means authentic. At the same time, O’Donohue’s poem above probably would have all been gibberish in my fast life.

The invitations O’Donohue outlines above— “take refuge, open up, become inclined to watch, imitate the habit, take time, draw alongside the silence”—resonate deeply within me. They are action, non-action verbs. O’Donohue’s experience and mine, while both unique and different, create a sense of universality of truth, the truth of interconnectedness with everything, including one’s true self. Taking time in solitude, in this sense, is not to shift focus away from engaging the needs of the world, but to add depth and awareness of seeing what is being seen (as opposed to seeing what we want to see), to contribute to the deepest needs of the world.

I experienced many miracles of faith and provisions. However, since my mind is almost always preoccupied with the future, I have not “sucked out all the marrow” of all God’s miracles. I know I have to slow down to remain in the present to count all the blessings. Otherwise, I will always chase after more and bigger, even in terms of God’s prevalent and plentiful miracles. Small miracles, from a smile from a friend to witnessing the rain, the twilight, or the stone, remain elusive when they are, in fact, big miracles God is generously sending our way. God is so big that God comes to us in small, intimate ways.

One of my favorite things to do while in Malaysia was to watch and linger in the slow and free way of the rain. When talking about slow and free, witnessing the first snowflake in Korea last December was a mesmerizing spectacle. I remember the sparkling twilight on the vast horizon over the California and the Bali coast, reminiscing about the colors of the day.

The silent stone exists not for our sake. If it does exist for our sake, it would be for our calmness, as O’Donohue put it. The entire creation simply exists, just as it is, whether we recognize it or not. They are not bothered by our inattentiveness or even humanity’s willful harm and destruction. They are that calm and grounded. I do not and cannot fully know and appreciate where all this musing is headed. What I do know is that I have experientially discerned that slowness, watching, lingering, and calming have helped me in claiming myself and my relationship with God, for the sake of the world.