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.

A ROAD TRIP

“If you want to identify me, ask me not where I live, or what I like to eat, or how I comb my hair, but ask me what I am living for, in detail, ask me what I think is keeping me from living fully for the thing I want to live for.” Thomas Merton

Living or traveling in Asia has its unique blessings and challenges. Of course, Asia is not one conglomerate, uniform reality. It is as diverse as the world. There is no other continent like Asia. Even then, the lure of materialism and consumerism has taken hold and been amplified in the underlying context of honor and shame cultures. “I am what I have” or “I am what I do” with an Asian stereotypical dominant worldview of “I am what others think of me” has clouded the pursuit of one’s true identity. The “I am” without the attachment of “what” is a rarity, particularly in Asia. At its worst, the “I am” does not even exist. So, the question and pursuit of “I am” is viewed as an unnecessary, unrealistic luxury.

A few days ago, we joined a couple that we have known for quite some time on a road trip from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, to Koh Samui Island, Thailand. They are a younger couple whom we have mentored over the years, and now we are simply friends and sojourners in life. With the lunar new year landing this week, they invited us to join the road trip. I was ready for an adventure, but I was more eager to spend time with the couple.

Thailand is a proud country, “the land of the free,” meaning it was the only Southeast Asian nation never colonized by the Western powers. Whether it was due to Thailand serving as a buffer zone between the British and French, the clever diplomacy employed by Thai leaders to survive, or a combination of both, it still maintains the title 'the land of the free.' This is reflected in their confident, easygoing smiles, with aplomb toward life. When crossing the border, even though the landscape, climate, and roads are similar, the atmosphere of Thailand feels different.

We spent a night in Hat Yai and met with another couple who have been serving as missionaries in southern Thailand for more than two decades. Isolation and loneliness have been ongoing challenges for them, but they valiantly established themselves well within the region. As we shared dinner, our conversations naturally revolved around the stages of life, how we are supposed to live authentically, above and beyond our duties and responsibilities.

Coincidentally, I am now going through a module called “Critical Life-Stages of our Faith Journey.” There are many models and layers of faith and life stages. However, it broadly falls into two major categories: the first half of life and the second half. The first half of life is usually defined and shaped by external authorities, rules, and regulations. They function as dualistic rails for people to run on, and conformity is the name of the game. The self within the first half of life is often the projected self. We “project” ourselves to fit in and comply, so our true self remains hidden. Learning, belonging, and certainty are determining words.

In the second half of life, the authority shifts from external to internal. While still gaining wisdom from external sources, they are no longer ultimate. Faith becomes more subjective, experiential, and personal. There is also a shift from dualistic to non-dualistic postures of life, where mysteries, paradoxes, wonder, and contradictions can coexist. This stage requires unlearning and relearning. The dominant self in the second half of life is the focus on the “given” self, the self that is created by God from the beginning. We begin to take ourselves seriously because God does. Belonging takes a different shape, not for the sake of accountability or conformity, but for traveling together in the same direction.

What falls in between the first half and the second is hitting a big wall, or a series of big walls. The ticket to the second half of life lies in the ability and willingness to let go of what we once held dearly. After hitting a wall, our faith proceeds from perceived and prescribed faith to searching and owned faith.

Back to the Merton quote above, nobody is going to ask me how I comb my hair. ☺ I suppose that is one less thing for people to wonder about. . . I do get passionate about what I like to eat, although my standards are not high. I am easily impressed, but my short attention span quickly shifts to what my next meal or food will be. While I live for the “next meals,” what I am truly living for is pursuing wholeheartedly what I love, as I realize more and more that “I am what I love.” I have to trust that my given self knows what and how to love since I was created by Love and for love.

Bernard of Clairvaux’s four stages of ascending love provide a helpful way to reflect. In these, the last stage is “love of self for God’s sake,” with earlier stages of “love of self for self’s sake,” progressing to “love of God for self’s sake,” and ultimately to “love of God for God’s sake.” While on this earth, I oscillate between stages one to three and three to one. What I “love” must pass the test of “for whose sake.” While I seriously doubt I can stay in the ultimate stage, I do aspire to it, nonetheless. The last stage embodies the union of myself with God. It is a heavenly union that I believe can be experienced on earth, which is God’s Kingdom coming to earth. “I” no longer exist to the extent that loving myself equals loving God and loving my neighbors.

A REST STOP

Malaysia was like a resting stop on our long pilgrimage journey. It has been about ten months since we were here last. The last time we were here, we did not know what our future held. We knew God was calling us to settle in Korea, but with no details in place, we discerned that Malaysia was the “rest stop” we needed to go through.

Being here this time, I am freshly reminded of the feelings of uncertainties and unknowns, layered with hope and anticipation for what was to come in 2024. Considering how little we knew about the future, I would still say that Malaysia was not a land of confusion, but a land of kindness. I caught myself saying to a group a few days ago, “Malaysia was kind to us.”  We experienced the unrehearsed word kindness as God’s patient unfolding plan. What could easily have been mounting frustration and hopelessness turned into affirmation and confirmation of God’s faithful guidance, step by step. Being here in the same neighborhood we stayed before, we are reliving the emotions and prayers we prayed, closely followed by deep gratitude to God.

Speaking of prayers, I lost count in praying “a prayer of unknowing” by Thomas Merton.

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for You are ever with me, and You will never leave me to face my perils alone. Amen.

I remember the emotions and increasing clarity of my desire. The line “But I believe that the desire to please You does in fact please You” is packed with full of hope, which emboldened my faith. Fear was a dominant emotion, not because of fear of getting lost, but because of the fear of irrelevance. I could rationalize that fear did not exist, but I learned to hold it tenderly. That was the peril I faced. I still struggle with that fear; at the same time, my desire to please God and to do my part in ushering God’s kingdom to this earth is real and palpable. In this sense, fear is a gift that keeps forcing me to turn to God’s intimacy.

Malaysia's kindness also showed in my growing love for poetry writing. The kind and supportive space gave me the courage to finally try my hand at poetry. I remember exactly where and when I wrote my first poem. In fact, I know, down to the intricacy of feelings, when and where I wrote each of my poems. A member of the group I mentioned earlier told me that I used to talk passionately about war or battle imagery, often referencing movies like Braveheart, The Band of Brothers, and The Lord of the Rings. And how they are replaced with poetry. I laughed out loud in agreement. I still like epic war movies. I also love poetry. The kind and the liminal space that Malaysia was, I am glad to be at this rest stop, once again, reminding me of the journey I have been on.

A friend of mine wrote to me that last week’s blog was also about “letting the food come to me,” referring to a picture of Bak Kuh Teh and other food adventures. Well, here is another version of letting the food come to me: Hainanese Chicken Rice

“LETTING THE GAME COME TO ME”

It is not uncommon that I begin writing not knowing where my reflection will go. I simply start with what has energy for me. I follow my conscious and unconscious streams of thoughts and often end up discovering what is in store for me. Today’s entry is a good example.

I am still in the middle of celebrating my 63rd birthday, though my actual birthday has come and gone. I was told that this year’s birthday is a once-in-a-lifetime birthday known as a platinum or diamond birthday, where the last two digits of my birth year, 1963, match my age, 63. So I decided to milk my birthday celebration beyond my actual birthday with the help of dear friends in Singapore and Malaysia. For one, it has been a non-stop feast, from Hong Kong dim sum to Peking duck, from Japanese ramen to Hokkien Prawn Mee noodle soup, to Bak Kuh Teh, and home-cooked Korean meals, over the last week. Much more than the delectable foods, I am pinching myself with the grateful realization of precious, like-minded, and similar-path-journeying friends, both in Southeast Asia and far away. I count my blessings often to know that I have such fine fellow peregrini. As I age, I consider my adult children and their spouses more as friends or fellow pilgrims than children.

Somehow, without planning, I’ve done things this week that I haven’t done in a long time. Maybe this pattern of trying new things will define this year? I wondered. Our Singaporean friend and host invited me to join his weekly yoga class. He warned me that most participants would be middle-aged Chinese Singaporean women, and he and one other man would be the only token men there. He tried to relax me and encourage me at the same time by saying it’s a “gentle” class, meaning there’s no crazy twisting or ungodly contorting. Thanks to the pandemic, I did do yoga for about a year with my wife, and I remember being quickly humbled as my stiff body experienced near torture. The profusion of sweat was my proof. The woman instructor was so quick-witted and friendly that I felt at home right away. Upon entering the class, my friend introduced my wife and me as his friends. She took the cue and asked me where we were from. I said, “Korea.” After a brief moment with a disapproving look, she refused to believe that we were from Korea and asked, “Where are you really from?” I said with a feeling of being caught, “We’re from America, living in Korea.” She said I looked like an American Chinese. I laughed out loud and wondered inside how she would come to deduce.

The same friend took me on a bike ride along the river on another day. Since I had not ridden a bike for a very long time, I was ready to feel the air on my face, which was a luxury of skipping Korea’s harsh winter. Though I immensely enjoyed the pleasant cool morning with a breeze on my face, signifying freedom, my untrained buttocks screamed at me. A long time ago, I did consider cycling as my next sport after basketball. But over time, I realized that I could not trust myself and that I would be too daring and not have enough respect for speed and safety. As much as I enjoy the wind on my face, I still don’t think it is a wise choice as my next sport.

On my actual birthday in Malaysia, my friends took me to the driving range. This outing was not as new as the others, as I joined my children at the driving range and at Top Golf in the US. While I enjoyed hitting the ball when I did make contact, I knew what my problems were: my left arm needed to maintain a straight line when swinging, and I was exerting too much of my own power rather than letting the club do the work. My blistered right thumb was proof that I was holding the club too tightly.

The day after, my friends in Kuala Lumpur invited me to their weekly badminton. Badminton is very popular in Southeast Asia, as indoor badminton courts are everywhere. Other than my stint at playground badminton during elementary school days in Korea, I could not remember the last time I played with intention. Again, I was properly humbled as my body was so tight and rigid that I did not have the kind of agility that is needed to play badminton well. I blamed myself for not stretching enough, and that it was early in the morning. After one hour of chasing the shuttlecock, my friend casually remarked that I was exerting too much power.

There was an unexpected theme of letting go, emptying, and “letting the game come to you.” As with yoga, driving ranges, badminton, and even cycling, loosening up and being in the flow is a counterintuitive art to learn and relearn. This realization naturally prompted me to reflect on areas of my life where I hold too tightly, try to control obsessively, or exert too much “power” and effort. What would it look like to let the game come to me? As soon as I ask myself this, I remember the mantra prayer, “Trust the river I am on,” which I have relied on for many years. This wasn’t a new lesson but a prudent one I needed to be reminded of.

SPIRITUAL DIRECTION

As we walk the streets of Singapore, my body is in shock, having shifted from the tundra to the tropics. My eyes are feasting on perennial lush greens, exotic flowers, and plants everywhere. Most notably, my toes are grateful for their freedom. I told someone just yesterday that my first time in Singapore was back in 1986. That person promptly said to me that it was well before he was born. Since 1986, I have probably visited Singapore more than thirty times, easily. So, Singapore and I go back a long way, and I feel a certain bond with Singapore as if it were a close friend. Building on this sense of coming full circle, my “mission” has shifted to helping and companioning people to discover the God-given gifts that they are, so they can live out their fullest potential as intended by God’s original and enduring design.

A great Jesuit philosopher and teacher, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, once said, “My self is given to me far more than it is formed by me.” He also wrote elsewhere, “Above all, trust in the slow work of God.” Discovering the given self requires hard and intentional work on our part and the slow work of God. Peeling away the layers of false or carefully “formed” self is the hard and courageous work and is met by the gracious, patient, and slow work of God.

My spiritual direction training is coming to an end, and I see the light at the end of the tunnel. With one more module to go, I see the finish line. From Malaysia to the US and to Korea, the school was one constant discipline over the span of about fifteen months. The finish line will be the Closing Residency in Baguio City, Philippines, during the second week of April. As I look ahead, I want to offer spiritual direction to people who may desire the hard and slow work. With a fair amount of confidence in the spiritual direction tradition to which I belong, I am shamelessly promoting my individual spiritual direction ministry in my blog space.

The word “direction” is a misnomer because there is no directing in spiritual direction. It is more of companionship, as we simply offer a safe, hospitable space for people to discover their own answers to their questions and ultimately their own God-given selves. We do this by contemplative listening and evocative responding. If there is directing, it is a more gentle, tentative invitation as opposed to direct advising. Spiritual direction is neither about problem-solving nor acquiring skills but discerning the ever-present Presence of Christ in daily life.

If you know someone who might benefit from such a space, please let me know. I understand that spiritual direction isn't for everyone. I have no preference regarding the potential directees’ religious or spiritual backgrounds. I might be more sympathetic to those with a missions background, but since it’s not about me or my background, it really does not matter. I am eager to place myself beyond my familiar religious tradition and learn. Because dual relationships are discouraged, having a spiritual director who only plays one role in the directee’s life is ideal. Once my training is complete, I plan to take on a few more directees starting in May or June.

The posture and philosophy behind spiritual direction are an essential part of how my wife and I want to live our life forward. I am grateful and excited to be at a place in my journey where I can offer this space to those who desire.

IMAGINATION AND DESIRE

We cannot desire what we cannot imagine. Imagination does not require comprehensive knowledge; a brief, luring understanding will suffice. In fact, imagination thrives when knowledge reaches its limit. Conversely, mastery of knowledge does little to invoke imagination; instead, a certain hunger and curiosity to see and experience more foster fuller imagination. Eugene Peterson translates Matthew 5:6 this way, “You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God.”

A hunger or a good appetite for God creates humility of unknowing, a poverty of heart and mind. This humility becomes a fertile ground for imagination to thrive. Life continuously cultivates hunger and an “appetite” for God, which sparks a more intense and healthy imagination of intimacy and union with God. The grace of God allows us to taste and see that God is good and to grow that hunger. Recognizing this hunger and actually tasting God’s goodness are one and the same. This is also the idea behind seeing God dimly. Because we see God dimly, we desire more of God. Furthermore, the ability to see God dimly is itself a grace at work.

The moments in life that grant us access to God, through seeing (dimly) and tasting, are, more often than not, not over-the-top or earth-shattering events, but rather through soft, shy whispers of life. During the previous week, I gifted my books to two different individuals. The introductions and connections happened through mutual friends and acquaintances. Both were grateful to receive my book, which humbled me. One is a young cancer patient, who is also a father of 9-year-old and 7-year-old daughters and a husband. As an aspiring actor and radio host, he has been fighting cancer for close to ten years. His long curly hair, down to his shoulder, looks natural and fitting. His vocal cord was significantly damaged due to radiation treatments, and he lost his voice for about three years. Now, there is a slight hope of regaining his voice. He whispers as he talks and is one of the most grateful people I have ever met.

I found out he is our neighbor, almost within walking distance, in fair weather. What grounded him during those years of forced silence was building his own house with his two able hands, step by step and day by day. He imagined a perfect home for his family, and the imagination fed his desire, you might say. He proudly showed a picture of his beautiful home. Every time I pass by his house, I offer a quick prayer. I have joined others in praying for him and his family that God would intervene. We will know in two months whether his vocal cord can be healed or not . .

A close family member of his has been telling him, like the modern-day Job’s friends, that God would heal him if he went to seminary and did God’s work, as his wife joined us a bit later and chimed in. Their togetherness warmed my heart because I could sense that they were one in the Spirit and learning how to live their life forward. Still, such a comment breaks my heart for him and makes me angry to no end. The anger and frustration also carry a layer of compassion, as I know I could have been one of those zealous family members in the past. Over the years, one of my revelations about God has been the shift from viewing God as a small-minded God demanding our absolute obedience to seeing Him as a generous, big-hearted, compassionate God who loves nothing more and nothing less than our love — even if it is incomplete and conditional — and returning that love to God.

Thankfully, he refuses to be imprisoned by such talk of a sure God. I imagine my God who loves to “set the burdened and battered free” and who loves each of us to discover how God created us to be. I desire to experience more of this kind of God and share far and wide how wonderful our God is.

SILENCE

My wife is not particularly a chatty person or a busybody. In the silent mornings she adores, she thoughtfully structures her day, moving through it with intention and purpose. Being in a large house, isolated up on a hill with no human beings nearby, and with my wife the way she is and functions, I, too, experience ample silence throughout the day. After breakfast on our own, which has been the pattern for many years, I clear out of the house in seeking a more “extroverted” silence by going to a neighborhood café. Occasionally, my wife joins me on a café outing, as is the case today.

Since it is too cold for outdoor exercises for my Southern California-acclimated body, we opt for a gym in the late afternoon, three or four times a week. We are part of an online group that does a weekly health challenge here in Korea. Fourteen of us chose an exercise regimen that we set for a period of three months. If we miss the weekly goal we set, we pay a small penalty, which goes to a Christmas gathering fund. Last year, though, we only collected a little over 20,000 won (equivalent of $15). That showed how well we met our goals. Exercising in a gym is another kind of extroverted silence. I draw energy by being in a surrounding like this. I find it helpful that one of the signs the gym has is no phone engagement while sitting down on the exercise equipment. Being in touch with my body helps me feel more present and alive.

Afterwards, we would often swing by Hanaro Market and buy a few items for dinner or the next morning’s breakfast. I find that it is, oddly but not surprisingly, grounding to go to a market every day. My wife began to make her own yogurt after purchasing a home yogurt maker. As is the case with homemade yogurt, we are happy that Korea is known for a wide selection of slow foods. Silence and slow pair up well. After a few people gave us some prized Kimchi, which stands at the pinnacle of slow food, one section of our refrigerator is stocked full of Kimchi. I feel rich and happy. We often make dinner, with my specialty being soups and stews, and do the dishes together, followed by watching singing programs or dramas on Netflix in the evenings.

Routines keep us grounded and anchored. Now that we have Korean phone numbers and a bank account, which took dizzying, complicated effort, we are happy to stick with the mundane routines of the day. I told some friends in Korea that I could create an entire YouTube episode based on my experience. I discovered that, for long-term residents, even in an advanced and sophisticated country like Korea, one cannot function well without Korean phone numbers. Even I, as an ultra-spontaneous person, know that routines are necessary and helpful, like building blocks of life.

There is power and wisdom in silence and from silence. Silence creates and expands the capacity to listen, see, and notice things as they are, not as I am. While it is natural to see and listen through the filters of how we are wired and positioned, which means we are constantly filtering, there is profound wisdom in observing and listening to what truly is. Silence serves as the anchoring space when I meet with my directees, both one-on-one and in groups. I am continually amazed at how clearly God speaks and manifests during silence.

Perhaps there is little difference between the interspersed silence of daily life and the intentional silence we carve out for God and with God... Silence is God’s space. Every time we enter silence, we step into God’s presence. The dormancy of life and the monochrome of winter create a sense of deafening silence, even as I look at the frozen vast Bukhan River, amazed. The vibrancy of spring, the flourishing of summer, and the abundance of autumn give way to winter, marked by silence, and reminding us that silence is God’s way of working and speaking.

A CRADLE

Our recent trip to the Philippines reminded us, not that we had forgotten, that we are right where God wants us to be: in Asia, with Korea as our base. It was a trip of confirmation and affirmation. After we landed in Incheon airport, driving home, I felt like I was home. After years of being in liminal space, this was a welcome emotion. Feeling grateful and grounded, we hosted friends in Korea at our house for the Christmas holidays, which was the first Christmas since 1976.

Now that we have most of our furniture and essential household needs in place, we feel settled. My wife feels at home, so I am wise enough to follow her lead.  During our time in the Philippines, I shared the name of our home—a place to behold and be held—with Ruthie and Joey. After listening contemplatively, Ruthie saw an image of a rocking cradle where the infant’s eye and the parents’ eye meet. The gentle image of rocking evoked and added to the playful note of a warm and tender gaze.

A day ago, as we were zooming with our faithful intercessor for over a decade, I shared that our desire is to carry with us the image and embodiment of “cradle” wherever we go. One might say, there is the physical cradle in Yangpyeong, and the portable cradle when we travel. The mystical and unitive experience of being seen by God and seeing God, albeit dimly, and the reality of Christ in the world are undoubtedly the first steps toward living and living rightly.

So how do we experience such a union? Thomas Merton offers his wisdom, “The answer is, by faith, and this means not simply by an intellectual assent to certain authoritative dogmatic propositions, but, more than that, by the commitment of our whole self and of our whole life to the reality of the presence of Christ in the world.“ I am glad that Merton does not undermine dogmas and certain authoritative belief propositions, but it is decisively more in Merton’s fertile mind. Pursuing and aligning with the reality of the presence of Christ in this world is experiential and maturing faith at work. To pursue and align, we are first invited to see Christ and Christ at work in this world.

It is clear in my mind that in order for us to take “cradle” wherever we go, we first have to experience a cradle in our lives. Must I say that I love the image of a rocking cradle, so whimsical and exciting? And yet so helpless, dependent, and needy? It is not unlike being poor in spirit, which has been a learning theme in the Philippines. My soul finds solace because God does and will not require strength, perfection, and resolve. Only the admission that I am helpless and needy. ..That is where God is. That is who God is.

Thus, the image of a cradle is not about fantasized tenderness or ignorance of one’s desperation. What if I could offer that space as a gift to those we meet and interact with? I see the finish line of my study at the School of Spiritual Direction. Even months ago, I wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to avail myself of one-on-one spiritual direction sessions, but as I meet regularly with three directees each month, I know I want to extend that space to those God has prepared. As I am being cradled, I desire to offer that cradle space to others.