It has been over half a year since I have written here.

I have been through a season of diffuse efforts and seemingly futile struggle, in which I have largely been either busy or worn out with tiredness. The good news is that the season turned at the end of six months. I have had cause for hope, and I continue to hope for renewal.

In the meantime, I pray to resist everything that undermines God’s work in my life, chiefly ill-discipline. Jesus must have the lordship, and I cannot give Him that place if His approval is not what I seek.

I must cultivate the discipline of holiness, in which I am a novice. I pray that I may be discerning about the ways in which I may best do this in a world that needs to know love instead of a self-righteousness.

About a month before this, my term ended and I had time for reflection and to seek counsel. I thank God for the friends in whom I have been able to confide, and who have offered me their patience, sympathy and the occasional bit of counsel (this last thing, I marvel at).

I thank God also for the refuge He has given me on this earth. No human relationship has given me more comfort, and I could have hoped for no better partner to be a faithful support and encouragement to me. I give this house to Him to build, and I rest at His grace – in this, too, He must be Lord. So He has taught me.

I write this in a time of trouble, but even in the pit I must praise the God who made me, raised me and sustains me.

In December, I wrote: “…try harder I must, but differently, in love and in the spirit.” It has been more than half a year since then, and in that time, grace has enabled me. I also wrote: “No longer can I say that the fount of living water is the source with which my life is nourished.” But where I was dead, I received new life. I’ve been a channel of that fount; I’ve seen the growth from that nourishment; I’ve known joy I could not contain, and it spilled over: and so the water flowed anew.

But now I am drained dry.

*

In the wake of an unresolved dispute, I often can’t help but consider the yet-to-be-made laws that would have prevented the failure of communication. An easy one is: ‘Be honest.’ A more elaborate one on the same theme might be: ‘An honest accusation is preferable to dissembling dishonesty.’ But this is a vain striving.

It is futile to hope on any humanly basis, whether it is the love within a family or the exchanges of friendship, that any of these would-be commandments will be accepted, much less followed: God’s first command was broken, and we still think Adam and Eve should have known better; His nation did not keep the Ten He gave them, and they (and others) have since been subject to the powers that arose in the wake of their scattering; we who are aware of His will rebel against it, and I am convicted by the knowledge of my guilt. So we are lost, and on earth we are doomed to estrangement.

I was lost but for the fact that our Lord left us the vastly simpler command to love. This I could neither deny nor reject, because as I cried out in the knowledge of the futility of my hopes, I realized at the same time that I could not contemplate a future without love. I’d known His love, and I would have no other: to have any love without His love would be poverty. I felt like I would be nothing and have nothing without it, and even as I rebelled against that unworldly notion, I remembered the words that had been written in Corinthians: If I have not love, I am nothing. If I have not love, I gain nothing.

Even as I meditated on the futility of hope, these words saved me from despair: “Love never ends.” I began to pray.

*

I am drained dry. I am out of love from the struggle of my weak heart. That struggle will avail me nothing without love, and I pray for grace. Lord, have mercy on me in my hour of trial and in the hours of the trials to come. Christ, come among us once again.

Why and to what end would I ‘say grace’?

‘Grace’ is ‘said’ for a blessing received from God, thus it is said for His grace. If we ask for blessing over the grace, we would be asking for blessing upon blessing, and hence it would signify our faith in His goodness and provision, or in His grace. Ultimately it is an acknowledgment of our place in the world, which is at His grace.

Some time ago, I learned that rest is our daily portion for the work we do for our Master. (This happened in the context of learning that even when our services are rendered out of obligation to authority, our loyalty to our ultimate master expresses itself in even that work which we do.) I forget quickly, and have gone so far as to forgo my portion in the past week.

Restlessness is a wretched state to be in. Tradition holds that restless spirits are restless because of a grievance yet to be redressed. They are victims of injustice waiting for the wrong to be righted. It is all rather dramatic (and at this point I should note that my acquaintance with ‘tradition’ is largely limited to Chinese soap operas on TV), but it is not far from the truth.

I think we are all waiting. We are aware of it more acutely at some times than others, and the rest of the time we are unaware I suppose activity and exhaustion suffice as distractions; but still we wait, and it is during those moments we become aware that the wish for an end to it manifests itself. We wish for peace, or fulfillment, and so we make an art of self-distraction and a principle of productivity.

But, inevitably, in life, on earth, we find ourselves waiting yet again after the latest round of having expended our mental and emotional efforts and having received our rates for them. One can conclude that waiting is a stable, if suboptimal, state, and also an appealing one since optimality appears implausibly difficult to achieve.

However, even in that stable state, we wait. Things are suboptimal, justice is not universal, hence struggle, hence war. What rest is there to be found that will not eventually be made merely a memory of rest the next day? The answer is that there is no rest on earth, and that we make our home elsewhere. That is our hope.

And it is therefore in hope that we partake of our daily portion of rest. It is for a lack of hope that I have been such a fool as to have had exchanged that for distraction. I pray for the strength to wait in hope.

Psalm 27:14: “Wait on the LORD: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the LORD.” (KJV)

The first step is admitting the truth that I am spiritually stagnant. No longer can I say that the fount of living water is the source with which my life is nourished. Things have been put in order, plans have been in the making, service has been rendered and time has been made for all these things and more, but the realization is that my life has been filled more with self-seeking than anything else. Though there has been truth-seeking and though there is still the quest for beauty, yet I find, of late, that these are as hollow shells if I make them the object. (‘Object‘ may be understood as that which I throw myself towards.) In both work and leisure, I have lost sight of what I truly should be seeking, and so the whole does not cohere.

Much as my instinct is to trace factors and indications, an examination of the present seems more profitable at the moment. I have been lacking in compassion and demonstrating the opposite of humility. There is a lack of compassion whenever I see a need or hurt and either dismiss it or distance myself, whether through sarcasm or levity, because I do not want the trouble. The flip side is not looking for or stirring up trouble, but I’ve been erring on the side of caution lately. I have demonstrated the opposite of humility when faced with a task I feel less than committed towards, in which case I seek to wrap it up quickly with little consideration for other stakeholders, or attempt to coast along while expending minimum effort.

‘Try harder,’ might be one conclusion, but it is that compulsion that I’ve been trying to shake off recently: it has caused me no shortage of grief. However, try harder I must, but differently, in love and in the spirit.

John 7 records a rather comical example of human psychology for us:

“2Now the Jew’s feast of tabernacles was at hand. 3His brethren therefore said unto him, Depart hence, and go into Judaea, that thy disciples also may see the works that thou doest. 4aFor there is no man that doeth any thing in secret, and he himself seeketh to be known openly. 4bIf thou do these things, shew thyself to the world. 5For neither did his brethren believe in him.” – BibleGateway

I quote from the KJV.

On the one hand, we have Jesus, someone exceptional (the passage refers to his ‘works’, although you could read from even earlier on for context), and whose actions and motivations are apparently unfathomable to those around him. On the other hand, we have the people of Galilee, who are referred to as his ‘brethren’. The tension in their relationship lies in how the Galileans at once feel as though they want to be identified with Jesus, but are at the same time wary of being seen as such, mainly because they do not understand why he goes about his work in the way he does. As the scripture has it, ‘neither did his brethren believe in him.’

Fortunately for us, we have the benefit of belief in him, and with the knowledge that accompanies that belief, upon examination, the Galilean’s response to Jesus is indeed quite amusing.

One of their issues is that they did not quite get why Jesus didn’t want recognition despite his being able to do fantastic work. They responded by telling him, in effect, that he wasn’t going about things in quite the normal way, but that deep down he was the same as they were (verse 4a). If he was going to keep doing what he was doing, he might as well go to Judaea, somewhere Significant, the festive season (v. 2) being a fortuitous reason for him to travel. There was no reason for him to stay in the backwater he was at when there was opportunity, in the form of a good time and place, for him to gain recognition (v. 4b), and also legitimacy.

Because the other issue the Galileans had was a kind of societal inferiority complex, or perhaps a kind of small town mindset. I submit that, to some extent, they already knew who Jesus was. However, they lacked the conviction or the courage to accept him or accept what they knew. They would much rather watch and wait for Jesus to succeed in Judaea before commiting their reputation as a community to him. They didn’t have to support him all out right then, but they could still say, ‘He was from Galilee!’ later. What would you feel if you were in Jesus’ position?

While I do think that most Christians do genuinely accept that Jesus lived, died and was resurrected, accepting the facts of his life alone doesn’t put us in a much better position than the Galileans. Have we really commited to what Jesus has shown us about how to live life and how to live with each other? I guess a more common struggle is whether or not to do what we think we should or act like how we think we should act in social situations. (I think ‘social situations’ covers most of our interactions with the world.) That would sometimes involve sticking our necks out, and it’s very easy to think about the risks and payoffs in social terms. On the other hand, conforming to some mean of behaviour is safer and doesn’t threaten anyone. And just in case anyone thinks I have the answer, well, I don’t think there is one, so I contend with it as well.

I guess there’s also the possibility that we don’t really even feel that we know our God well enough in the first place, but then what’s stopping us, really? It’s not as if we don’t know where to start, and, honestly, there’s so much further we can go from there.

I started reading the book of Samuel during my QT several weeks ago. Since that time, I’ve mentioned to quite a number of people how much I’ve been blessed by the experience. My Bible reading had been foundering before I started on I Samuel, but once I did, I was getting through three or four chapters a day with ease, and often read more. It wasn’t that I was being particularly industrious as much as it was that I was carried along by the narrative sweep of the great book. 

I was inspired as I read about David’s extraordinary relationship with God and the awesome things God did in his life. Throughout all the turmoil and amid the bloody vendettas, it was God’s love for David and David’s heart for God that endured. When I realized this, I was left slightly incredulous about how, having actually read through the book before, I could have missed this. Granted, I had been reading rather quickly, but the theme now seems so evident and striking that I still wonder how I could have found the book merely interesting. 

I was also struck by  how David the person became so very real. The images of David that persisted in my awareness included the image of David as the youthful, lute-playing shepherd (who slew Goliath) and the image of David the regal king. I had not wondered about or seriously considered what happened in between, despite how the sorrows and trials he experienced would have shaped him. We can understand and attempt to relate to the Psalm about the torment David experienced as a result of his sin against Uriah, but we do not connect it to David the man who lived a life like we have been given. 

His sufferings were not merely emotional or ‘spiritual’ either. For example, although we credit David’s military victories to God almost reflexively, we so often overlook how much of a warrior he was. When Absalom usurped the throne, what his advisors were wary of and counselled him against was his father’s martial prowess and his abilities as a military leader. Life in the army sometimes prompts me to look for parallels, one occasion being when I thought, ‘How did David and his army feel when they pursued and eventually overtook the troop of Amalekites?’ (link) during my 30-klick route march at the end of BSLC. Even through the lens of my own limited experience, thinking about such things drives home the reality of David’s experience. Not just David, but Jonathan and Saul and Samuel were made as real as the characters in the works of literature that are called great (the difference being that the ‘reality’ of the latter characters is simulated). 

Although here I’ve written about the low points in David’s life, the image that continues to persist for most is one of David victorious and honored by God. During one Sunday morning prayer meeting a few weeks ago, I talked about how mind-blowing it was that the Bible tells us that through Christ, our relationship with God is like unto David’s (link). The implication of that is so great that I can’t help but think we so often take our salvation and our relationship with God too lightly. It is not merely some form of emotional support or moral reference point. God’s infinite grace is open to us, if only we would let Him do His work in our lives. Do we long for God as much as David did? If we don’t, perhaps it’s because we don’t know God well enough. 

If you haven’t yet had the opportunity or motivation to take a good, long look at I and II Samuel and some of I Kings, I suggest you find it and go read. (I stopped at where Solomon’s reign was ending, and where the long descent of the kingdom begins.) If you want to experience what it means to thirst and hunger for God and to feel the pain when our sin interferes with that relationship, thinking about David’s life is a good place to start.

On the glass wall of the church office, a number of colorful paper butterflies arranged within the outline of a crown were displayed in an area carefully bordered with tape, presumably for the perusal of the students of and visitors to this good Christian school. Each butterfly carried a message, often a hastily scrawled one, about what it meant to have new life. It was Easter.

One such scrawled message: ‘I’m still searching for it,’ stood out, for several reasons. Among the short, snappy cliches and the oh-so-meaningful mini-epics around it, the message seemed heartfelt. I actually laughed at it at first, almost reflexively, because of the existential angst I could easily imagine it being wrung out of, angst being something my teenage broodings were marked with. My teenage years are almost over, but I haven’t yet grown out of my self-conscious reflexes.

‘I’m still searching for it,’ is also one of those declarations regularly rehashed in television and in other media popularizing a kind of resolute inconclusiveness. It would just have seemed trite if it hadn’t been swimming in chicken soup, but, because of either the context or the stress I could imagine it being wrung from, I thought it was sincere, and hours later, it got me thinking.

I think one of the things I realized was that I had drifted into a kind of complacency with regards to my own new life. I think I assumed that if I had asked myself what my new life was, I would have had a good answer. I did have the shape of an answer in mind at the time, something to do with truth and freedom and the realization that in an uncertain world we are only beginning to know where we stand, but, as you can see, it is still barely the shape of an answer.

The next thing I realized was that whoever it was that wrote the note was writing from somewhere I haven’t totally left either. I still think about life and meaning, even if I wouldn’t say I was still searching for new life. I realized that if I had felt or affected some kind of jaded cynicism at the point in time I glanced at the mass of notes on display, the feeling or attitude wasn’t something that I could be comfortable with having. I think complacency describes the state I was in on this level as well.

I suppose that scrawled note was the start to what could be called a change of heart.

The room I am in now would be seeming like a prison to me, if not for the knowledge that I chose to be here. That decision, the possible motivations for it, and the responses to it are the things I will attempt to examine. 

The context: An acquaintance is about to suffer a fate undeserved, and we have both become aware of it. We also know that this consequence was caused, whether intentionally or unintentionally, of this we are unsure, by our mutual acquaintances. Neither we nor our mutual acquaintances are able to prevent the consequence from occuring. However, I am able to bear the consequence on the behalf of my acquaintance; our mutual acquaintances are unable to do the same. There are still others who are similarly able to bear the consequence if they so chose or if they were aware of the situation. You will probably have to read this paragraph twice, but basically the parties involved are: myself, my acquaintance, our mutual acquaintances, and the others. I volunteered.

(I have presented the situation as skeletally as I could in order to imply as little as possible, if only because I myself am unsure of my own motivations and am hence reluctant to be accountable for anything I may have unconsciously embedded.)

This is the kind of decision that can only be made quickly. If I had stopped to consider it, either self-interest or self-consciousness would have delayed me enough to have prevented me. Any calculations made would have been irrelevant, because there were no upsides to be had, or at least, none that I would consider genuine or worthwhile. 

Given that the decision made would only benefit another at a cost to me, the act could be called altruistic, although here I am thinking mainly in economic terms. Altruism in economics is an anomaly, because the otherwise all-pervasive weighing of incentives and costs does not apply, although what often happens is, abstract benefits are substituted in the absence of apparent ones in order to justify an otherwise inconsistent outcome. However, I think altruism is something that is necessarily individual, if only because altruism en masse would have no nett effect; it would probably be unwise to examine something so specific to the individual through the wide lens of economics.

So, economics aside, what can I say about altruism? I think a truly altruistic act has no incentive aside from the other person’s happiness, in which case, the ability to empathize is a prerequisite. I did experience a sort of warm glow from the time the decision was made, but this feeling wasn’t dissolved by the skeptical looks I got; on the other hand, it wasn’t made more substantial by the complimentary comments or expressions of admiration, either. This gives me reason to believe that the satisfaction experienced was not on my own behalf, becasue if it had been I think I would have been affected more by the responses I received. As to the question of why I did what I did, if it was something altruistic, then the ‘motivation’ would be what I mentioned earlier, namely the other person’s happiness. 

I also mentioned earlier that this was the kind of decision that had to be made quickly, and I think another aspect to an altruistic act I should consider is whether it has to be something spontaneous, or at least relatively uncalculated. The word ‘altruism’  has connotations of moral virtue, for example, putting someone else’s concerns ahead of one’s own is considered virtuous or commendable in any moral system I can think of; this kind of attitude is generally called unselfishness, and an altruistic act would be an example of unselfish behaviour. However, if achieving merit in moral terms is an objective in doing something, would the act still be altruistic? I think if it were in itself motivation enough to do something, the act would not be altruistic, because ‘gaining merit’ could easily be enough of an incnetive to bear a cost, based on the individual’s level of delusion. People are perfectly able to deceive themselves about their satisfcation from something if they so will, but I think an act performed under this kind illusion should not be considered altruistic, because the perceived benefits for one’s self are sufficiently attractive that the other person’s happines need not be a reason for action. An altruistic act, then, would necessitate an uncommon measure of lucidity on the part of the person involved, and this is precisely why I think there is some element of spontaneity in the decision to do something altruistic, because for the person who is relatively free from illusions and self-deception, the decision would never be the calculated answer, and if it were taken, it would be an exception, never matter-of-course. 

This leads on to another interesting possibility to consider: perhapse acts of altruism are motivated by an urge to exert our wills upon a situation. I think one reason why natural disasters stun is that the mind rebels against the lack of any apparent cause or proportion in the seeming judgment the victims receive. In the situation described, the unfortunate acquaintance was a random victim, so perhaps what I may have sensed was an opportunity to impose some measure of order in what would otherwise have been complete disorder. A choice was made where there would otherwise only have been an absence of one. 

I suppose I should also mention that I’ve wondered if, perhaps, I just desperately wanted a conundrum to complicate.

Neither my mother nor my father were loved very much as children. My father was adopted, and his foster parents weren’t exactly wonderful. My mother was the fourth girl child in a traditional Chinese family. My grandmother hadn’t had a son yet.

At this stage in my life I think I’ve given up on trying to love my grandparents like how I love my parents. They may have been nice to me, or even just civil to me, but my friends have done as much or better; one exception is my maternal grandmother looking after me when I was young. I guess, perhaps, I can’t say I don’t want to love her. If I don’t, it’s because of how she’s treated my mother. But this post isn’t about my grandparents.

It is a miracle how my parents have been able to love my sister and I as they never were loved as children. It’s something that I’m intensely grateful for. Despite the pain they cause their children when they just can’t find it in themselves to love each other, I thank God for the miracle of the love that they have managed to show us. If God ever blesses me with a wife and children, I have no excuse for not being able to love them like God would want me to. I pray that, through God’s grace, I will love as He has loved. I thank God for my parents, and I pray for their relationship. I pray that I will not stop caring when I know God wouldn’t want me to, even when it hurts so much to continue caring; I pray that I will pray. I pray for my father’s soul. I thank God that my mother has come to know Him, and that my sister and I have in turn come to know Him. I thank God.

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