ecce nova faccio omnia

New Years always has many connotations.  Resolutions.  That’s a big one.  What am I going to change about myself?  Usually they regard dieting, or perhaps being more friendly to the man in the other cubicle.  It varies, but from what I gather, the result is the same:  no matter how much one tries to change, habits get a hold and these resolutions become a goal waiting to be accomplished for the next resolution.  

Granted, there are those souls that actually accomplish their feats and that’s brilliant.  I believe that goals are a great thing, and I do not want to a to-do list anarchist by any means.  However, I feel like much of the [Western] world works in this sort of fashion:  come New Years, I want to start with a clean slate and fix my vices—all of them, if possible.

However, with this mindset, we think in revolutions.  Cycles.  Come New Years, I will change my ways.  However, a majority of the population knows themselves well enough that after six weeks, the daily menutia of life bogs on us and our goals deteriorate.  
But change doesn’t come in revolutions.  
Despite Socrates’s arguments, I strongly believe that life is not cyclical.  As a friend put in his blog, change comes through growth of layers.  We are organic beings.  We grow by having our roots in waters and nutrients that will support us and following the light.

But what light do we seek?  Where do we establish our roots?
That is the question one must ask if they seek change.

 

This past year has been a ride.  2011 has had its moments of ecstatic joy and distraught depression.  The summer was a season of the latter.  I do not wish to expound upon these moments too much, but essentially, there was a point in my life where a good friend of mine had doubts about my character [amongst other things] and there was nothing I could do that would change it.  In fact, the more I tried to change it, the more damage I did.  There was nothing I could do, and I really cared about how this friend of mine saw me because we were close friends.

John 14:15-21 had become an important passage in my life before the summer.  Essentially, in this part of the story, Jesus and his disciples just finished their Passover meal before Jesus is arrested.  Jesus had just told his disciples that he will be betrayed and eventually led to his death.  In this passage, Jesus comforts his twelve, saying:

If you love me, keep my commands.  And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever—the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Before long, the world will not see me anymore, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. Whoever has my commands and keeps them is the one who loves me. The one who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I too will love them and show myself to them.

That summer, I questioned that promise.  ”Where is this comfort you promised, O Lord?”  All I felt was this blanket of depression.  I don’t remember crying as much as I cried then.  It was really bad.

I feel like many people turn atheist at this point.  The ultimate question:  where is God in suffering?  Instead of digging more, most people just point at verses like this and scoff at them, deeming them lies—logical and experiential heresy.  

But God is in the pain.  God is there.

[This blog isn't meant to prove God's existence or answer the question of the void during pain, for what happens next is not something everyone will experience—especially those who haven't heard Him speaking to the individual.]

In the midst of my pain, the only words I heard was “abide in me.”  Granted, when one is hurting, this is not the answer that they would want to hear.  In fact, usually, one doesn’t want to hear anything and just wants the situation resolved.  If they were to hear anything, they would like to hear some sagely words of wisdom that would be found at the tops of mountains by monks of foreign worlds.  

But “abide in me”?  During my pain, you want me to do work?  Wow God.  You’re asking for a lot.

However, while they may not have been the words I wanted to hear, they were what I needed to hear.  God grants us free will.  He gives us choice in our actions.  Life would be so much easier if we didn’t have to make choices—especially during the hard seasons.
But with free will, we have the choice to trust in God.  That’s been an odd idea to wrap my head around, and I still don’t think it’s fully wound.  Yet, there are times when there is nothing one can do, except trust a Father who has our needs.  [This said, that doesn't mean God just fixes things and we let Him do all the work... topic for another blog or actual conversation, perhaps]

 

Change.  Being made new.  If we truly desire our actions and being to be different, then we must ask where our roots are found.  I’ll be the first to say that I don’t have all the answers.  Also, I’ll be one of the first to say that not everything is relative.  Experience is what makes us, and from what I’ve seen; the lives I’ve read and watched; the life I’ve lived, all of it points to one direction.

I am a mess.  I am an incomplete person.  I have betrayed many people, lied to many people, hurt many people, and crossed lines I never imagined crossing.  I have contradicted my codes.  I have dishonored and shamed the cause I walk.  I have hated myself for a long time.  But I need to hold onto the fact that someone once said that he is making all things new.  All things.  I don’t know how far this statement extends to.  It’s a very debatable line, but I feel like it would apply to even the atrocities I have committed.

Now it’s my choice to accept it.
To accept that this year may be just another year, but if I dig my roots deep and abide in Him, I can be made new.

doctrine of joy

It’s ironic.  I am a Christian, and yet I seem to lose what it means to represent Christ.  To elaborate, I know what pain is.  I know how to feel pain.  Struggle and strife are more than evident in peoples daily lives, so to understand what pain is is a normal phenomenon. 
However, when I think of the reciprocation and wrestle what it means to be joyous, I am at a loss.  I know how to be content.  Part of that stems from a survival technique of understanding how to cope with pain: “counting your blessings,” “things could be worse.”  Yet, joy?  What does it mean to be joyous?  I am at a loss and it’s ironic, since as a Christian, we should be overjoyed by God’s love for us.  We should be overjoyed that death does not have the last say.  We should be overjoyed that we do not walk alone.  Yet, the cognative comprehension of joy seems to evade my heart.  I don’t understand it.

Don’t get me wrong.  This does not lead me to the conclusion that Christianity is false doctrine.  That is far from the case.  Rather, maybe it’s because I have for so long focused and defended the faith and how it works with the physical attributes of this world—like dealing with the concept of suffering—that my idea of pain has integrated itself into my view of Christianity.  I have so often felt that “pain is a part of life,” “pain makes one stronger,” “we learn through pain.”  While these things are most defintiely true, it seems that I have raised pain on a high pedastal—possibly even to the extent that it diminishes what the Bible has to say about joy. 

Pain is a part of life.  True, but even the pagans could tell you that.  The gnostics create their doctrine because of this view of pain.  But how does that make me Christian?

Christians are supposed to have joy.  Christians are supposed to share joy.  Christians are supposed to shine their light to the world so that others may believe.  This doesn’t mean to dismiss suffering, but we should be constantly reminded that in the end, death has lost its sting.  Live a life of joy in God’s promises:  that’s what it means to be a Christian [at least one attribute].

I am glad a great friend of mine called me out on this issue.  Now, how to apply what is in the mind to action…

 

Oh Lord, teach me how to love. 
Remind me of yours joys that I may share them with the disheartened.
There is much that I do not understand, and maybe that is for the best
The Mystery
Teach me, o Father, how to live through pain in joy

a call and response

“…and all peoples on earth shall be blessed through you.”
-Genesis 12:3

As I look at this promise by God to Abraham, I wonder and question.  To be honest, I don’t know what this means for everyone.  I don’t know if this is a promise end for everyone.
I don’t think this statement is a piece of proof that everyone has of passage through the gates.  In fact, I don’t think this statement is for “all peoples on earth.”  I believe that God will fulfill his promise, but the message is not for the rest of the people.  It’s to Abraham.  It is to those who have inherited Abraham’s promise.  And it is to those who will inherit Abraham’s promise.  Through us, sons and daughters of God, the rest of the Earth can receive His blessing.

 

 

 

My question now is:  how do our actions reflect this call?  Granted, God can work in us, no matter what action we convey.  But how can we help glorify this call?  I feel like this is more than just a promise.  It is also a desire from God for us to reflect it—a desire for us to act accordingly to his promise.
If a friend promises to offer his labor in your fields, one does not tear up the crops, knowing that the friend will fix the fields anyways.  Rather, one clears ways to make it easier for his/her friend to work.  If this be for a friend, how much more for God?  If a wife promises to make a hearty meal for her the two, the husband will not (at least, should not) eat or toss out all the ingredients, just because he knows that his wife made a promise.  Rather, out of love, the husband will make sure that his wife has what she needs to make a heart-felt meal for the two.  If this be for a spouse, how much more for God?

Should we not make way in our hearts for God’s promise to fully shine?  A promise is more than a one-way deal.  If established by loved ones, then a promise should involve two parties, the recipient making way and the giver following through.

So I ask again:  how do our actions reflect this call?  How do our actions make way for God to use us?  How do my actions make way for God to work in me?

broken

Broken people… broken thoughts… broken ideas.
That’s what I often see whenever I scan through blogs.

How does one change the hearts of men if this generation isn’t willing to sit and listen?

People want things to change.  Change is such a big topic.  Yet, how can we change things if we aren’t willing to change ourselves?  With this idea of truth being relative, how can anyone even understand the idea of change?

Distractions.
What’s the hype all about?  What is this next thing really about?
Why is it so hard to just sit down and listen to the heart?  Not what the world has to say about the heart, but what the spirit has to say.

Slow me down, Lord.
Slow us all down that we may hear You.
I just don’t think people get it…

our brother’s keeper

I realise that people are afraid to offend people.  I, however, don’t feel like there’s anything wrong in pushing buttons—hygenically speaking.  I’m not saying we should be rude to everyone or say everything that’s on our mind without using tact, but it gets to a point where we shouldn’t be afraid of sharing our thoughts, even if it might make someone else uncomfortable if it truly comes from the heart.

Why?  Why should we be so bold to express thoughts if they bring hurt?

Well, I know what it means to have a broken heart.  I’ve had my heart punctured, and I’m not talking about just girls.  I’ve had friends attack me sometimes for no reason.  I’ve also had friends say that I’m not going down the right path.  Both instances, I’ve often been hurt.  But when we go beyond the hurt and think with a clear mind if what they’re saying bears truth, then we can grow.  Then we can be better persons.  Or we can totally dismiss the other person’s ideas (especially if they are irrelevant).

But still… why?  What right is it to impose our beliefs on them?

I’ve heard the phrase “It’s none of your business” a lot growing up.  I’ve been exposed to a level of a closed-door policy that I just can’t agree that we were meant to live that way.  Granted, I believe that there are (quite a few) moments where privacy is needed.  But when you have households that live next to each other and they never communicate, something is amiss.

Two years ago, my neighborhood experienced at least eighty burglarlies in a three-week span, my house being one of them.  I look at my neighborhood and it’s no wonder.  I don’t really know who lives next door.  I don’t know many people in this neighborhood.  After my house was broken into, I don’t remember anyone coming to our aid from the neighborhood to comfort us.  I’m not mad at them… I’m saddened by the state of our neighborhood.  We call our area a “community,” yet we don’t even know our neighbor.  Or if we do, we hardly talk about the things on our heart.

Now the one who we connect does not soley have to be the person who lives adjacent to us.  The ones we share our heart can be the friend next door, down the street, or across the seas.  Our neighbor isn’t limited to location.  After all, when the scholar approached Jesus asking who our neighbor is, he told him what we now call the parable of The Good Samaritan.  The neighbor to the man who was in distress was not his next-door friend nor even a fellow citizen of his country.  His neighbor was a man from the region that was culturally considered hostile—the one who showed mercy.

In my literature class last semester, we read Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  The central character in the story, Raskolnikov, has a dream of his childhood, where an injustice is happening.  An owner is whipping his old mare to death because it wont pull a heavy cart of people.  The owner starts with a whip, then turns to an axe, using the blunt side until dies.  I dont carry PETA posters, but what the owner was doing was not just wrong but ridiculously futile and stupid.  What does the owner gain in killing it?  Yet it killed the mare.  Meanwhile, Raskolnikov as a child had to witness the incident.  During the beating, the child tried to intervene, but the owner kept on shouting “it’s my business!”  Here, we are brought with the question: can we do anything we wish to what we own?  To what claim to possess?  Or are we held accountable?  Granted, the man had all legal right to abuse and kill his mare in a frivolous and horrid manner, yet we are still left with a bad taste in our mouth.

If he was our neighbor, how would we react?  Would we let his business be his business and and let our lives be our only concern?  Or would we intervene… show him what it means to be merciful?  If he was our friend, would we just shrug our shoulders or would we express concern? 
We are all interconnected that even if we choose the apathetic path, his life will directly or indirectly affect our lives.  But that’s not why we should intervene.  It’s because he is our friend.

We are our brothers keeper.  If we call the ones we care about our “loves ones,” then we should be concerned about their actions.  We are our sisters keeper.  If we call the ones we care about our “loved ones,” we should be held accountable for their actions if we saw them head down a destructive path and did nothing.
Yet we are afraid.  We are so afraid.  I am the first to admit.
It’s ironic that we are willing to protest against a war, yet we are not willing to intervene when a friend is at war with him or herself.  Drug abuse… alcoholism… discontentment.  If we have thoughts about our friends, should we not be able to express them?  Should not those words mean so much more than our words against some strawman?
Yet we are so afraid… we’re concerned about offending our friend.  We’re concerned about damaging our friendship.  We’re concerned what our friend might do with something that has pushed their buttons.

But we are our brother’s keeper.  If we did nothing to stop an incident that we were aware of, we should be held accountable.

If they are our true friends, then we shouldn’t be afraid of severing it due to an argument from the heart.  Helping them and yourself discover truth is more important.

To be really good friends [...] means to be able to speak your mind and know that you can offend someone and that you’re going to be friends the next day.

on music and Filipinos

We are too fond in England of looking on music as a master of detatched appreciation.  The English amateur believes with Rossini that there are only two kinds of music—good and bad—adn if he can afford it, he prefers to import, together with the best brands of cigars and champagne, the best brands of music too.  The connexion between music and every-day life is entirely severed.

Now in no other art except music is this connexion doubted.  No one with any pretence to culture would fail to keep abreast with all that his fellow-countrymen were saying in literature, painting, or drama.  Such a man may well say, ‘I think Velasquez a greater painter than Augustus John, Goethe a greater poet than Masefield, and Dostoievsky a greater novelist than Arnold Bennett,’ yet he would know that unless he had seen and read the pictures, poems, novels, or plays of his contemporaries, he would lose one of the surest means of realizing what he himself was dimly and inarticulately feeling and thinking, and that the temper of the age was in danger of passing over him, leaving him untouched and unready.

And yet music, the subtlest, most sensitive, and purest means of self-expression, is supposed to be on a plane by itself, a thing detatched from its surroundings, a mere sensation to be enjoyed by the epicure.  Thus it comes about that the cultured amateur says to the composer, ‘What have you to offer me better than the great Masters?  I have my Bach, my Beethoven, my Brahms.  They are enough to satisfy me; or can you show me more subtle harmonies than Debussy, more striking orchestral effects than Strauss?  If not, why should I bore myself by listening to you or trying to play you?’  And the amateur, judged by his own standard, is perfectly right.  The English composer is not and for many generations will not be anything like so good as the great Masters, nor can he do such wonderful things as Strauss and Debussy.  But is he for this reason of no value to the community?  Is it not possible that he has something to say to his own countrymen that no one of any other age and any other country can say?  When English people realize this—that the composer is their own voice speaking through his art those things which they can only dimly grope for—then indeed the English composer will be wanted, if only he is ready.
—Ralph Vaughn Williams

 

Ralph Vaughn Williams was a composer in the early 20th century who bore a strong force on nationalistic music for England.  Today, English music has its own say and is very recognizable to the public.

However, I believe Vaughn Williams’ words transcend not only the time, but the culture.  I am sad to say this, but I feel like the Filipino culture is a fading one.  Due to being raped by three different countries, the Philippines were forced to learn how to adapt to the sovreign nations.
But we live in the 21st century.  The Filipino are their own people.  But where is the thrive for Filipino culture?

Last year, songwriter and musician Freddie Aguilar was reamed by the media due to his criticisms on certain Filipino singers Charice and Arnel Pineda.  Aguilar felt that the two singers were merely imitating the Western music and were hardly sharing to the world what Filipino music is about.  Yet the media reamed on Aguilar, saying he was wrong or too harsh.

I feel that Aguilar was more than right.  Filipino culture is very weak right now.  They bear the tendency to copy shows from the west.  If I say Britain, you may think Beatles or Pink Floyd.  If I say America, you might think Scott Joplin or The Fray.  If I say the Philippines… I don’t know.  Just imitations, in all honesty.  Granted, music influences other styles of music, but theres a distinct difference between blend and copy.  I remember when my friend told me that The Filipino Channel (TFC) advertised a new show: (Filipino) Glee.

It isn’t that the Filipinos lack creativity.  Hardly.  Filipinos are very creative and smart.  But there’s something about the desire to adapt.  We don’t need to adapt to survive anymore. 

What Vaughn Williams said for his own people is applicable for me to say to mine:  “Is the Filipino for this reason of no value to the community?  Is it not possible that he has something to say to his own countrymen that no one of any other age and any other country can say?  When Filipinos realize this—that the composer is their own voice speaking through his art those things which they can only dimly grope for—then indeed the Filipino composer will be wanted, if only he is ready.”

grief

To the man I give grand respect…

Monday morning, a professor who taught at Point Loma Nazarene University passed away.  His name was Dr. Dan Nelson.  Dr. Dan Nelson was in charge of the concert band, jazz band, and taught several classes of music.  He was forced to leave due to his health condition:  for the longest time, he was struggling with Parkinsons disease.  The summer of retiring, he found out he also had Lou Gehrig’s disease on top of that.

I didn’t know him too well.  The year I entered PLNU was his last year and hardest to teach.  Nevertheless, three classes with the man was… I don’t even know how to describe it.  I learned a lot from him—that’s definite.  Having his class at 7:30 in the morning my first semester of college as a music major was, in my opinion, vital.  He helped form and humble myself and my understanding of what music is.  Instead of teaching what music is, he let the students ask the questions.  It’s one thing to play music.  It’s one thing to study the theory of music.  It’s one thing to comprehend the history of music.  But if we don’t understand what music is to begin with—ask why we are taking it in the first place—then it bears no meaning whatsoever.  —and Dan provoked those questions.  He made sure that we understood that music isn’t just another topic or another field of study.  It’s an artform; an aspect of understanding life.

Monday morning was hard on everyone who knew him.  I remember going to chapel that day, seeing many red eyes in the rows around me.  My friend Abe was crying.  Rachel was crying.  I was crying.  I feel like Dan was closest person I knew who died—even though we weren’t all that close. 
Nevertheless, it was difficult.  His niece definitely had it the hardest.  Part of it what stung was the indifference that was around me.  Of course, not everyone on campus knew Dan—probably only a small portion—but it just didnt seem to be right that people were joking around and being happy at such a mournful day.

But then I wondered.  Why is it that we’re grieving?  Are we grieving for Dan?  Are we sad that Dan is dead, or are we sad that Dan is not with us?  Are we sad for us that he is dead?  Because in all honesty, Dan is in a much better state than he was before.  Now, I don’t know without a shadow of a doubt if there is a Heaven or not.  I don’t believe anyone can say they know without a shadow of a doubt.  Granted, I do believe that there is something much better for us at the end, but even for those who do not:  Dan is no longer in pain.  In truth, we should be happy for him, for he is home.  As someone said, Dan has probably set up his own band up there.
While that is so, I do not diminish the idea of grieving.  I grieve, and it is good that his family grieves.  Dostoyevsky said that grieving is the greatest gift that God gave us, for it allows us the choice to sympathise for our neighbors.  But to question why we grieve helps us put things in a better light.  We do grieve that he is gone.  We do grieve that his inspiration is not with us.  But it is important to understand that while we grieve, we understand and can rejoice afterwards that Dan is doing more than alright.

Dr. Dan Nelson was a great man.  As stated earlier, he was inspirational to his students.  Not only that, but in the midst of his hardest times physically, he was able to establish an orphanage in Rwanda.  Now, to establish an orphanage in that area is difficult enough, but in his condition?
He was truly an ebenezer of what God can do in one’s life.  Any one of our lives, God can do great things, as long as we step outside ourselves and grab at what God is offering.

Dr. Dan:  you’ve been great.  You will be missed.

‎”Don’t take time for granted. Be a part of something bigger than yourself.” -Dan Nelson

bigger plan

“God works in mysterious ways.”  I’ve heard that many times throughout my life, taking it as a cliché if anything.  I knew God existed and loved us, but how he acted in our lives?  He gave us free will.  Him “working in mysterious ways” was… grey area that I decided to ignore and neglect.

That changed this summer. 

I posted earlier about how summer’s plans was rudily changed yet goodness seeped through nevertheless.  I have another story.

There was a woman named Jamie Renfrow who attended Point Loma Nazarene University.  Throughout her whole life, she dealt with Cystic Fibrosis, which causes lung infections and other negative symptoms that affect the entire body.  I never knew her until a few weeks ago, when she was attacked by an extreme case of pneumonia, placing her on life support.
Family and friends prayed constantly.  Friends asked friends who didn’t even know her to pray.  She was scheduled to be pulled off life support, but miraculously, the doctors received a donated pair of lungs.  Late Saturday night, Jamie underwent an extensive surgery and it ended in a success.  When hearing the news, I was overjoyed.  I thought all was well.

Monday morning, I woke up and I read the most disturbing news: Jamie passed away.  Apparently, she developed blood clots to the brain due to a ridiculous amount of CO2 in her blood.

I don’t get it.  Not the science, but the justice.  Why did this happen?  Jamie just graduated from PLNU and was newly wed for a few years.  I don’t understand why this case had to happen.  What’s wrong with this picture here?  Is God a cynic—toying with our minds with hopes that she’ll recover?

I don’t think so and neither did her husband Rony.

As Foreman and Lewis put it, it’s these tragic things that help us understand that there is something better beyond this broken world.  She is in a better place where her lungs will no longer fail her.  More than that, we are reminded that there is a better place.

I don’t know what God’s purpose was to take her home.  I’m not sure if I will ever conciously know, but I’m sure there’s a reason.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned from television shows, it’s that there are so many choices that one can take that will lead to a seperate road and a seperate future.  Jamie’s death is a part of the road that we’re all interconnectedly on.  Possibly some miracle will happen because of the organs she donated.  Possibly some miracle will happen to Rony.  We don’t know at this moment and maybe we will never know conciously.  All I know is that before this summer, I never knew who Jamie or Rony Renfrow was.  Today, I know two fellow brothers and sisters.

We may not desire God’s actions.  We may not understand them immediately.  But I do know this:  God doesn’t just plan for the short term and the now; He has something for us all in the grand plan.

[To read Rony's story and remarks of Jamie's journey home]

undecided paths

I just had a moment.  I just had to write in a stream of conciousness form.

amidst all reasoning
amidst the talking and chatting
my mind subscribes to the idea of one
the logical choice
an enjoyable choice

yet, when i see the pictures of the other road
when i think of the possibilities on this other road
when i think of all that could be
despite the barriers, my heart races

i know not this feeling
i know not what to do.
maybe only prayer can give me wisdom.

today’s passage

As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’
‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned,’ said Jesus, ‘but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.’

–John 9:1-3