What A Homeless Man Taught Me About Jesus

It was a long weekend because of Presidents’ Day  and since we got the day off from school, a couple of friends and I, led by our friend Vanessa, carried out a small service project in Boston. It was titled Following Jesus into Service, and that was exactly what we tried to do. Vanessa was inspired by Passion Conference, during which this pastor named Francis Chan talked about how people were amazed at how radically he lived his life. He said in response, “All I do is read the Bible, and then I do it!” It sounds so simple, yet so few of us have grasped hold of what that meant. This service project blossomed out of a need to understand this tension in the Christian life and to reconcile that with the love that Jesus showed while he was here, no agenda attached.

We packed some lunches and hopped onto the T, getting off at several stops in pairs. My friend Anisha and I were paired together and we tried to cover the Downtown Crossing area, a shopping district in downtown Boston.Upon getting off the T, I realized, rather unsurprisingly, that I had somehow misplaced the map our friend Jess gave us, detailed with instructions on where to walk. Undeterred, and armed with bags of food and bottles of water, we decided to make do and walk wherever we felt like, figuring that everything would work itself out.

After a few failed (and slightly embarrassing) attempts at trying to figure out if the people we were about to approach were homeless or not, we walked past a figure in a wheelchair. He was sitting outside a restaurant and seemed bundled up in an assortment of jackets and blankets.

“Hi, how are you?” 

He started slurring some indecipherable sentences in reply. It seemed as though he had some kind of muscular disorder – he couldn’t seem to open his jaw properly, and his body was almost horizontal on his wheelchair, like he was sitting in a reclined airplane seat. His hands, covered by white knit gloves, were lying by his side, limp and lifeless. The sun was shining so brightly his eyes were hardly open. His body was covered by a thick blanket, and all that we could see of him was his face, which was partially hidden under a green hat and a white, scraggly beard.

We offered him lunch: a turkey ham sandwich, an orange, a Nutri-Grain bar and water. “Nutri-Grain,” he said. We soon figured out that he only wanted the bar, presumably because they were easier to chew on. A few yellow teeth peeked out when he spoke.

“Would you mind feeding me?”

“Sure!” I said, before unwrapping the bar. It must have been a slightly strange sight, two Asian girls feeding an old wheelchair-bound man a Nutri-Grain bar in the middle of downtown Boston, but at that moment, no one else seemed to matter. I could feel people walking by, staring, but all I could pay attention to was making sure that the man could swallow the bar properly. After he ate the bar, I wiped his mouth and beard clean. It was a little challenging getting all the food bits out of his beard, but for some reason I felt that there’s a certain dignity about having a neat, clean appearance, even if it didn’t seem to matter in light of everything.

“What’s your name?”

“Charlie.”

We talked for a while, describing our majors and where we’re from. At one point, Charlie paused and asked, “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” 

“Well, yes! He’s a really good guy. We really like Him, Charlie!” 

This next moment blew me away. I don’t think I’ll forget it any time soon. Charlie quietly said, in between deep breaths, “He is good. I don’t know why He made me like this. I’ve been like this all my life. But it could be a lot worse.” 

There wasn’t much we could say. How could we even begin to imagine what he has gone through? “He loves you a lot, Charlie.” 

“When I get to heaven, there will be no more wheelchairs.”

“And you can eat whatever you want!”

“Bacon.”

“Yes Charlie, lots of bacon.” 

As he talked about heaven, his eyes filled up with tears. I got the sense that he was longing for it. For home.

We talked for a while more, before offering to pray for him. Charlie consented, before unexpectedly starting the prayer first. “I thank You for these ladies…” he said, not knowing how much we had to thank him for. Even after we walked away to continue distributing the lunches, my head was buzzing with what had just happened.

How much do I long for home? How much am I grateful for? Charlie taught me so much more about Jesus in that moment than I could have with that brown lunch bag. One brown lunch bag in exchange for a glimpse of Him. I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.

You’re Invited, Too

For my mission trip to Nepal last July, I was assigned the task of writing up a short skit to perform to the girls at Sophia Home and at a youth camp organized by the church. I’ve come to realize that, probably because of the lack of things to do, public transportation has become a good avenue for coming up with ideas. I was inspired to write about Luke 16, a parable about a party.

*

Narrator: Once, in a kingdom far away, there was an extremely kind and generous man. He was respected and well-loved by many in the city. One day, he decided to throw a party. He personally went around from door to door to invite each person.

He went up to rich people and poor people, the healthy and the sick, the young and the old, men and women. He even invited both good and bad people.

He said, “Come to my party! It will be wonderful and so much fun!”

The outcasts of the city were wary. “What do you gain? Why are you so kind? We are poor and can’t give you much in return.”

The nobles and powerful people in the city scoffed when they realized what he was doing. “Why are you going about talking to these lowly beings? They are worthless and don’t deserve your invitation! We, on the other hand, have worked hard for our status and deserve an exclusive party.”

To all these people, the kind man simply smiled and said, “Everyone is worthy in my eyes. I just want to throw a party for you because I care about you. That is all. But it’s up to you to decide if you want to go. I can only promise that it will be good.”

The night of the party soon arrived. Some people completely dismissed the invitation and stayed at home. Some stared longingly at the house but felt too worthy and afraid to go in, so they stood at a distance and watched. Others were disgusted at the thought of going to a party with society’s misfits, so they threw their own private, exclusive parties without him. A few souls, however, decided to go.

They stepped into the house, which was beautifully decorated for the night. They talked and laughed. They danced to the most beautiful music they had ever heard, and ate the most delicious food ever cooked. It was the most fun they had ever had. For once, they were all treated equally, like esteemed guests, no matter their background.

At the end of the night, the kind man turned to his guests and said, “it gets better. Because you came, you are considered part of my family. This house is always open to you and we can have as many parties as you want. I love you. What’s mine is yours. The party doesn’t end here. This is just the beginning.”

End.

Narrator: The kind man is like God. He loves all of us, every human, not because of who we are, but because He is good. Where you are in life doesn’t matter. Society can’t tell you your worth; Jesus does. And he says that each of you is important, of value, and worthy of His death on the cross. He invites us to live life with Him and be part of His family. Will you come?

*

I don’t think I realized it then, but this message became the resounding ethos for the rest of the year, and is spilling into this season as well. I was reminded of this short skit today during a sermon at my church precisely about this issue. It’s amazing how we are invited to be part of His redemption story, drawing one another to the light that is Jesus.

This skit eventually wasn’t used, and as I look back now, this incident was just one of the many that commenced my struggle with my church back home. I felt like this central message of humble openness just didn’t get through; it was like hitting a wall. It hurt. But I am thankful that God has taken me on this journey to ask the simple question of what faith (the expression of Christianity) looks like, because the past year has taught me so immensely much.

It’s my prayer that churches in Singapore will become more and more Christlike, shaking off ambivalence and apathy, and instead putting on robes of humility and compassion. I hope to be a small part of that redemption story.

Living Word

I was listening to a sermon yesterday by Virginia Ward. One part hit me especially hard; she was talking about spiritual discipline.

The reason I’m having you get up this early is because I want to introduce the day to you. Morning by morning, there are new mercies you’re going to see. This is your daily bread that I want to give you. And if you try to live off of yesterday’s bread it’s full of maggots and worms. So live for today. Get today’s.

I felt like my heart exploded there and then.

Just now, after asking Him for some direction, I read John 2. It was about Jesus’ first miracle, where he turned water into wine.

When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom.

And he said to him, “Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then that which is inferior; but you have kept the good wine until now.”

Wow. 

Jesus didn’t just perform an okay miracle, or a so-so good deed. He gave exceedingly, beyond expectations. The water wasn’t just turned into wine; it was turned into the best wine of the evening.

When God gives us gifts, he doesn’t merely turn impossible circumstances into pleasant ones. He makes them impossibly amazing. I am so thankful for the knowledge that I can lean wholeheartedly on someone who always gives me the best.

Still, Your love goes on

Sometimes I shock myself with my silliness.

I’ve been incessantly worrying about things, things that are minuscule in importance in comparison to the largess of our God.

I’ve been mulling over internships, resumes, defining myself, my future, what people think of me, my image… MYself.

In doing so, I’ve taken my eyes off the Prize: Jesus Christ. I’ve neglected His Word, neglected time with Him, and traded in His truths for the soothing platitudes of the world.

Inevitably it has showed up in my life in not too flattering areas such as my impatience, lack of compassion, and the way compartmentalizing my faith causes the rest of my life to look like disparate, incompatible fragments.

Who am I to make such a big deal out of myself, when it has and always will be about Him?

Instead of reprimanding me with harshness like He has every right to, He sent me a gentle reminder today about His goodness and mercy that has followed me all these years and led me to this position, where I can currently count getting my dream summer internship one of my biggest worries.

Considering how I’ve been disappointed in the recent past by hypocritical Christians, I should be striving even more to not slip into a similar complacent habit. My faith does not lie in Facebook profiles and statuses, Tweets, blog posts or the number of Hillsong songs in my iTunes. But it does lie in a dutiful meditation of the Word, prayer and loving my neighbor.

In my attempt to minimize demonstrating my faith in the former, I must remember to not neglect the latter.

Here’s to a great 2012. Not through my own efforts, but because He is good and gracious and is always for me.

21 years old and I don’t know what I’m doing

In the years preceding my entrance into young adulthood, I always envisioned the moment I turned 21 to be a moment of epiphany: I would magically turn into a confident young lady, sure of what she wants to do as a career and with most of life’s questions sorted out. That would always be my comfort whenever I, as a teenager, would wax lyrical about life’s woes and my fragile, tortured soul. It’s okay if I don’t know what I’m doing now; I’ll know when I’m an adult. 

Fast forward to June 8th, 2011: I’m blowing out the candles on my cake in a rural village in Tamil Nadu, India. I’m on a trip with my school’s undergraduate-led sustainable development group, BUILD, and we’re in the village of Thottiapatti to facilitate several projects. My team members kindly planned a little celebration by leading me to the school well to collect water for the construction of our computer center (construction was done by hand), before calling for me to go to the middle of the village, where I find that the villagers had gathered to surprise me with a cake! It’s blistering hot, but everyone is clutching a cup of hot chai and a slice of cake. I turn 21 that day with a group of children screaming the happy birthday song, goats  baa-ing and chickens clucking around me, and the dusty, humid air of the June heat filling my nostrils. I spend the rest of the day digging for stones in the cement mix so that the computer center can have a solid, pebble-free floor.

It was a pretty unforgettable birthday, especially compared to the hotel bashes that my peers in Singapore threw. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend it. Still, the moment of adulthood epiphany never came.

So much has changed even since then. My career choices have switched multiple times, from poverty alleviation NGO work to documentary photographer to arts management to Waiting On God. I’ve delved into the murky waters of research and come out deciding that it wasn’t for me. I’ve gotten my first job at Tufts and am learning how to file for taxes. I’ve learned how to cook. My view on Christianity has become so much more nuanced.  I’ve bus-setted around the New England area more times in the last six months than I ever did. I’ve found friends in the most random and unexpected places. And I still don’t really know what I’m doing, or where I’m headed.

I’m starting 2012 on this strangely reassuring yet mildly terrifying note: that I don’t know very much, but that He is teaching me something every day, and that my eyes shouldn’t be focused on the destination but the everyday moments that fall together to form a humbling journey. Perhaps the fact that I am at peace with not knowing is the mark of young adulthood.

A Year in Pictures (II)

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Settle down, Love

The clock struck midnight not too long ago, marking the start of Christmas day. I’m curled up on a couch in a cosy apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, New York City. My earphones are plugged in and I’m listening to an original song by a local Singaporean singer. She happens to be a friend of a friend, as is the case with so many people in Singapore. Above the rise and fall of the melody, I can hear Pope Benedict giving his sermon at the Vatican via a live broadcast on TV. In between the lines of the song, I catch words like “spotless lamb” and “manger” and “Bethlehem,” the key words to any Christmas sermon.

Beside me is a plastic bag full of books from Strand. I spent well over three hours in that bookstore today, enamored by stories and knowledge and the power of the imagination. The results:

• Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
• Oranges Aren’t The Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson
• Let Us Now Praise Famous Men by James Agee and Walker Evans
• Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
• Shoplifting from American Apparel by Tao Lin
• Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris
• A Landmade journal made out of cork

Flashed on the screen right now are two clueless-looking little Asian boys. They seem a little bewildered by the pomp of it all, as am I. At the same time, however, I can’t help but watch as the Pope speaks, his voice echoing throughout St. Peter’s Basilica. There is something undeniably powerful about the Catholic tradition, with its intricately laid down rituals and traditions.

As people celebrate Christmas all over the world, I am reminded that He is the only unchanging One in my life. Across oceans, people are laughing, hugging, playing boardgames, eating turkey and opening presents. There will also be people who are crying, lonely, and numb to the bone. Christmas isn’t what you make it, despite what the advertisements tell you. Whether you like it or not, whether you care to believe or not, He came down, and loved you from the very beginning. This makes my Christmas. No amount of mistletoe and snow can add to it, and no crappy present pile can take it away.

Water Changes Everything

Last December, at the spur of a moment, a couple of friends and I started a charity:water campaign through TCF. Our goal was $1000, and we surpassed it to raise $1140, which meant that 57 people were given clean water. 57 people. Fifty. seven. 57 people didn’t have access to clean water before that – they couldn’t safely wash their hands, drink a glass of water, take a shower, wash their dishes or cook without the risk of falling ill due to the bacteria in the water they were using every day. At a time the biggest worry on a lot of our minds is that 20 page paper, or which Christmas present to buy for Dad, it seems ridiculous that over a billion people don’t even have clean water to drink. 

At this time last year, friends from all over came together, gave a little bit of their money, and together we were able to do our little part in helping to solve the water crisis. What was most heartening was seeing everyone come together. Every person who contributed made the campaign work. Every dollar counts.

It takes US$20 billion to solve the water crisis. In contrast, Americans spend US$450 billion alone on Christmas every year. Talk about perspective. We often say that Christmas is the season of giving – we buy, to give to others we love. That seems all too easy. Why not give to those who we don’t know, to those that we have no reason to love, other than for the fact that He loved us when we were yet sinners, and gave it all when we didn’t deserve a thing?

The goal this year is $2000. That’s 100 people’s lives changed. $20 can give someone access to clean water. With the help of just 100 people, out of the 5000 people on this Tufts campus and the many more from our networks of family and friends, we can reach this goal of making Christmas better for someone else. 100 people to affect 100 other people. No matter who you are or your place in life, you can make a difference.

Give extravagantly this season, for He gave so much more.

http://mycharitywater.org/tuftsforcleanwater

Family

Family: It’s not always easy, but they are the ones who matter in the end.

Victoria’s Secret

One Two of my good Christian guy friends recently posted a video about a Victoria’s Secret fashion show on Facebook and I watched some of it. The models are absolutely gorgeous, no doubt about that. But it did leave me with an uneasy feeling – was it jealousy? Because I certainly don’t look like that. And if that is the world’s standard of gorgeous, and I find myself hardly close to a mirror image of it… then what does that mean for me?

Perhaps I’m being too sensitive. After all, society is saturated with media images of women who fit certain criteria. I really should be used to it by now. Maybe I should just shrug it off.

But that sinking feeling hasn’t gone away.

Because what does that mean for women who are unable to be that skinny, who don’t have those features, and never will, no matter how hard they try? What does that mean for the college girls around me who feel like a skimpy outfit is the usual Friday night attire? And what does that mean for a young woman who is trying to honor God with her gender and sexuality?

In the end, it seems like it has almost everything to do with men’s opinions. Men do wield a lot of power; they play a huge role in shaping what women strive to be. And women seem to have this innate desire to want to feel beautiful, valued and cherished. I hate to perpetuate gender stereotypes, but stereotypes only exist because there is some morsel of truth in them, right?

I’m not sure what to think. Some of my Christian guy friends are amazing people. They are far from sketchy, are extremely genuine and have huge hearts. But they aren’t perfect and they struggle with temptation too. So what happens if even the most sincere, God-fearing man you know/your sincere, God-fearing boyfriend has moments when he thinks that that Victoria’s Secret model is visually perfect? Where does that leave you?

I suppose I would just have to trust that he would still choose me. Even more so, I would have to trust that he sees women with God’s eyes, and while these women in the media are gorgeous, my value would be more than that. Naive? Maybe. But I choose to hold on to that belief, and I won’t settle for anything less.