People As Symbols

One word. #Linsanity.

Two words. Unexpected #Linspiration.

Three words. Asian American baller.

And after a week of media hoopla and six games’ worth heroics, we don’t really know him. Ethan Sherwood calls him boring. And now I get it. Jeremy is just a symbol. My Asian American brothers at Next Gener.Asian Church are going absolutely bonkers about him, asking what does #linsanity say about Asian American Male Sexuality and how this moment relates to the Civil Rights Movement, etc. But we’re looking at the projection, the image of the man, more than the man himself.

Symbols are really important. Every movement and memory has symbols associated with it. They become the post-it flags to the whole of the event. For instance, if I said, Reformation, your mind retrieves several symbols: a picture of Martin Luther with portly cheeks with a muffin top hat; John Calvin with a thin, gaunt face and magician’s beard, etc.

These buzzwords, clippings, and images help us remember significant parts of history. And they can change, but usually they are significant because they are not only significant in retrospect, they are significant now, in the present. And the funny thing is that people aren’t always aware of what is symbolically important in the now. We think we know, but we’re not sure. Some things get left behind or forgotten by the masses, but remembered by only a certain few. Sound familiar?

The Christian movement as a post-Judaic/post-rabbinical phenomenon was a blip. Remembered and propagated only by a few, one of the elements of telling the story was making sure there were tangible symbols to the faith. The crucifix; baptism; eucharist, fish, and shepherds, etc. These were all ways of distinguishing it from Judaism because the symbols were different.

You have to know how important these symbols are and what they mean in order to understand how to hold their gravity in the present. Which is why the council of Jerusalem was important. That’s why Chalcedon was important. I wonder if these symbols have a limited effectiveness date. Not to say that baptism has limited effect (as a symbol), but in a pluralistic society that idolizes individualism and esoteric communities, I have to ask if traditional symbols are simply losing their effect because they contain less meaning. But I digress.

Here’s my point: Who and what are the symbols for Christian reconciliation in our midst? Jeremy Lin is on one hand, just a basketball player, who’s had a number of good games for an undrafted player. But the dimensions of Lin being Asian American and Christian have made him a symbol with some would say, missional and reconciliation capacity. In other words, suddenly the symbol has power that the man himself doesn’t have. People are impressed by the humility, determination, and even the faith of Jeremy Lin. The symbol at this point has the capacity to become an icon. And those that are partial to that symbol, meaning Asian Americans, 3rd string ballers, Ivy Leaguers, etc. suddenly can see where Lin’s life might be pointing and to whom.

This is why you need to look at yourself in symbolic terms. This is why your church, my church being monocultural, monoethnic, or whatever, it symbolizes something and you need to know what. It conveys a message that either supports or subverts what I say or how I live. People are not just people or projects or problems. Their lives are symbols. This is why photography and the visual arts matter, because sometimes we see in those symbols and in those images something far deeper and meaningful.

Christian reconciliation needs to be aware of the symbols we project. How much of it is co-opted by merely people of goodwill? What does it say when our churches are homogenous and seeking only to grow in a particular class or political persuasion or theological bastion? What does it mean when we keep our local neighborhoods at arm’s length? And if we are discovering so much about how shocked the League is about Jeremy Lin and how he persevered rather than wither away on someone’s bench, what does that say when we are a culture unfamiliar with perseverance and anonymity?

Four words: Knowing. God. Live. Differently.

Was the Civil Rights Movement for Me?

I know this sounds like a strange question, but I have to ask because I wasn’t there, I’m not Black, and I don’t know if it applies to me or people like me.

I ask because I’ve heard White people (love y’all, I really do) ask too. And here’s the thing, was the American Revolution for me? Was the Second World War for me? Was the Protestant Reformation for me? I know it sounds funny, because well, first of all, it sounds sooooo egocentric. It’s like asking my parents, so when you two got married, it was for me?

Not really, would be the answer. Right? My parents didn’t get married for me. They might have wanted children in the abstract sense, but I’m sure they got a whole lot more than they bargained for when they got me (and yes, that is dripping with sarcasm (and guilt! – love you, Mom!) Interesting. I’ve never used nested parentheses in any other form of writing. I wonder if I’ll have to like do like weird grammatical tricks for this sentence to make sense, remember FOIL method?)

In any case, if it’s true in the microcosm of my parents, then it must be true that while some of the intention was that I would have a ‘better’ life because of those things that were fought for–those events, wars, and movements were for principles and ideals greater than any one person, including me. But at the same time, there is probably more to the movement than it bargained for. And again, as anecdotal evidence, I would like to offer that at times I feel absent or displaced from the effects of the movement. Who is the “we” in “We shall overcome”? Am I a part of that “we”?

When we talk about the United States of America, is that a “we”? Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m part of that country. I was always reminded growing up that I wasn’t American. When I learn about the Korean War, who am I in that discussion? What shall I say?

I think some of the racial tensions in the country today are around these gaps in “we.” It’s really about “me.” Even if “you” and “me” would be able to relate to one another, I’m not sure how we get to “we” any more.

Korean and African American communities in Dallas, Texas look like they’re on the war path. Some recent headlines: “Black-Korean Tensions Flare in Dallas”; “African Americans in Dallas Target Korean Businesses”;  But here’s an interesting excerpt from this article: “Dallas mayor tries to calm South Dallas dispute between blacks, Korean-Americans”:

Ted Kim, vice president of the Korean Society of Dallas, stressed that Korean-Americans weren’t so unlike African-Americans. “We have a very similar narrative,” he said. Kim told stories of foreigners occupying Korea, taking over its culture and cities, and forcing Koreans to learn another language. Like black slaves in America, Koreans have also seen the worst in humankind, he said. “We don’t know how similar we are,” Kim said. “If we were able to start sharing our stories with one another, we would find there is so much we can build on and find respect.”

In a passionate speech, Muhammad directly addressed the South Dallas incident and said the protests weren’t based on hate. He also spoke about black history and the ongoing struggles in black communities.“As a Korean people, you will never understand what we desire as black people as long as you don’t understand what happened to us,” he said. “We have been systemically destroyed.”

Muhammad criticized the way media stories have portrayed the South Dallas protests. He said people have incorrectly asked why the protesters dislike Asian-American businesses. “The better question is whether the Asian community targeted the black community to exploit it,” he said. “It is clear our community is under siege.”

Muhammad said American history shows that Italians, Indians, Arabs and other ethnicities have moved businesses into black communities to steal opportunities from them.“I believe everyone has benefited to the downfall of black people,” he said. “You are now just the next person in a line of people who have come to the black community and taken advantage of people who have been destroyed in this country.”

Kyrie eleison~ Lord, have mercy. Your cross was for me and for all of us. Make us a “we”.

You Speak English So Well

Person A says to Person B – “You speak English so well.”

This sentence and what it communicates can be very different depending on A and B. In other words (Marshall McLuhan), “the medium is the message”.

If Person A is an exchange student learning English from an American voice actor, person B. Then the statement comes off with a true air of respect. The statement acknowledges the command of the language and the speaker’s ability to enunciate and form the various sounds of the English language with such fluidity and competence. It is an affirmation.

If A is a native speaker saying this to B, a student of the English language, it could be a recognition of the hard work that goes into learning English not just as written, but spoken language. It acknowledges  English is a difficult language to learn and that B speaks it very well – as a student? relative to a native speaker? compared to other students? as opposed to another language? You speak English better than I had expected? OK, there is some ambiguity here.

If A is a White American and B is a Asian American, then what does that communicate? Well, it could be that A assumed that B was not a native speaker. Or that A knew something about B that would beforehand that would have indicated  B perhaps had a problem that would inhibit an ability to speak English well. And I suppose with the various waves of immigration to this country, it is probably not so easy to discern an Asian from an Asian American. How would you know visually someone should or would speak English well? This is where the intent and purpose of the statement cannot help but be lost.

But the statement, again depending on who the speakers are, can convey an expectation that wasn’t met, even if pleasant. And that statement divulges something about the way we look at each other. And in some cases and in some uses, it shows how we look down or up to one another.

What about this one – Wow. You’re really good at basketball!

That’s the one Jeremy Lin is facing right now. The first Asian American in 60 years to play in the NBA is getting some major minutes while playing for the New York Knicks. And the surprise here, again, while pleasant, belies that sense of dismissal and what Tim Dalrymple reprises as “The Soft Bigotry of Low Expectations.” The opening line of Dalrymple’s wonderful post, “Sometimes compliments are the worst insults.”

This is what gives people who challenge the stereotypes and media projections a chip on their shoulder. It’s what makes tokens tired and women resentful.

Here’s a lesson: Don’t assume the stereotype – Question it first. Remember that some compliments reveal that you think of yourself as the judge, not just an observer or participant.

The Elephant in the Room

Thank you Pastor Bryan Loritts of Fellowship Memphis for calling a spade a spade.   In this video clip he comments on the ridiculous blogosphere response of some African American ministers who protested the appearance of TD Jakes in The Elephant Room.  Granted that Rev. Jakes has some controversial theological views (one of which he reaffirmed his reversal while making his appearance), but the amount of vitriol thrown Jakes way by some was ridiculous and quite frankly bordered on sin.  Newsflash to the haters – we all have some theological heresy in our belief system because theology (the study of God) is a human endeavor.   I applaud both James MacDonald to not bowing to the pressure and Bryan for calling people out who needed to be called out.

Radical vs. American Dream

David Platt’s book, Radical, begs the question of how to be Christian in America or perhaps in other words, how to be American in Christ.

I think this might be the most difficult thing to Christians and church leaders to reconcile. Can we separate the call of Christ and the incredibly strong pull of the American Dream?

A thought came to me the other day that following Jesus has brought me to the brink – it brought into light all my inadequacies, weaknesses, fears of failure, disappointing people, compromising my kids’ future, all of it. I am at times, seized with terror about what it means to be a Christian, not just believe in Jesus and his work on the cross, but in the daily mundane decisions to submit my life to him. What kind of bed should I buy? Where should I live? What school should I go to? How much do we give? How much do we save? Where do the kids go to school? And on and on we go about trying to be faithful. And it’s not easy. In some ways, these are some of the more difficult questions of discipleship.

But the other night I saw on TV, the Winter X Games where young men and women defied gravity and overcame a totally different set of fears snowboarding and skiing doing stunts and tricks that clearly required a hardshell helmet.

Then it occurred to me that the American Dream often encourages people to overcome their fears for things that don’t matter. To perform a front flip in a snowmobile – something that had never been done in history – I concede must be incredibly difficult, but in light of the neighborhood, of this week even means very little. That we would run away from the intimacy in our marriages in favor of meeting sales quotas for a heavily taxed salary to pay for a house that is entirely too big for a family that can’t weather the storm but would save our face in a board meeting. Most of our lives are still stuck in what Thoreau called “quiet desperation.” We escape into addictions, hobbies, distractions, and even extreme lifestyles all the while refusing to face our greatest fears – knowing ourselves. No helmet required.

Platt is quick to point out that even most churches waste a lot of their resources, preoccupations, and time into activities that have nothing to do with the pursuit of the Christ-like life. Which means, if I might be so bold, that we cannot even reconcile the paradox of being Christian in America today. I walk around with a firm sense of my hypocrisy realizing that I can’t be radical without this awareness. Reconciliation begins when you have a sense of the cost of complacency and are willing to do the hard work of investing time in the ordinary fears of the everyday.

Elements of Reconciliation – Listening

Read a tweet this morning from @mattgallion, “The humility built into community is the recognition of incompleteness, not of partial incorrectness. - @pagitt”

In trying to develop a series on the Elements of Reconciliation (The first one in no particular order, is memory), I’ve been reading more about the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa, and been very convicted by the fact that listening is a key component to healing.

The basic concept of the Truth and Reconciliation is that amnesty is granted when perpetrators and victims confess their crimes and losses before the other and they must listen to one another fully. The perpetrators disclose fully their acts of violence, even to the gory details. The victims and survivors listen. Then the victims talk about their grief and pain, the perpetrators listen. Then after the hearings, amnesty is granted by the commission.

One of the reasons why reconciliation doesn’t happen in Christian America is that we listen to caricatures and we speak as caricatures. People who have been victims and are victims don’t have the space/freedom/choice to speak and those who carry these crimes out don’t speak either. Or worse, we speak into these huge amplification systems of media and fear mongering (sometimes even the church participates in this one) that keep us from really listening to what is happening.

Case in point, do you know any “illegal” (the preferred term is undocumented, btw) immigrants? Have you ever asked them if they pay anything for their hospital visit? Have you ever asked them how long it takes to get citizenship? Have you ever heard their story? Did you listen, really listen?

Or do you know the stories of the people struggling with their sexual identity and sexuality? Have you heard their stories and how painful their journey has been? How they would have given anything to be “normal”? How many of them have trouble reconciling with their faith in God because of the tempest of emotions, morals, and ethics they wrestle with on a daily, if not hourly, minutely basis? Have you listened?

Don’t get me wrong…I know that ultimately it is important to align our lives to God’s answers and God’s story. Yeah, I get that. I’m just saying you can’t just say that and not listen. Christians don’t have a very good reputation when it comes to listening. Christians are more likely to roll their eyes at words like racial reconciliation and oppression. We are so tired of taking the blame, I suppose. It can feel like there are all kinds of things that we as American Christians can be faulted for on issues of race, class, gender, and sexuality, that we just begin to get tired and defensive. But I think as followers of Christ we don’t have a choice. How can we expect people to really hear the gospel of Jesus Christ if we aren’t willing to listen to their story? If we don’t ourselves cultivate our own stories?

Our “hearing” is directly related to our obedience; the Hebrew word for “hear” is synonymous with the word, “obey”. I think in the work of reconciliation, to “listen” is also closely related to “hearing.” If we’re not hearing the stories of our brothers and sisters who live at the margins, who are disenfranchised, who are suffering and feel slighted, does it not also bring up questions of our ability to obey? I don’t know, maybe that’s a stretch, but I am convinced that listening is more important in the work of reconciliation than speaking, even. What do you think?

The Macro-Problem of Helping Others

Sometimes you can use Scripture to interpret Scripture and it can be very enlightening, but other times you can’t.

Case in point, Matthew 26:11 – “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me”; cross-reference with this the previous chapter, Matthew 25, where Jesus describes separating the sheep from the goats, here v. 37-40 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

So we go from a transitive property of “least of these” = Jesus; to the statement that poor are ever-present, but differentiated from the real presence of Jesus. And I can resolve it by simply acknowledging that Jesus is distinguishing his presence in flesh, versus his presence through the poor. I get that.

But hopefully you sense my internal tension when it comes to how to care for, live, and help others. The hungry, stranger, poor and sick may not always equal the actual presence of Christ.

And even if you wanted to say the two are equivalent without question and qualification, I think there are some real problems there that still avoid the responsibility of thought and compassion. And I say that because I think compassion requires responsibility. Random acts of kindness are just random, not necessarily kindness. I’ve said that before, and I maintain that stance. Here’s an example of a problem that arises if you equate the poor to Christ unconditionally: if you provide for the poor to the point that they are no longer poor (again, a fairly indefinite demarcation), then do they lose their Christ-like status? When someone who was sick recovers, then are they no longer Christ? Also, if the poor are the presence of Christ, do we have an investment in perpetuating their condition so that Christ would be present? That’s ridiculous, right? Exactly my point.

The problem becomes more complex when you think about the larger economic system we participate in as churches and individual consumers/producers in the West. Everything becomes distant and disembodied, so that even our generosity and charity is separate from direct relationship with us. In other words, I can give money to a child on the other side of the globe, but have very little control and influence to what is actually happening. My act of kindness is disembodied, which means I didn’t do the least of these, I just gave off some of my disposable income and in some sense, maintained that which I perhaps consider less disposable – my time, comfort, personal space, routine, etc. Does that still qualify as kindness to the least of these?

These days, charity and help from Christian circles is under scrutiny. I’ve mentioned the books, Toxic Charity and When Helping Hurts before, and I think we really have to question the ways in which we are still complicit with not only how we give, but how we consume. Because in a capitalist economic system, our consumption is being moralized, which somehow leads us to want to either increase our consumption or selectively bear the burden so that others might be able to partake. But still we help in part, but not the whole. There is something that deeply departs from a theology of incarnation if our charity continues to be unaccompanied by embodiment, responsibility, and relationship.

I know this is a bit outside the purview of Christian thinking, and filled with liberalist thinking, but the critique that Slavoj Zizek offers here by saying that charity is problematic can still be applied to help us think through what it means to give and give faithfully. What do you think?

What are We Really Fighting For?

In the popular hype of MMA fighting, crowds cheering and roaring over the cage fights in an octagon echo the days of the gladiatorial fights in the sand arenas.  The craze of seeing two people battle it out has not waned over the centuries.  What are the combatants fighting for?  Beyond the brutality and violence, what is the ultimate triumph the fighters are aiming for?  The trophy?  The money?  Fame?  Personal accomplishment?  I think what men fight for in the octagon is a metaphor of what we fight for in society.  Why we fight says a lot about who we are.  What do we fight for?

One of the films I enjoyed most last year was “Warrior,” a film that didn’t get a whole lot of attention but had a deep, moving story with incredible acting.  It depicts a crucial dynamic of relationships in our society that stems from the condition of our souls.  Why do we fight?  If we can uncover the answer to this question, it illuminates much of why relationships are the way they are and what our souls are really searching for.  I think the film illustrated the important factor that what people are fighting for is not always apparent.  Sometimes the fighters don’t even realize what they’re really fighting for.  But they fight.  And we fight.

Here comes the slight bit of spoiler, just to warn you in case you want to stop reading here.  The story showed that what we are often fighting for is forgiveness.  In all our hard bouts with people, self and society, forgiveness is the unseen prize that we’re trying to get to and often times don’t realize that is what we’re actually fighting for.  In the surprising and revealing twist of the film, we find that the end of the fight is about achieving reconciliation that can only come by forgiveness and letting go of the anger.  But forgiveness rarely ever comes easy for anyone.  And that’s why we have to fight to forgive.  The deeper the hurt and anger, the tougher the fight.  The external fights we face in life represents the internal fights in our souls.  We’re fighting to be free from our anger, hate and grudges.  We’re fighting our way to forgiveness that manifests in reconciliation.  The true and genuine Warrior then is the one who gets to a place where he or she no longer needs to keep fighting.  When forgiveness is achieved, the fight is done.  The Warrior has won.

How Do You Get Out of the Matrix?

The Matrix, particularly the first film of the trilogy, is one of my all-time favorite movies. It admittedly has all the ingredients of a great “guy” movie: martial arts, fantasy, incredible special effects, and lots and lots of guns. But more than your typical action film, it has really great dimensions of unique cinematography, legit fight choreography and wirework (straight out of the Hong Kong tradition), and a depth of philosophy that a grad student can really appreciate. The Wachowski brothers, producers and directors of the film trilogy, were steeped in philosophy before writing the film. And let me just say that the notion of the Matrix is real – meaning that it wasn’t just a great storyline, being born into chambers where we are fed intravenously and connected to the matrix of a false reality, when in fact our life force is powering an empire of robots which continue to mine the world for new power sources.

Liberation is two-part: one is an actual unplugging from the Matrix, a physical freedom from the chamber that we were born into and departure from the source of the false reality that has been pacifying us with meaning and “experience”. The second liberation is not just a matter of unplugging from the system – it’s a mental re-orientation about “the real”, what is truly “real.”

Christians found the metaphor meaningful and relevant for obvious reasons. Jesus is the original Neo. Society is the Matrix. Agent Smith is the Devil. You get the picture.

But there are some problems that I don’t think we’ve really thought about in applying this metaphor in our Christian witness. One problem is that the church, as an institution, has often been complicit in the work of the Matrix. You can really see it with missional language that uncovers a rather stagnant congregation. We were never really subversive or prophetic to the culture at large; we are in some ways, more concerned with profits than prophets. I think there is a growing consciousness that is helpful in critiquing the church’s lack of initiative in the face of the Matrix now. Second, I don’t think we’ve understood the act of liberation as a physical and mental re-orientation. We assume that the verbal message of the gospel is enough for people to grasp, but the mental, cognitive understanding doesn’t necessarily free them from the physical connection to the Matrix. It is both a physical unplugging and a mental change of orientation to the Matrix. Then, whenever we plug ourselves back into the Matrix, we need to understand the difference the reality that we construct and bend, and what is still “the real.”

Virtual reconciliation is not reconciliation. Compassion and justice is also incomplete by themselves. But so too is it problematic when people claim to live free from the Matrix, but don’t know how to re-engage. It’s a much more complicated task then it appears. It’s much more complicated than a red or blue pill. This is what we all have a hard time describing as Christians. We know that Pentecostals are on to something, but they’re kind of crazy, aren’t they? We love the power of the truth in the new Reformed movements and the adherence to a pure Gospel, but they also seem limited in their ability to speak outside their context. And we know that the new contemplatives and mystics strike a chord with our hearts as well, but we just don’t know how to separate ourselves from our “real” lives, right?

My friends, the work of reconciliation is one of the ways we bring in “the real”. We know there’s something wrong, something missing and that’s where it begins. Your discontent proves that there’s something else out there.

Elements of Reconciliation – Memory

I have trouble sometimes trying to describe what I do – I educate others on the work of reconciliation.

Reconciliation? they ask, Like in marital situations?

Well, not really. Think bigger – like people groups and on issues like immigration, race, class, you know?

And then, I get a few nods and oh’s and Okays. And then the conversation peters out.

I try and return the vocation volley, so what do you do?

And the answers usually can be divided into two categories, those that deal with the present – selling homes, technology consulting, writing, etc.; And those who work towards the future – insurance, community development, teachers, researchers, etc.

Reconciliation falls into a different category because it is somewhat a work that deals with the past, it is historical work that is trying to tie up loose ends with the present; but because we who live in the present are preoccupied in the moment or in the transaction at hand, or we work towards the future, reconciliation seems like a step backward, a constant, nagging pull keeping you from taking the next step forward. Which is why I understand it when people grow weary of the discussions necessary, but we are dialoguing with the past, a past that we cannot change, but neither does it go away without being addressed. Our pasts have a way of coming back to haunt us if we are not careful. And Christians who have been associated with power and influence, particularly being historical bedmates with power, really need to be transparent about that past – whether it  was Constantine, the Crusades, the Holy Roman Empire (which by many historian’s accounts was neither holy, Roman, or an empire!), the Great Schism, the Inquisition, the wars, the conquest, the bloodshed, the imperialism, the slave trade, the nativism, the silence, the exclusion acts…all that. If you call yourself Christian, then you have to own this history to some extent. Why?

Because Christians have to remember what happened because history, personal and collective, is that which puts a  backbone in our posture of confession. Confession is an act of remembering the past. Reconciliation can only be had with confession. In other words, reconciliation requires a good memory.

That is why even now, when you tell someone the full story of the gospel, you have to go back to the beginning – at some point, you must explain the story of a garden with two trees. Then the story of Christ as messiah makes sense. Because reconciliation is what adds symmetry to the story back in the beginning – Christ hung on a tree. The death that was promised to Adam and Eve was fully owned and purchased in the person of Christ. And we are taught to remember that story for it is also at the genesis of our stories. For like crack babies, we were also born with an addiction we inherited, and addiction that came from the curse of one tree, and at the intersection of two other trees, we are now the recipients of grace. We remember because reconciliation requires that we remember who we were and what happened and why we can lay claim to the new.

Without memory, we cannot understand the reason for a Savior; without remembering our worst moments in church history, we dismiss the ghosts of the past as though they had no bearing, no place to land in our lives now; but you cannot confess what you do not remember, and you cannot be forgiven if you have no awareness of the gravity of the infraction; a key part of reconciliation is the purposeful act of bringing the past before our very eyes and ears so that we might fully have the opportunity of being the new creation we are promised to be.

Here’s Desmond Tutu recounting why bygones will never be bygones without our ability to face it. Listen closely and enjoy.