Our God is not a God of answers, but of tension and mystery. He gives no rationale behind suffering and its continuance. He offers no incontrovertible proof of his existence. If he care about such questions, he would have given us an answer. He offers no real meaning behind frivolous deaths or behind excessive suffering. Nor does he state explicitly that existence has meaning, nor does he give us "meaning" as if it is a holy object. In fact, he says the opposite; you live in a meaningless world, make it meaningful. He does not subscribe to our weighty logic, which we in our pride believe is heavier than his glory, nor is he encumbered by the very questions that that logic asks. The question of suffering is our deepest question, but he is not limited by the weight of this question. Our profound questions are still our own, and his questions are deeper still. Perhaps this is because he knows that we are never satisfied by an answer; that faith is experience, not knowledge. God cannot be "given" nor the experience of him vicariously felt. It must be immediate and individual.

If God had given me the reason for all the suffering in the world, I would probably not believe him, or, found some way to parry; isn't this the nature of reason? If God had shown me the suffering in the world, I would probably have doubted his goodness. If God had incited against me pain, as he did with Job, then I would understand my own wretchedness and look for him, in desperation or in anger.

Today is August 5

There are now officially only 10 days before I return to Princeton. Although I am very much looking forward to leaving sterile SoCal, I feel that I might miss home for once. Actually, let me rephrase that. I will miss (only) Jeremy. I convinced him to come stay with me for a week in Princeton, but I don't think dad was too keen on that idea.

I see so much of myself in him, and in some ways, I feel more like a father than a brother. His social-consciousness, frugality, sense of humor, and sensitivity reminds me of a younger self. He is really a good kid, but not as self-confident or outgoing as I was. He mumbles a bit when he talks and finds it difficult to speak in front of others, especially older people. These things he will hopefully grow out of as he cements his identity. He, like me, avoids conflict like the plague until it cannot be ignored any longer, but that, also like me, often leads to passivity and frustration. Still, I thank God that he turned out this way, considering everything. He has a good head, some ambition; what more can you ask for? Last year, I got in the habit of saying "I love you" as often as I could to him; I think he needs it. I tricked him into actually saying it back to me once too; it took a good 15 minutes. Also, I heard that he was popular with the ladies. Not in a direct charming kind of way because he's kind of awkward, but in that dark, talented, mysterious manner (that Asians seem to be so fond of). He, of course, denies all this.

It has been (really) difficult for me transitioning into this pseudo-nuclear family. Basically, this means that my immediate family is now seven people: Dad, his wife (Joanne), step-brothers Andrew and Thomas (8 years old!), Jeremy, Amy, and me. Still, it is so obvious to see the ways that this half and the other half differs. This difference is so vast that there is no point in really trying to foster a "unified family" air; Jeremy, Amy, and I are well past that age. Frankly, I am not even trying to "love" Andrew and Thomas as much as Jeremy. This might sound entirely hateful or cinderella-y, but really, I can't love them as much as I do Jeremy, so we'll just have to settle for civility. And to be honest, I do not even think of them as my "brothers" nor do I feel any reason why I ought to. This marriage had nothing to do with me, thus, they have nothing to do with me except proximity, and again, to be honest, often even that proximity is unwanted or stressful. It makes me (and Jeremy) feel like guests in our own home, and that really drives people crazy. Perhaps this is the way they feel, too. Of course, it is puerile to simply blame the kids. All I know is that when Jeremy is not happy, I'm not happy.

On the lighter side, I have never seen my dad laugh so hard than a couple weeks back. Yesterday, he and Joanne even went to the beach together! That was a watershed in my understanding of him. He is definitely happier and less busy, and he does need someone to take care of him (he is, after all, still a first-generation Korean male). But, when Jeremy and I passed by our old apartment, we both just really really wanted things to be the way they were before. It was stressful then, but at least it was known and safe.

Why is life sometimes so difficult? (And yet, even when I say this, I realize that I am still blessed for many many things.)

sanctification

It's 6 21 AM. I can't sleep. Maybe it's the coffee that I drank hours ago coupled with this new preoccupation of mine.

I've thought about what it means to be holy, what it means to be sacred, and finally, what it means to be perfect.

It boils down to one question.

Can God be "holy" (q d s) without His angels or humans, or without a multiplicity within His own nature?

The answer is:

No.

Because "holiness" is otherness, and otherness must be affirmed by more than one.
YHWH cannot be holy without the Angelic trihagion.
God, manifested in three persons as the Trinity (or at least, a binitarianism), must have multiple persons within Himself in order to declare His own "holiness."

This leads to the question: What exactly "is" holiness?
Is it goodness? No, because then it would be called... well, goodness.
Is it piety? No, for the same reason.
Is it an idealized, spiritualized, and necessarily transcendent form of these virtues attributed to God? Probably not; other things can be holy too, like, the "Holy Bible" which is a book and does not have the consciousness or personality necessary to act on these virtues (because... well, it's a book)

Holiness is simply "otherness" transferred through the creation/process of God as the creator to the created. I am holy only because God has "made" me holy (again).

Sacredness, on the other hand, is the same model of "transferrance" but not necessarily with God as the creator; it is a lower level with "man" as the creator. Thus, we can call civic religion "sacred" or beautiful art "sacred" or even children "sacred" simply because the existing people transfer the sacredness to them.

The emergence of the sacred and the Holy are both co-emergent developments. They are self-contained processes within themselves, thus they are necessarily "other" to outside people.

6 31 AM: Time to try and sleep.

Hmm and Rawr

Everything in the present is mundane. Meaning is only attributed later.
The most important event in history was the resurrection of Jesus.
Yet, if I were in that tomb when He was resurrected, I would have been simply surprised.
I would not know that it meant a cosmological restoration, the redemption of mankind, etc.

Then there are two options.
1) Meaning is artificial.
2) We lack the capacity to see meaning at the present time.

Reason says one, faith says two.

?

In other news:

Today is one of those days when you want to just start a fight and punch people in the face. I like to think I'm a nice person most the time, but the old man fights back pretty strong. It's probably just because I'm tired, but recently, people have just been getting on my nerves, even for minor things. I'm tired of being patient and sometimes I just want to be left completely alone. I don't want to care about your situation. I do not want to hear your problems all the time. I'm tired of thinking all the time, being stressed out for other people, worried about other people. I want to be a solipsist, an island. I don't want to be attached to anyone and I don't want people to be attached to me. Loosy Goosy, wouldn't it be easy? Float through life like a balloon; it's a lie though, you know it and I do too.

How do priests and pastors do it? How is it possible to be a Christian all the time, to bear one another's burdens? I have my own burdens to bear, and they're enough for two.

"My yoke is easy and I am lowly in heart."
Then why is it so hard so many times?

Sigh. I should pray more.

Luke 6:30

"Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods, do not demand them back."

What could this possibly mean in our day and age?
SIMPLE.

When you pass a beggar in NYC, you are obligated by Jesus Christ to give to that person, not out of obligation to the needy, but for the love of the needy.

Is this radical? Is this improper? Yes, it doesn't fit society's norms, but Christians must place the imperatives given by Jesus Christ over society's norms, but despite it, trying their best to live peaceably.

Arguments that fallaciously claim that "not giving" is "giving," are deceitful. Such arguments usually proceed like this, "I choose not to give money to that homeless person because s/he is 1) manipulating my emotions, 2) going to spend it on drugs/booze, or 3) not giving him/her money would provide an incentive for that person to get a job. These are half- and un- truths. True, the gospels say, "Which one of you would give your son a serpent?" There is an element of discernment in this passage, but the great discerner, the great Judge, is God, and not us. Our time to judge will be in heaven, but on this earth, we are not to judge. Jesus says so explicitly, "Do not judge, lest you be judged (and with the same measure that you judge the other!)," but to give meekly, not from our own wealth, but from our poverty. But, our God does not ask us to discern if we are truly "acting in the other person's best interest," but to give so automatically that our left hand won't know what the right hand is doing. We should (I should) examine our hearts earnestly before we choose not to give; are we really in such a position as not to give?

Do not confuse the imperative of God's command to give with your/my own judgments. How humiliating it will be when before Jesus Christ, he asks us, "Did you give when I asked, no, when I commanded you to give?" And stumbling over our words, we would say, "I thought about what you said, but truly, I do not think it was in the best interest of that homeless man that I should give to him." In our own deceit and Satan's cunning, we transform what should be simple verb, to give, into a non-action, all with the stamp of a sense of justified righteousness! We say "no" to Jesus' demand and feel that we are in the right!

I might take this even one step further; Usually, when someone asks me for money, I say, "Sorry, I don't have any cash on me." This is true, I just prefer the credit card. I need to build credit anyways. But, this is not Christianity; Jesus said that the woman who gave out of her poverty was the one who was most blessed, and not those who gave from abundance. The Christian (on a side note, the definition of "Christian" as we know it is still something debased, I think. The word itself is almost like an impossible ideal while we are here in sin, tantalizingly simple but yet. our measures to match up to that term is futile. How can someone be a Christian only part of the time? That's impossible! Every moment of sin is a moment when one ceases to be a Christian, that is how I think of the term "Christian." It is legally rigid, unbending and non-flexible, I suppose. It is an ideal term that only Jesus met and surpassed.) should have ran back to the ATM, withdrew cash, then given it to the person who was asking; even prepared in advance to give when someone asked.

Lives of service to God must be lives of giving.

or maybe I'm just crazy.

Jae Han

June 9, 2008

The most haunting things that I have experienced, are, surprisingly not my own horror at my helplessness, but rather, the helplessness of others. For some odd reason, I connect with the grief of the fathers who have lost someone close to them more than I have with anyone else. This man on my left was a South Korean fisherman who had been abducted by the North. He fled from North Korea, but left behind his wife and his 25 year old daughter in North Korea. That is the face of a father who had lost his family. Their family is being, undoubtedly, tortured at this very moment. Look at this face clearly and recognize it, it is the face of a father, your father.

I thought I was in the clear during Sonia's funeral. Usually, to be honest, I don't know how to react. There is all this Hollywood bull that makes you think that you should react in a particular manner. I will tell you something though; the first pain that you feel when you lose someone is not sorrow, your automatic reaction is not crying. It is numbness, an automatic soul reaction, like you're bracing yourself for the worst when it's is already over. During the funeral, we all lined up to see Sonia and pay our respects. I was ready as the man before me stepped to offer his condolences to Sonia's father. But, I broke down, when Sonia's father collapsed on the neck of that man, not crying picturesque tears of long-partings, but deepened unabashed weepings, mournings of frustration of his helplessness. He collapsed, as that man in the picture had collapsed, from grief.

My grandmother (on my mother's side) is the one whom I most vividly remember during my mother's funeral. I had come up to the edge of the coffin; her skin had an unnatural hue, and I touched her face. It felt like exactly like the hardened shell of orange grinds, but there was no heat, not reaction. As I stepped off to the side, I heard the moans of my grandmother, "In-Sook, ah! My baby! What are you doing in that coffin? I'm supposed to die first! In-Sook, ah!" While walking to the coffin, her entire gait had shifted into a grotesque posturing of half-collapsing and, and if sorrow could could be translated into movement, great dramatic swoops and halts. It was a most unnatural movement. I had been repulsed by the deadness of my mother's face, but my grandmother, she adoringly tried to hug In-Sook, her daughter. Once again, her laments, her collapsing.

Now, imagine, this is the depth of grief at human level. But, surely, the things of man are not like the things of God! If this is true, then surely, the grief of man, this entire consummation of a person's nefes, is nothing compared to the grief of a God who had loosened death upon his own son! If human grief consumes an entire person, how much more heightened and emboldened is grief when forcibly yoked unto an eternal God, a God not of lukewarmness, but of radicalness? The grief that God the Father must have felt, which correlates to the wrath that Jesus, the Son, must have been nothing less than infinite. God felt infinite sorrow as Jesus bore infinite wrath.

I wonder though, can we accuse God of filicide, and even, in sense, suicide? Yes! What can be the only explanation then? That God loved you/me more than he loved his own son, his own spirit? Isn't that the logical explanation? Surely then, God is love! Scriptures clearly say, "The one who finds his life will lose it, but he who loses his life for my sake will find it" and also, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

Now, I ask, is it possible to talk about something else?

Thank God that our Jesus has defeated death and sin, and that He is faithful, and we are his and he is mine forever.

Also, that Jesus does not call us to be good, but to do good. We can only be good by doing good, with the Love of God. Just as Jesus says, "Is not the gold in the temple made sacred by the holiness of the temple?" Surely, are we not made good by the goodness of our actions, empowered by God?

I don't know, maybe we should talk about something else.

Jae Han