random thoughts on life and religion

Last night a thunderstorm killed the power in the house for a minute and made me turn off everything electronic. I stood at the bedroom window in the dark and looked out at the sky. I probably looked like a freak to anyone who glanced up into the window and saw me standing there whenever the lightning flashed.

As I stood there, I reflected. I thought about life, about my circumstances, about who I am and how I got here. It was good. Consciously acknowledging my thoughts and forcing myself to reflect helped me process them. Too often I’m distracted by the glowing square that I’m staring at right this minute to do that…to reflect. To think. To allow my brain to work.

Sometimes we just need to hit the power button on our gizmos and allow the CPU in our heads to work. I’m going to try to do that more. Technology can be a helpful tool, or it can be a crutch and a distraction. Too often I’ve allowed it to be the latter. I’m going to try not to allow it to continue that way.

I have a new-found respect for pastors.

Prior to accepting the interim pastorate that I’m currently filling, I’d always been on the receiving end of the pastor’s ministry. Sure, I’d preached a time or two, but generally speaking, I was always basically another member of the congregation, on the receiving end of the senior pastor’s efforts and hard work. I’ll have to admit, there were often times when I wondered what exactly was difficult about a pastor’s job. I saw various pastors “hanging out” at Starbucks or in their homes, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, sipping on their cappuccinos and just chillin’. I thought they were just slacking off, not really working at all.

That’s not how it works, though, is it? In reality, a pastor’s job is tough. In a way, he or she is always working. Unlike most jobs on this earth, a pastor can’t take off his pastor hat when he goes home. It’s always on. He’s always responsible for his people, for his ministry, and for himself. And he’s always thinking, always researching, always evaluating how to do this best, how to help that person, or how to really get this point across correctly.

It’s exhausting, really. My primary and, basically, sole responsibility in this interim pastorate is to preach. I was basically told that all I need to do is show up on Sunday, ready to preach. That’s sounds a lot easier than it is, though. This past Sunday was my first official sermon, and afterward I was tired. I went home and just wanted to crash–and “all” I’d done was preach! Yesterday I didn’t do much at all, just allowing my mind to recover. But today I start on a new sermon–a whole new thought process, a whole new effort. I’m already weary. And it’s only week two!

Don’t get me wrong, I love to preach. Even as it’s exhausting me, it’s also reinvigorating me. Sometimes I cannot believe that I’m where I am. I consider it one of the greatest privileges of my life that God has allowed me to communicate his message to his people.

That’s part of the thing, though. A pastor’s not just saying words. He’s not just teaching something that he thinks. In a way, he’s speaking for God. He’s communicating the word of God. That’s a lot of pressure! For me at least, there are thoughts constantly running through my head–what if what I’m saying is wrong? What if this isn’t God’s word, but my own? What if I relied on my own strength as I wrote this sermon, and what I’m delivering to the people is a far cry from what God would have me say?

And then there’s the questions about my own state. What if I haven’t connected with God correctly this week? What if sin is marring my relationship with God? What if I’m not living what I’m preaching? What if I’m not being authentic before the people I’m trying to exhort to live authentically?

I never realized how big these questions can become for pastors until I walked in their footsteps. I have a new-found respect for the pastors in my life – for my father, my father-in-law, my seminary friends and mentors – because it’s hard work and it’s a lot of responsibility. It requires a lot of prayer, a lot of patience, and a lot of grace. I’m only doing this for a short time, and I don’t even have all the other responsibilities that a typical pastor does – Sunday school, small groups, elder meetings, visitations, etc. I’ve got a lot of admiration now for those who do this week in and week out, men and women who typically do it for little pay and even less thanks. Full-time ministry has to be a calling, because otherwise I don’t think anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to it willingly.

If you see your pastor drinking a mocha at your local Starbucks, don’t sneer and wonder what he’s getting paid for – instead, buy him another cup, he probably could use the caffeine boost.

My grandmother died last week.

Her passing wasn’t really a shock to anyone. She wasn’t in the best of health, and had been in and out of the hospital several times in the last year or so. Still, we were all saddened when we heard of her passing.

Even though it’s been so crazy here (we’re in NYC for the funeral), it’s also so amazing to look back on my grandmother’s life and realize what a legacy she left. I’ve learned so much about her from my extended family members. “Ma ma” was an amazing woman, a woman that really cared about her family and went out of her way to make sure everyone was cared for.

I know, with every fiber of my being, that my grandmother loved me. That may not seem very unusual to you, since most grandmothers love their grandchildren, but I see it as unique because I’ve never once had a direct conversation with my grandmother. You see, my grandmother didn’t speak English. She spoke only Cantonese Chinese, a language which is more Greek to me than Greek is. Anytime I wanted to share something with my grandmother, I’d have to pull another family member over to translate.

If you’ve never done it, communicating via translator is HARD. There’s so much that gets lost in translation. Conversation is so much more than just words. Yet, even though this was the only way I could interact with my grandmother, she still somehow managed to communicate to me very clearly one particular message: I love you. Although I’ve never understood a word she said, I’ve always understood her heart.

By the grace of God, my grandmother was a believer. I believe that one day I will see my grandmother again. I look forward to the conversation that we’ll have on that day, a conversation with the woman that I’ve never spoken to but that I dearly loved.

I’m sometimes amazed when I think about the paths that God leads us down. When Laura and I left New York in 2002, I never imagined we’d be where we are today, or that we’d be headed in the direction we’re headed. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to be, but that plan has changed so significantly.

And you know what? I’m glad that it has. As I look back at where we’ve been, and as I look forward to where our road leads us, I’m genuinely excited. I can’t wait to get there, but I’m also really enjoying the trip. Now, that’s not to say I’ve liked all the bumps we’ve hit on the road, but overall, it’s exciting to know that you’re doing what the LORD wants of you and that he’s leading you forward.

As an introspective teenager, I used to wonder what I’d be like ten years down the road. I used to dream what it would be like to meet myself, a decade later.

I’m at the age I used to dream of. Although I’m not the person I used to dream of, and I’m certainly not at the point I wish I was, I think I’ve grown tremendously since that point. Or, more accurately, the LORD has grown me a lot.

This journey of life I’m on has weathered me, in a good way I think. And that’s why I’m excited for the future. Not necessarily because I always love the travel, but because I know it produces a lot of good in my life. Who knows who I’ll be in another ten years?

I look forward to finding out!

Since we’re in the last month of our time here at Dallas, I thought it appropriate to celebrate all the friendships we developed while here with a slide show.