And I Saw Birds Flying Above Me...

I haven't written here for a long time. Since the last post I've thought about a lot of things and learnt much, some through experiences I'd rather not go through again but most likely will. But I thought I'd just share what happened to me this morning. I stopped by at a petrol station to get some milk this morning on the way to church service. I walked out and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I heard a mass of fluttering sounds above me. I looked up and caught perhaps one of the most beautiful sights I've seen this week: about two dozen birds just flying off into the sky in unison, almost as though they were doing it just to show off what they can do. And, having grumbled all day yesterday about the little things that I couldn't get - the sight reminded me of the little things that I could get. Almost like the Father in heaven dispensing little treats to his child just because he can, and just because it pleases him to do so. I was reminded not to take such small blessings for granted. He had made a group of pigeons to wait just so that at the right time, just at the right place - not before, not after, not anywhere else - they could take to the skies and I would be there to appreciate the wonder, grace and beauty that raised them there.

The Timeless Beauty of Jesus' Paradoxical, Grammatically Challenged Statement

I came across a somewhat enigmatic phrase in the Bible some time ago, said by none other than Jesus himself. In the gospel of John, Chapter 8, Jesus had one of those heated run-ins with the unbelieving Pharisees and teachers of the Law that he often had, where they would try to find fault with him, and he would in turn adroitly turn the table on them and confound them with his response.

Towards the middle of the chapter we find the unbelieving Pharisees challenging Jesus' seemingly extravagant claims (he claimed to be 'the light of the world', which naturally didn't go down well with his theological critics) as well as the validity of his testimony. And nearing the end of the chapter, we find their debate turning to Abraham and his identity as the father of the Jewish people. Jesus challenged their claim to be Abraham's children on the grounds that if they had been the patriarch's children, they would not have tried to kill me, because Abraham would not have done such a thing. Instead, he implied, they were children of the devil.Then the Pharisees sort of changed their story; now they claimed that "the only Father we have is God himself." (verse 41). Again Jesus said that if that were true, they would have loved him, because he came from the Father.

At this point the Pharisees decided to turn the accusations towards Jesus, and claimed that he was demon-possessed and was a Samaritan (which was probably like calling someone a 'raghead terrorist' today). In response, Jesus denied this accusation and said that his words are so true that anyone who keeps it will never die. Baffled and outraged, the Pharisees pointed out the apparent absurdity of that claim; their ancestral patriarch Abraham had died, as had the prophets, and yet this young man Jesus claimed that his words could give eternal life. They asked him if he was greater than Abraham himself. Jesus responded by saying that Abraham had seen Jesus' day and rejoiced. To the Pharisees, more absurdity. They pointed out to him that Jesus was not yet fifty, but claimed to have seen Abraham.

Then came Jesus' cryptic response - and yet, in my opinion, paradoxically one of the most profound and revealing things Jesus ever said regarding his identity: (wait for it...)

"I tell you the truth," Jesus said, "before Abraham was, I am." (Verse 58, NIV)

Whoa, hold on. What? Rewind, please.

N0w, I've been helping a couple of boys with their English. One of the biggest aspects of the English language that I feel they both often have problems with is tenses. It seems that their problem with using tenses in their written work is related to how they speak; in colloquial speech, correct use of tenses are often ignored. After all, most people write like they talk. Fortunately, they're both improving in their use of tenses, both written and spoken.

I also used to be their Sunday School teacher, and I would have loved to discuss Jesus' amazing statement with them there for its dense and intense meaning. But I don't think I would want to use it as an example of good grammar when I teach them English. Why?

The sentence is grammatically unsound and its use of tenses is poorly inconsistent. Correctly said, the sentence should have been "before Abraham was, I had been." The tense in which we use the word 'to be' or its various derivatives - of which 'am' is the first person singular form in the English language - is also important. The difference between 'I am' and 'I was' is when 'I' am present or is doing something. Which is why Jesus' phrase is grammatically incorrect; it is rationally (and grammatically) inconceivable that something is taking place now before something else took place in the past. (Feel free to take some aspirin at this point.)

But it reveals something a couple of very important things. First of all, by saying this Jesus revealed his identity to his listeners. In fact, it was more of a claim than a revelation. Upon hearing Jesus' final response, the Pharisees snapped and sought to stone him to death. This was not because he, a teacher, was using poor grammar (sorry, students). This was because of the extremely sacrosanct significance of the phrase 'I am' itself. In the Scriptures, the phrase 'I am' is the closest that we have been told of God's name. It was a special word, a coded indication of God's identity. Moses, for example, when he asked for God's name upon being sent to free the Israelites, had received as a respond, "I am who I am" and "I AM has sent you" (Exodus 3:14). Thus by using that phrase when talking about himself, Jesus was indicating that he was God himself (so let it never be said again that Jesus never claimed to be God!). The Pharisees, of course, didn't believe this, and was outraged enough to want to stone him for blasphemy.

The second thing that Jesus' response revealed about himself was his eternality. Aside from identifying himself with God, who is eternal, the phrase itself indicated his claim to be timeless and eternal. First, there was the plain context of the phrase, especially the preceeding verses where he claimed that Abraham had seen Jesus' time and rejoiced. But the tense of his phrase on its own is a revelation of his eternality; the 'jumbled up' nature of the tense is a testament to the Speaker's timelessness. Only someone who exists outside of, and is not bound by, linear time, can utter words that imply their constant presence in defiance of the logical flow of time. In fact, if there were a grammatical tense that implies a speaker's timelessness, then Jesus would probably have used that tense instead instead of the present tense form of the word 'to be', i.e. 'I am'.

What this confirms to us is that, although as a human being he was subject to the laws of time and space, as God Jesus remained eternal, unbounded by linear time - hence, unlike the rest of us, he was also free from grammatical rules resulting by our need to indicate our existence in that linear time. For our the purposes of our present life, we can see this as a comfort. As I once heard a scholar recently said, "God is not surprised by history". Even as we live bound by the flow of history, both that of the world and our own personal history, God is - Jesus is. In defiance to grammatical rules but in reflection of the eternality of Christ, I would say that as we live our lives from beginning to the end: Jesus is there when we were born, Jesus is here with us today, and Jesus is there at the end of our Earthly lives. He sees our lives and history not as we see it, as threads being woven together, one by one, into a tapestry, but together as a full picture.

A final thought regarding Jesus' phrase that I would like to share draws more from the meaning of the word 'I am' itself in plain English grammar than from its theological or philosophical meanings, though not completely divorced from them. I now draw your attention to what the word 'I am' itself actually means, regardless of the tense. It is interesting that the word 'to be' (the root word of 'am', 'are' and 'is') , the main copular verb in the English language, has more than one meaning or usage (which might have enabled the English translation of the Bible to carry through the multiple layers of meanings of the phrase from the original text). The first is to indicate mere presence or mere existence. The first person 'I am' on its own simply means 'I am present now' or 'I exist now'. Another usage of 'to be' precedes another verb, especially in a continuous tense, situation or condition. For example: 'I am eating' means 'I am doing eating', and 'I am tired' means 'I am in the condition of tiredness'.

What does it mean for God to say 'I am' in this case, then? Can it mean that his declaration is not just a declaration of presence but also a declaration of action? That his mere presence inevitably implies his action? That simply by being, he is also doing? That when God is present with us, he is also actively doing something in relation to us? That his mere presence is an indication of his power and love moving through us and for us?

In all honesty, after much thinking, I still find Jesus' phrase so difficult to grasp, to understand completely. It is so beyond the scope of reason, in a cosmic scale, transcending time and space, yet so indicative of an ever-relevant and ever-present God. The more I think about it, the more questions I find than answers; and I can scarcely find the words to even express these questions, let alone find their answers. My mind is simply too finite to grasp such an infinite concept embodied in such a short sentence.

In the end, at least, one conclusion I have managed to crystalize and put in words is a simple one. It is that no other human being was, is and will ever be worthy to utter that delightfully enigmatic, mind-bogglingly wonderful, and grammatically challenging phrase about himself. "Before Abraham was, I am": only Jesus himself is the most tangible evidence that God is present and is active in the midst of us. Only Jesus himself is the embodiment that whenever we have been, are or will be, "God is".

"Who is Jesus?": A Personal Reflection on the Meaning of the Question

This question much older than many think it is. It is a question that escaped the lips of many people even in Jesus’ time, including Jesus himself. Luke, one of the writers of the gospels, tells how at one point he asked Simon Peter, one of his closest friends, who people said he was. Then he asked who Peter himself thought Jesus was. Peter said he believed Jesus was the Messiah, the Son of God.

Not everybody would agree with Peter. Not back then, not today. The name of Jesus today is said by many of those in exasperation and frustration, but very often not in reverent or affectionate invocation but as a something of vulgar interjection. A swear word worthy of being censored on television. His image in the popular mind of many is no longer that of a flesh-and-blood persona capable of laughter, tears and anger, let alone that of a divine God-man. It is not even any longer that of the stone- or wax-faced, expressionless white man of the medieval European imagination. His image today is that of a plastic caricature, a two-dimensional semi-historical grinning man who spews out Zen-like sayings irrelevant to the plight of the postmodern Joe Blogs and Jane Belles. If that image even exists in the popular mind.

Regardless of how we feel about religion, spirituality or the Bible, if what we believe about people and things truly reflect parts ourselves, then maybe what we believe about Jesus of Nazarene, Christ to some and Clown to others, says something about ourselves. To consider him with ridicule creates for him a diminutive image in our minds, one that we can pay little attention to with little consequence to our conscience or self-understanding. To consider him utterly non-existent in history, as some do, turns him into a fictitious plaything we can recreate as we see fit; a character of about as much a grave consequence to either world history or the meanings of our lives as Felix the Cat. A figment of history’s imagination. To consider him a great man of history, much as Buddha and Confucius before him and King and Gandhi after him, is to take him more seriously and acknowledge in our minds that he is one whose words are worth listening to; one whose teachings hold the secrets to good life and world peace. But his words would be all that is left of him, for words are immortal but men are not. Words can be ignored but men, a bit harder to ignore. To consider him as nothing but a man of wisdom – divine wisdom even – is to consider him a man of great legacy to history. But a man – a dead man – nonetheless, mutely rotting in his graves as humanity continues with our adventures far towards the outer reaches of outer and inner space.

The opinion of a large number of the world’s population, though by no means the majority, is to consider him not merely as a man of divine wisdom but as divine himself. This carries with it far-reaching implications and meanings. Some of these implications and meanings might not be as comfortable to people, even to his own followers. This is because his divinity entails that the words he speaks, if one is to believe them, are not merely words thrown into posterity as a guide for living and existing on this plain of existence. These are words that point to its speaker as the guide. As such, to believe in this opinion is to acknowledge that the question of Jesus’ existence is in fact relevant beyond his wise words, and that whether or not he exists is consequential to humanity. And because to acknowledge his existence today means to acknowledge his divinity, to believe this means to surrender control of our own very perception of reality to him. While disbelieving his existence is to diminish his stature before us, to believe it is to diminish ours before him. We would no longer be in control. This is one of the things that make this opinion difficult to consider.

This asks us to ponder upon something quite decisive. If he does not exist, then it does not matter whether we believe in him, and his words are only of consequence to the extent that they make us better human beings. Beyond that, they can be ignored. If he does exist, then it suddenly matters whether or not he we listen to what he has to say, which ultimately points to him.

Now to bring these highfaluting ideas to a personal level, as the title of this piece is, after all, refers to a personal reflection. What do I believe about Jesus, and what does it mean? I believe in his existence and divinity. How do I know what I know is right? I know this in the rational sense perhaps more than in the empirical sense. The word usually used as shorthand for this type of knowledge is “faith”. There is a large body of evidence that I can point to in support of my personal faith; I try to make my faith anything other than blind faith. There is the historical evidence, modern testimonies of other people of faith. Yet one cannot be forced to have faith. The evidence can only point people to having faith, not make them have faith. They can only serve as signs to the chair, not make one sit on the chair. So in short I say I believe Jesus’ existence in history and today to be factual out of informed faith.

One might ask the usual question: is this not just a crutch? To that question I give an answer in the affirmative. Yes, perhaps it is a crutch. But I like to say I am man enough to admit that my life has shown me that I do need a crutch. For to believe that someone is bigger than I am means believing that someone is big enough to give meaning to the painful things that seem meaningless in my life. To surrender control over my existence to such a person means knowing that someone has control over the uncontrollable things in my existence. To do this means more than just answering the question “Who is Jesus?” and accepting its implications; it also helps me answer one of the hardest questions I have ever had to ask myself “Who am I?”

Trying to Answer "Who Am I?" in Apartheid South Africa

I had the pleasure of talking to a friend of mine some time ago about her childhood in Apartheid South Africa, in between hard manual labour in the backyard (which I have to say I'm definitely not used to - oww... my back...). It started when I asked her how she had been treated back then, having come from a wide mixture of ethnic backgrounds. So she spoke a bit about her personal experience, but mostly it was about the Apartheid culture and social structure in general. She described how complicated things were. Something as simple as how much you were paid for a job was determined by where you were in the education divide, the gender divide, the geographical divide, and of course, the racial divide.

One poignant point my friend pointed out was how divisive this system was on families. Like in the USA before the victory of the civil rights movement, whites and other 'races' were almost totally segregated. They had different schools, different public facilities, different train carriages, different everything. And here's the thing: from what she told me I have the impression that racial classifications were really very arbitrary. My friend's dad, who is darker than her mom, was classified as 'white', whilst her mom (like herself) was classified as 'non-white'. And if you were Chinese, you would be 'non-white', but if you were Japanese, you would be 'white'. Whu-whu-whaaat??? Weird. So this must have led to really strange and divisive implications. Because of the nature of genetic inheritance, children born to mixed-race parents can turn out to look different from each other. My friend, for example, has fairer skin than her sister and used to have red hair, so she often could pass as a white in South Africa. For her sister, I would imagine, that would be much harder to do. So the members of the same family might have had to ride in different carriages when taking a train journey. And that's only physical separation; there's also social separation. The advantage of being classified as a 'white' means that fairer members of a family might be tempted to disassociate themselves from their darker kins for the sake of social mobility. My friend didn't tell me whether that kind of thing has actually happened, but I know it did happen in at least one German Jewish family in Nazi Germany, so the possibility of it having taken place in Apartheid South Africa is not out of the question.

So I concluded from our very interesting conversation (which made me felt a bit like being in an Anthropology class discussion - except for the very comfy la-z-boy), that there were two somewhat paradoxical social structures existing side by side. On the one hand, South Africa's very heterogenous mixture of people from various parts of the world - some having settled there voluntarily, others having brought there by force, while most having been there since the beginning of time - must have made the country such a multiracial (or in todays' terms, multiethnic) society indeed. And the intermarriages between the people of these widely different communities would have produced children like my friend, whose ethnic background is so rich and amazingly diverse. But on the other hand, there was also an official policy of segregation that separated these same people into racial groupings. The reason these groupings seems now so arbitrary was probably because they couldn't cope with the diversity the way they were intended to.

I thought about my friend's experience as a 'non-white' of mixed backgrounds growing up in South Africa in the light of my research on student identity. And I wondered what it was like for people like her to grow up in such a society, especially when they were trying to shape their identities as adolescents. And I wondered what how that must have affected their sense of self and identity, their social relationships with their families and friends and so on.

I'm still thinking about it now. Apartheid was a system that destroyed people. It turned otherwise fine people into inhumane oppressors. It dehumanised people and turned them into labels ('whites', 'non-whites', 'Africans'). It was especially destructive on the black communities, the original settlers of the country, as it kept those communities underdeveloped and turned it against itself. And in the light of what I'm studying now (both academically and in life), it probably caused great grief to the huge numbers of 'non-whites' whose sense of self and identity might have been badly injured by having such a vague and socially demobilising label imposed on them.

A Letter to Mrs. Washington

To many that tragic day must have felt like yesterday, but tomorrow is the fifth anniversary of September 11, the day when thousands lost their lives and many more, their loved ones in the attacks on the World Trade Center towers and the Pentagon.

I imagined writing a letter to one of the victims' mothers in a possibly feeble attempt to comfort her. Then I imagined getting a somewhat bitter response from her in which, knowing that I am a Christian, she asks the age-old question that accompanies the aftermath of countless tragedies, "If God is so loving and so powerful, why did he let this happen? Where was he when those men turned my son's plane into a weapon of hatred?", among other similar questions.

Indeed, events such as September 11 bring unspeakable evil - and the deep, nagging questions surrounding it - out of the realm of philosophical musings and into the REAL world, the world where tears are really shed, lives are really lost and pains are really felt, where evil things that happen cannot be made to un-happen simply by closing a book or an discussion.

And I wonder what I would say to my second letter to this woman about her loss of her son in response to her questions about the place of God in relation to her loss and pain. The following is an attempt to write that letter. (Note: "Mrs. Washington" is a symbolic name I chose for her because George Washington is considered a father of his nation. By this logic his wife would be the mother of the nation, including those that died on September 11, 2001).

Dear Mrs. Washington,

I appreciate you writing back to me. Your questions about why God allowed the tragedy that befell your family and where He was when it happened are extremely valid questions that have been asked by so many people, including those that believe in Him and continue to do so. I can only ask you to believe me when I say that we who believe in God's ultimate love and power do understand these questions you are asking. We understand because many of us have gone through the same kind of situations and experiences as the one that compelled you to ask them, either on that most tragic day or on other days in our lives.

Yet many of us still believe that God is all-loving and all-powerful because our lives have been marked by that love and power more than it has been by each of our tragedies. You might have heard that the reason God doesn't stop people from doing evil things, such as flying planes into buildings, is because He loves us enough to give us free will. And He allows us free will because it takes free will to truly love; a love that is forced is not true love. Although it might make God look weak or unloving, His refusal to force people to do what He wants them to do is precisely one of the things that makes Him different from the terrorists. Don't get me wrong, Mrs. Washington; I don't mean that God is cold. He is the most loving Person ever. In fact, God is love itself. I do believe His heart was torn apart more than anyone on that day because of how much He loved everyone that died, including your son, and everyone that suffered unspeakably because of those deaths, including you and your family.

You may ask - and we all do - if He loves you so much, why didn't He stop those evil men from killing your son? I believe He was able to, but when He made us He gave us the gift of free will, so that we can love Him with that free will. And it is a gift He would never forcefully take from us - even if we give our lives to Him we still have the choice of not obeying Him. And this was precisely what evil people do; they do not obey Him. It hurts Him a lot when people do that, but it was a risk He was willing to take by giving us free will just so that we can love Him freely. If He had forced us to be good, He wouldn't be any better than the people that compelled their followers to become living weapons that drive planes as instruments of murder and hate for their own agenda. If He had forced us to love Him, He would be no different from those people that seek to "punish" us for not loving their beliefs.

This brings me to your question regarding where God was and what He was doing when it happened. The short answer would be related to what I have already said; that God was crying even as you were crying. But you might also be asking where He is now, now that your son is gone and you are left here to mourn him. A lot of people say that God isn't there for people like you in your hours of need because they don't see thunder and lightning and God showing His face. But He is there for you. He is there to comfort you, to give you words of encouragement, to give you a hug, to help you make sense of the tragedy you are experiencing - through us. He is here in those that He call His body, His children. (If we are His body, then maybe in writing this letter I would be His pinky finger).

So where is God with all this pain in the world, all the pain in your heart? The truth is, Mrs. Washington, He is still here with you and for you in those that call Him Father, those that believe in His Son and are sent by Him. If our actions ignored your pain or even made it worse, it is our responsibility, not God's. If you have called out to us for comfort and we have not heard you, it is our ears that have been deaf, not God's. If we have seen you but have had no compassion for your plight, it is our eyes that are blind, not God's. He has called us - even pleaded with us - to tend to your wounds, and if we have not done so, the fault is ours, not His.

But upon this day, Mrs. Washington, the anniversary of that infamous day, the day that love of your life was taken from you forever, we pledge this to you: that we are here for you, we who have also suffered your losses but have gained God's love. And we, despite our human shortcomings, will share this love with you. When you call, we will hear you. When you cry, we will cry with you. When you seek assurance for the future, we will be there to walk with you so that you know that God Himself walks with you through us.

And through this we pray that one day, whenever you hear these words, you know that they are not empty slogans but ring true and meaningful: God loves you, Mrs. Washington!

In Christ,


J. C. T.

A Sunrise Walk

This morning I went to the beach early enough to catch the sun waking from its sleep in the eastern horizon.
A figure was waiting for me there, walking on the sand. It was God.
I called him and he turned to see me.
“Have you been waiting long?” I asked him.
“Oh, no, not really” he replied, smiling, “I always have plenty of time for you. Forever, even”
I didn’t say anything more. I just walked next to him. Above us a pair of seagulls flew pass in a dance, clothed in the crimson magic of the sunrise. Below us the waves stroke at the sand with violent affection. And time seemed to forget to exist.
“It’s been a while since we talked like this,” God suddenly said. Those words caught me by surprise. So it had. I couldn’t tell how long since but it had.
“I’m… sorry,” I tried to think of some lame excuses, “I’ve been… busy. You know, work and all”
God nodded gently, as he usually does when I tell some half-truths to justify myself. Then he suddenly spoke to me while I was still doing this in my mind.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you how I feel”
I fell silent and looked at him.
“Can I tell you the truth?”
I was still silent. He’s God. Who was I to say he couldn’t? Slowly, with a hint of the fear of what he was about tell me, I nodded slowly.
Then, without warning, God chuckled.
“Don’t be so tense,” he told me, “It’s not the end of the world. Yet. Take my word for it”
I couldn’t help but smile at his sense of humor.
But then for a moment or so we both fell silent. I was waiting for him to tell me whatever it was he wanted to tell me. Anxiously. Then God began to speak again.
“The truth is,” he paused as he lifted his gaze towards the blood-red clouds, “I miss you”
I stopped in my tracks. I was stunned. Cautiously I looked at his face. He looked sad. Very sad.
“Why?” I asked. I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why God would miss a human being.
God sighed and closed his eyes, as though soaking in the sunrise itself, that very sunrise he crafted himself. When he opened his eyes again he looked at me with a smile. But that sadness was still there on his face.
“I love you,” he said. That was his reason. Just those three words.
“I… I know that”
There I went again with those attempts at self-justification. But I didn’t. I didn’t really know what he meant. I couldn’t have. It was way beyond me.
Then God started walking again. And I followed him along again. The sun was well on his way to the peak of the heavens.
“The truth is…” God paused again, and it disturbed me how the One who sculpted the cosmos seemed to struggle with words in telling me how he felt.
But I know it wasn’t him. It was me who couldn’t understand him.
“The truth is, I’ve been walking along this beach every sunrise, waiting for you. But you never came. Until today”
Startled, I lowered my face in shame. This time excuses escaped me.
God put his arms on my shoulders.
“I love you, and I’ve always wanted to talk with you,” he continued, ”How I’ve missed those times when you would come to me with nothing but yourself. No fancy words, no fancy doctrines. Nothing. Just you and me.”
I was still lost for words. So he spoke on.
“You know,” he said, “you might think there are millions of others like me, but know that for me there is only one you”
I turned quickly to him, surprised.
I wanted to say, ‘Hold on, you got that the wrong way around. There are billions of other humans like me, but there is only one of you’, but before I could say it he placed his finger on my lips.
“You still remember those days, don’t you?” he asked me, but before I could answer him he went on.
“You’re so precious to me. You’ve always been. But these days you’re always so busy with life. Or sometimes think you are. Or pretend you are. I’ve always been there for you. But before I could say a word you always run away, thinking or pretending you’re too busy for me”
I looked at his face. The sadness I’d seen in his face had turned to grief. Deep grief. I knew those words were not just a sermon. They were born in the depths of his heart.
I saw a drop of tear escape the corner of his eye as he gazed to the farthest corner of the ocean. The thought struck me hard. The crafter of the universe shed a teardrop because of me. Because of me.
My heart sank.
But then God spoke again to me. The gentleness of his voice hadn’t disappeared.
“Not long ago you used to come to me only when you need something. But even that was fine. It always brings me joy to do something for you, because I love you,” he said, “but now you don’t even do that anymore”
I looked at his face again and had to look away quickly. The tears streaming down his face broke my heart, my soul, and even my very being.
“Now you seem so bitter with me. But all I’ve done is stand by you and wait for you to speak to me. I have said only sweet words to you, the fruits of my very heart, but your words to me are so cold and painful.
“How I long to say I love you and hear you say the same. How I am dying to be with you and feel that forever has begun. How I wish with my tears that you would write back to the love letters I wrote you. But you never said a word. Not a single word. It pains me to death that I couldn’t speak to the person I love so much”
At those words I fell on my knees right there on the sand. Then I, too, started to cry. I could bear it no longer. Those words wrecked me to core of my soul. How foolish I’d been. How foolish.
I had no words for my regret. It could give itself no words. My tears fell and moistened the dirt below me. That’s how low I was.
But then God bowed down, and with his arms he lifted me up. His eyes were red and swollen from the tears he’d shed. But there on his lips was a sad smile.
As we began walking again he caressed my hair.
“Why didn’t you make this clear before?” I struggled to ask him, still sobbing.
“I love you, but I’d never push you to love me. I wanted terribly for you to love me for yourself, and this morning you’ve shown me that you do”
I didn’t dare look at God, but I asked him, “How?”
“Well,” he answered with a smile, “you’re here, aren’t you?”
I was startled again. As I peered deep into God’s eyes, God looked up at the morning sky, now bright and fair, as though shy.
In those eyes I saw something like nothing I’d ever seen before or after that moment. Something that seemed to call me, and even when I had found it, it would still beckon me to search for it. Love. Eternity.
Then God laughed.
“You always ask questions, don’t you?” he said with a broad grin, “But enough questions for today. The sun is high. You have a busy day ahead of you, right?”
I nodded, and then asked him a question.
“What are you going to do?”
God looked back deep into my eyes and he smiled sweetly.
“I will be with you, watching you,” as sweetly he replied, ”but I will also be walking these shores still. And tomorrow morning at sunrise, whether you will be here or not, I will still be here waiting for you”
At that moment a large wave crashed onto the beach and shattered into froths.

How A Judgmental Mind Blinds Itself

On Saturday morning the historic city of Yogyakarta was shaken by a tremor registering at 6.3 on the Richter scale, the third time in as many years in a row that Indonesia has been hit by a natural disaster of tragic proportion. The fatality this time is in the neighborhood of 5,700 people, last time I checked, maybe more by now. A friend of mine has been directly affected; though his family is fine, they have suffered major property damages.

Many Christians would claim, and indeed have claimed, that acts of God such as the disasters last Saturday's catastrophe is a punishment, or at the very least a warning. But let me ask you this: a punishment against whom? If the repeated showing on Indonesia national television of the bodies of children who died in the Boxing Day tsunami made me realize anything, it was that the most innocent are also those that are the least able to protect themselves from the harm that these catastrophes bring.

Yes, I admit that God has used disasters such as famine or diseases to punish and warn entire peoples, even if it means killing off their children. You only need to look at the Old Testament to see examples of that. God's justice is not our justice, His sense of fairness is not the same as the one we understand. But I'm getting kind of sick of the way Christians (and too many in Indonesia itself) see tragedies such as the Boxing Day tsunami and Saturday's earthquake in Java as doomsday warnings or punishments from God and nothing else but that. Whenever these things happen too many Christians decide to put on their holier-than-thou glasses and point their fingers at the victims, telling them that they better repent or get something worse, instead of lending them a helping hand. And these glasses blind them to the possibility that God might have allowed such terrible things to happen not to show his wrath but his love, not through the disasters themselves (he is not a sadistic God) but through the opportunities that come in their wake. If the Bible is to be believed at all, God usually works through us, his people. And it is also through us that I believe he wants to use these opportunities to show his love. He wants to make us the extensions of his healing hands. And I believe he has equipped and called us to do this.

But the problem is we are often too blinded by our own self-righteousness, choosing instead to blame the victims of disasters for their misfortune. A classic example is the way some Christians blamed the Acehnese (in general) for being hardcore, fundamentalist Muslims, thus invoking the wrath of God. If that is the way we think of God, he might as well be the vengeful God of those who terrorise in the name of Islam! But no! Our God, as embodied in Christ, is not only a loving God, but is love itself by nature.

A related problem is the unwillingness some of us show in helping disaster victims such as those in Aceh that do not share our faith. We are only willing to help our fellow Christians. Would Jesus have done this? Did always insist on people believing in him as the Messiah before healing them? "Love your enemies. What is the use of being good to your own friends?" he said, "Sinners do that too" Instead, many believed him because of the acceptance he showed them. Sure, there will always be those hostile to the faith that would always cynically mutter that we only do good to unbelievers because we want them to become Christians. Maybe so! But we also do it because the Christ we believe, and whose example we follow, is a God of love! And when we decide to take off our glasses of self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude, and instead see the victims the way our Father does, regardless of their religion, then we become his partner in redeeming their misfortune into an opportunity to show his love. And then his light within us will shine in their darkest hours as a city on a hilltop.