Dear Malaysia,

I've often wondered how I should perceive you. You've often been spoken of as if you were an entity in yourself. I've tried hard to give shape to this entity in my mind, and to my utter dismay, I can't help but attribute a specific culture, colour and worldview to this entity. It brings dismay because this specific culture, colour and worldview blatantly excludes me.

You have taught me much. You have taught me that being excluded is no excuse for being defeated. This lesson was reinforced over and over again by those who raised me. I have learned, through the environment you've so freely provided, that the lack of privileges (which were freely accorded to some of my other friends) shouldn't lead to a fateful resignation in my life. You've taught me to strive and to fight not for my rights, but rather, despite the absence of rights. I've emerged stronger and become a better person than those who've grown up feeding on servings of rights laid on brass tables.

I've been yonder and have tasted the affluence of the land there offered to those who might have worked hard for it; even to the foreign people among them. Of course, I never truly felt that I belonged there, but I do wonder if I might have perhaps gradually become "one of them" had I stayed on. And I could have stayed on.

But I returned. I have returned to you not because I think I owe you anything, but because I have relational attachments to some people here. I have returned also because my conscience dictates the need for me to identify with the struggle of the several millions here who, like me, feel excluded.

I won't teach them to fight. But I'll teach them the virtue of striving despite an absence of rights. And I'll keep re-telling the stories that I've been told by generations past for as long as the stories remain true to my experience and the experience of my friends. I'll teach them how to survive and triumph in an environment that ignores our existence.

You have trained me well, and for this, I thank you. I will survive, and I will teach others to survive... others who, like me, have lived and will continue to live with a longing to be true children of the nation.

Dear Malaysia, happy birthday.

Keranamu Malaysia,
Faithful Citizen

Posted by SK at 11:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

You're the person who sees through clay and mud and finds diamonds in a life. For all the happiness that you find in life, it's something you truly deserve.

Happy birthday, sis. You are deeply loved.

Posted by SK at 08:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

He approaches the stage with a dazzling white tuxedo, his right wrist adorned with a thick gold bangle and his left wrist a thousand-dollar watch from the ostentatious store in town that many do not care to step into. His hair is set by the famed hair-salon that many can only so much as dream of patronising. His shoes are made of shiny brown leather that’s brought in from a foreign European country. He stands at the pulpit with the humungous bible before him that has its corners lined in gold. And he begins preaching. He talks about Jesus to the crowd of thousands.

His white unwashed robe is the only thing he carries around with him. He has no money, no credit card and no official documents. He owns no home save for the one which he has left behind. He lodges around. He speaks to small and large crowds, but has no public address system to support his voice projection. He stands on rocks and boats to speak, for he has no pulpits from which to speak. He stands in his sandals, feet covered with sand and dirt. His face is buried in the flying dust of the desert. He speaks to the poor and the outcasts. He’s the Jesus the other guy talks about.

Posted by SK at 08:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

There are many unforeseen factors in life that threaten to rob the stillness and tranquility from within you. They are unforeseeable and unfriendly. It takes more than a mere repression to protect one's self from being tossed around by the currents of these merciless momentums.

They pierce into the very core of your soul, that very place where you've usually had an assurance of rest and security. These things, they fiercely snatch away from you in a subtle but sure way. Before you realise it, the world of peace and serenity has been transformed into an internally uncontrollable storm.

You're not responsible for many of the things that take place in this world. But you are responsible for nurturing the peace within you. It is yours to find, to have and to hold, to cherish, and to keep. And to protect. Your motivation for finding peace is not merely to find true happiness in life, but also that you may be a transmitter of this peace into other lives. When you lose it, you have nothing to offer to a world that is in great need of peace.

When the pace and momentum of life is overwhelming, at some point, it's time for us to speak to the person within, "Peace, be still."

Posted by SK at 01:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The night was warm and there was no breeze. The entire surrounding was embraced by a strange stillness. But amidst this stillness, there was a rage in my heart as I dug the ground furiously with the spade in my hand. I kept digging with uncontrollable tears as I sank deeper and deeper with the descending level of the earth.

I was burying someone on that still night. Someone I loved very much. And it hurt me so that this person was now gone. Strangely, I had no idea who this person was that I was burying. But I was burying him/her. Alone. Wrapped in white linen, this very small person lay still by the grave that I was digging. I was breathless, whilst this body there had no breath. I was the only sign of life.

As the grave was prepared for the body to lay within it, I stopped my digging. I paused a brief moment to settle my lack of breath. And then I looked at the body wrapped in white linen. And I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. And then I lifted the body up with both my arms, hugged it tightly, and gently placed it at the bed of the ground. And I covered the grave with the earth that I had dug out of it.

And then I woke up. Dazed. Mystified. Grieved. I have no idea what that was about. The picture is clear in my mind, but you can't snap a picture of what you see in a dream.

Posted by SK at 12:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Do you often meet people who seem to be interested in nothing more than small talk? They seem genuinely interested to be in touch with you, but the relationship often revolves around small talk. And even when you try to steer the conversation into something “deeper” by trying to talk about matters that matter, your efforts are flippantly ignored or pushed aside, and the small talk continues.

I sometimes meet people who seem addicted to small talk. I have nothing against small talk, especially when it’s just a matter of chilling and “wasting time” with one another, just by way of bringing the ministry of presence to one another. But I’m talking about people who seem to have a different idea of a “safe relationship”. On the one hand, they so desire to hang out with you and to be in connection with you; but on the other hand, there is something in them that they desire to protect by going only as deep as small talk. And whenever you try to fuel the conversation with something deeper, a subtle but unmistakable refusal to follow suit is immediately observable.

They dictate the direction of your conversations. They specify what should be spoken about and what shouldn’t. To them, you’re just an “object” of conversation, like a live talking machine that exists to entertain them by way of conversation whenever they need to be amused about nothing. To them, you're immaterial. Their whole lives are like a coffee table, and their conversations a way of escape from the deep realities that haunt them most.

It seems that some such people desire contact in friendship, but are jealously protective of areas of their lives that they don’t desire to open up for examination by others. But strangely, it’s precisely such people who’re often critical of other people when they do their small talk with you. They’ll comment critically about almost anyone, including you. They’re open to talk about anything, including things about themselves that they find amusing. Just don’t say something serious about them, because it threatens their sense of safety in the conversation.

Whilst having no particular aversion towards the idea of small talk itself, I do take particular offence towards conversations that rest almost solely on small talk alone. It is a waste of eternity when it’s done with no present eternal motivations.

Having said that, I do enjoy small talk with friends who can talk about both the small and the deep issues in their life journey. But I don't enjoy it with people who insist that our conversations rest only on small talk and who seem to hold "small talk" as a requisite for our friendship. They're going nowhere slowly, and they want your company.

Posted by SK at 06:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

I've just returned from a weekend on another mountain, and a exactly week (from now) before I hit the road again to head down south. The last time I ascended this mountain, I was 10 a year-old boy. This weekend, I went up and stayed in exactly the same inn that I lodged in 20 years ago. Such trips provoke intense memories from the past, and hence, propel me into extremely deep nostalgic reflections.

But beyond mental and emotional recollections, there was a sustained reflection on the life of ministry. Ever since I emerged with a more comprehensively thought through understanding of ministry, I've consistently maintained that ministry is not an activity. Instead, it is a natural expression resulting from a missional friendship that takes place within a community of believers.

Ministry isn't something we do as good Christians. As good Christians, we become friends. Yes, that's simply it, no matter how unbelievably simplistic it may sound. But then, the spiritually intimate exchanges that take place within such spiritually guided friendships are bound to result in an overflow. That which naturally overflows from such relationships without having to be humanly engineered is what I call "ministry".

When we begin to understand ministry as an involuntary result of a missional friendship, we soon realise that no one can say "We're starting a ministry" because deliberate attempts to attain a desired result is not a kingdomic definition of ministry. Any such sort of institutionalised rendition of ministry, if it can even be considered legitimately reflective of God's heart, often slips into an actionary-based series of rigidly legalistic, politically guided, constitutionally regulated, pragmatically motivated activities.

If you have had me speaking, sharing, teaching, or preaching in your faith community before, then you'll know that I consider at least somebody there a good friend of mine. Because it has been a long time since I accepted speaking engagements based on a public "reputation" that is sometimes ascribed to me without people truly knowing me as a person. Therefore, I generally turn down requests for "ministerial engagements" presented by people who know me only by reputation... I'd rather not talk about "ministry" first and be known as a friend. Friendship is, for me, the prerequisite for any ministerial expression.

Gone are those days when I was impressed at opportunities to preach at crowds of people who were merely nameless faces to me. I've switched from the ministry of authoritative dogma to one of the ministry of friendship and presence. Or at least, I've tried to and will continue to do so.

Posted by SK at 01:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

What should I do? How should I do it? How do I know if I'm doing it right?

Today, we are products of how yesterday has moulded us and shaped us to form the persons we are. And today, we can only do the best with our lives in the best way we know how. Inasmuch as we would like to cling on to the idea that faith will see us through, we don't really know, do we? At times, we actually do feel like our life is one big speculative exercise. In religious terms, we call it "faith".

Sometimes, we spend too much of our time worrying about the future, we forget that how we live our lives today partially (and not in small measure) determines the future we beget. It's such a discipline of balance. Spend too much today, and you live poor tomorrow. Live too frugally today and ignore the needs of your neighbour, and you betray the poverty of you soul in the present itself. How much to give? How much to keep? Such are real questions we ask ourselves in the present.

In such a manner of groping, how do we know if God is all right with what we've done and how we've done things? Perhaps he has never bothered about how perfect we've lived our lives as much as about the attitude with which we've lived our lives. The motivations of the heart counts more than anything else.

Therefore, find yourself free from tormenting considerations that impose legalistic demands upon your life. Love God and love your neighbour, and do it in the best way you know how. You'll never be able to do it perfectly, but rejoice that your best is enough to please the heart of the Father.

Posted by SK at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Amidst the noise and haste, there must be seasons of silence. Because silence is when the fact of unseen realities becomes apparent to the contemplative listener. The serenity of silence speaks slowly but surely into the fragile soul of the saint in solitude.

When one has become too acquainted with bustling noise and corporate gatherings resounding with loud embelishments, silence seems like an awkward virtue. It seems to have crept in like an unexpected visitor. And when silence sits in the same space as we do, it feels uneasy. Perhaps because silence reveals the unsettledness of our souls in its raw form and confronts us with the painful state of what we might have become.

We must no longer instrumentalise hollow conversations as a facade from our fear of silence. One must grow into an embrace of silence. Because silence is much needed in today's world for the nourishment of one's being. Those who try to escape the caressing serenity of silence end up drowning the vitality of the soul in the sea of vain noises. And even when they do speak, the folly of shallowness is telling in their words.

One thing is for sure: If we escape silence today, we will ultimately still be confronted by it. For when the frail body expires and is ready to return to the ground from whence it came, the season of silence befalls.

Posted by SK at 01:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

There are times in our lives when we are shaken by evil or painful realities that confront us. Those of us who're not living in shielded environments and who expose ourselves to the "real" things of the world soon find that assumptions of security and stability in life are but false notions.

When misfortunes befall us (whether or not it's through our own fault), the fact of human vulnerability abruptly stares us in the face of our souls. We then no longer find that life consists of sugar and spice and everything nice. When misfortunes befall other people, we may perhaps feel a sense of sympathy; but still, they remain far off from us. But when misfortunes confront us, we feel robbed, we feel violated, we feel oppressed.

It's good for the soul. It's good that we're constantly reminded of the fragility of life. It's right that we should place our hopes on things that last and things that aren't vulnerable to human violation. Being confronted by the reality of vulnerability in the present scheme of things does serve to bring our consciousness back to the way our lives should be.

As human persons, we constantly strive for an equilibrium in our existence. The problem is, we seek to create this equilibrium externally, and external equilibriums are volatile since they can be tampered with by forces other than ourselves. Life is about finding a place of equilibrium within, not without. Then we will be able to say, "Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, 'Even so, it is well with my soul.'"

Posted by SK at 10:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I watched this movie with my students from the Christology class this morning. One highlight that provoked greater reflection within me was the emphasis on the "circle of life" in the movie. In the context of the movie, the circle of life speaks of how we are all interrelated in an unending circle of existence. The lion eats the antelope for its survival, but the lion itself returns to the ground upon its death, upon which grass grows for the nourishment of the antelope. That's the circle of life; a cycle of interrelatedness within the scheme of creation.

The lion - the king of the animal kingdom - was trying to teach his young cub (who would one day be king) that the responsibility of a king was to ensure the preservation of a balance in that circle of life. In so saying, it followed that life for the young cub was not just to be lived for the moment, and that being a king was more than simply having things done his way. There was a legacy to continue and a story to pass on to the next generation of rulers within that kingdom.

How true this is of the Christian story. Many Christian exist for the moment and are caught in a faith that finds its being only in the "today". It's an individualistic and very personalised faith which is shaped by how we choose for it to be, and at best, by what our present leaders in our churches say it should be. How often have we looked much farther back in the Christian story and referred back to the cloud of witnesses who cheer us on in our journey? After all, they ARE the ones who have passed on the legacy of that faith to us. Further to that, how often have we thought of the wellbeing of the subsequent generations of believers who will come after us; what story will we be handing down to them?

Being a Christian in the present is about more than believing in Christ and finding a place for ourselves in heaven. We're living a story. It's an old old story, and the only way by which we can truly live our faith with utmost integrity in the present time is by recognising the power of that old old story. Being a Christian is about more than doing what's necessary to sustain ourselves in the faith. It's also about passing on the story and teaching our song to the coming generations, that they may find themselves connected to a wider story.

For far too long, the Christian faith has been little more than a personalised belief in Christ the Saviour who helps us in our trivial complications in the present and who guarantees a wonderful heaven in the future. This Christ is very much a historical being whose existence among humankind is to be remembered through the learning and the retelling of that story over and over again. It was once told to us, and we live it. And we will tell it to those who come after us, afterwhich the faith will be passed on at our expiry. It's a cycle that goes on and on in the circle of life, for we who have been nourished by it will nourish the next generation with the very same story. One generation after another will hear of the story and taste its power.

It's the Circle of Life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the Circle
The Circle of Life

Posted by SK at 07:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

In the recent several years of my journey in life, faith, and ministry, I have had a friend or two whom I truly admired and honoured because of the depth of their wisdom and the embodiment of their theology in their lives. They are, in every sense, highly acclaimed, deeply respected, and unreservedly honoured people. To say that they're world acclaimed in respectability wouldn't constitute an overstatement; and here's the thing - they don't care about that. This is, in the first place, why they would even bother to spend hours upon end just wasting time with me and deepening our friendship.

I call them my spiritual guides. One has deeply impacted my understanding of human brokenness and God's redemptive grace. Another has profoundly shaped my understanding of the necessity of theology and faith that arises from community.

They do not see me functionally. They see me as a person. They have no axe to grind. In fact, they even take no pride in having anyone know that they are moulding me in very profound ways. And in honour of their silent self-giving, I too have never publicised their profiles just so I could avoid the very human inclination to ride on their reputations. I know I could, but I choose to honour them in the measure that they've so unreservedly and undeservedly honoured me. And so, I simply call them my spiritual guides.

They are guides in the sense that in their presence, I lay aside opinions that I may have regarding issues of life and faith. I trust the motivations of the directions they lay before me even if these directions may not always be perfect. I never discount anything they say as unnecessary or irrelevant. In their presence, utmost attentiveness is in order. In a very real way, I entrust my life into their hands. I know this, for many, may be an unbelievable impossibility in a world that upholds the right of one's personal opinions and individuality. I know such individualistic rights are often factored in when it comes to modern renditions of mentoring relationships (which is why I don't believe in the present "mentoring movement"). I submit myself to the seriousness of every word spoken by my spiritual guides.

I have started this new category to record reflections and afterthoughts from my regular and lengthy exchanges with my spiritual guides. I call it Conversations. The purpose of recording significant points from my conversations with them is that I may remember the stories I'm told and the wisdom that's imparted to me. Also, I do it with the hope that I may perhaps share their wisdom with you who read this blog. To this end, I will therefore publish some reflections of my conversations with my spiritual guides after every conversation with them.

These conversations have made me who I am today, and I trust that you'll benefit from them too, even if you may not have the slightest idea of who these beautiful people are.

Posted by SK at 11:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

On 5 August last year, I wrote:

I am still furiously coming to terms with the fact that I let myself be talked into this. I am not sure what I have walked into. Is blogging for those who have something original to say? If so, I am the unlikely candidate. I mean, my blog name itself says it all. Or perhaps blogging is for those who have nothing original to say, but who have an original way of saying it. Perhaps I may fit into this latter category. Just perhaps.

I suppose this, for me, is one of those occasions in our life journey when we start off on a venture just for the kicks. And then we uncover the consequences later. And in the process, we discover something of the "unknown". Just perhaps.

As of now, I have taken the plunge. "Here I stand; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God."

Reality bytes...(what pun?)

Dear blog, happy first birthday. You have taken me where I've never been before. Thank you. Here's to the next one year.

Posted by SK at 03:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

The church exists for me. Yes, that's what I said. The church exists for me. It exists to help draw me closer to God. It exists to help me experience God the way I feel most comfortable experiencing him. It exists to talk about God in a way that engages me. Otherwise, I have every legitimate reason to not be a part of the church, and I'm not to be blamed for it. Hey, it's not my fault that some of these churches are just plain... well... plain.

I must admit that I love those churches with cozy corners. They have like the coolest way of making sure that you feel at home and don't get lost in the crowd, unlike those "cold" churches that make God seem almost a million miles away. In these warm churches, you get to do stuff that really gets you in the mood, ya know what I mean? It's like I get to say anything I want anyway I want to without being judged. And these churches don't say stuff that sound so threatening, like "The Christian life is a life of commitment" or "Surrender your life to Jesus." Churches that say these things really drive me insane. Can't they just chill?!

Who ever said I needed to be in the church anyway. I've always had survival instincts, and can live a vital life as a loitering Christian, finding my own way around. It's more exciting visiting the different "communities" around and getting acquainted with the myriad of churches and their different styles, although no single one appeals to me in totality. But at the end of the day, I get a pretty interesting feel of the way things are done in the church, and I get to choose any church I want to attend on a particular Sunday. Heck, if I feel like it, I'll even attend two services a day! I guess this will go on until I meet a church that gives me a reason that's compelling enough for me to stay, like for example, having people whom I just wanna hang out with all the time. Or meeting a bunch of people who know the right thing to say when I most need to hear it.

You think what I'm doing is wrong? What's your benchmark for "rightness" and "wrongness" anyway? Hey, you've not lived my life before, what d'you know about me? Next to nothing. So turn and walk away, and don't judge! The truth is, you're just as crappy as I am even though you're a churchy creature. Just that you're more of a hypocrite than I am. I make no pretences; my life is a big mess, all right? But so's yours.

The truth is, you have no idea what I've been through. I used to be the kind of Christian like you are. I gave my whole heart and soul to the church and thought that this was the best way to be a Christian. I thought it pleased God. But things took a turn when that crappy pastor allowed those things to happen, and that really turned me off. You'll never believe how disillusioned I was with church after that. These people can't really be trusted. You really think they'll be there for you when you need them? Oh cummon.

So yeah, I'll visit your church, but don't expect me to turn up every Sunday or give you my whole heart or any stuff of that sort. Just let me be. When I'm ready, I'll come back. But I'm not saying that I'll definitely be ready anytime soon. Or at all. Basically, stop breathing down my neck and get off my back. Stop bugging me okay? I believe in God, and I believe that's enough. Who are you to judge anyway.

Oh, by the way, have I told you... my life is all about me.

Posted by SK at 01:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

He has a strange way with people - they all love him. He relates with them in the most unorthodox ways, but they seem to appreciate it. I never understood why, but I'm beginning to see that what people appreciate about him is a quality of authenticity that's so lacking in many plastic souls in this world. He's no plastic. He's real.

He's an adventurer. Not the mountain-climbing type, but the street-roaming type. The type who visits little towns and obscure villages. Out there, he's just, well, at home. I guess it's probably because he's spent most of his life as a young man without a place to call his home, so the world is his home.

He sings out of rhythm but insists that it's the rest of the world that's gone out of rhythm. Every song that he sings - pop, rock, jazz, gospel - becomes a country song when he sings it (to our utter dismay). When I was little, he used to tell me to clap furiously after every song he sang. Now he does it to his grandchildren.

He still can't seem to tell the difference between a computer monitor and a television. To him, terms like "email", "forum", and "chat" are abstractly philosophical. In their most concrete forms, these things are like electricity - you can't see it, you don't know what it looks like, but you know it's there. He knows these things exist only because mum and I keep talking about them.

I've ever seen him trying to handle a remote control like it was a handphone (or was it a handphone like a remote control?) But that was long ago. Now, I'm sure he thinks handphones are the coolest things because he calls me all the time when I'm out, just to ask what movie I'm watching and who I'm eating with. I'm cool with that. When I want to say something in a way he can't answer, I'll just send him an SMS (text) - he can't for the life of him figure out how that one works.

Happy 63rd birthday, dad. You're one of a kind. It feels kind of awkward saying I love you; maybe it's because I'm really growing up now. Anyway, I'm giving you the best birthday present ever... ME!

Posted by SK at 03:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I believe absolutes exist, but I don't believe in absolutism. And I believe relativities exist, but I don't believe in relativism. And I believe different people believe differently about what is absolute and what is relative. It doesn't mean that there isn't anything absolute; it simply means that our understanding of what is absolute may not be as absolute as we think it is and may be more relative than we care to acknowledge pertaining to relativities in life.

For some people, it doesn't sound like I know what I'm sure about, but that's fine with me. Because the truth is, the mess I find myself in very much reflects the realities of life and faith. I've spent most of my faith journey guessing about what is and struggling with what should be. Even at times when I thought I'd already understood it, I later embarassed myself by acknowledging that I could hang on to what I thought I'd understood only if I insulated myself from variables that were my prerogative to ignore. The more I know, the more I realise I don't know.

So do I actually know anything? Yes. I know that I don't know everything. Of course, it doesn't mean that I don't know anything. It's simply that what I think I know is simply a reflection of the greater whole; it may not necessarily be untrue, but it's certainly incomplete and inexhaustive.

What do I think of people who think they can and have made sense of everything? I'm inclined to think that they do what I did - ignore some variables that possess the abilities to mess up what they think they know. But I'd like to think that I'm generous enough to respect others' needs for security in terms of what they can be sure of, even if I can't personally be sure of the same thing they're sure of.

This has merely taught me to be humbly generous. It has been a challenging journey, and I don't think I'm quite there yet. The challenge that stands before me now is to embody kind generosity by respecting even the less generous. For if I insist that the less generous have to be as generous as I'd like to think I am, that wouldn't be very generous... would it?

Posted by SK at 08:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)