The Nazarene

Was reading through an old assignment while preparing a sermon and I came across something I hadn't shared before - so a quick copy and paste here to prove that this blog ain't dead! Apologies in advance for formatting glitches.

*

The midday sun rose high in the sky, seeming to set the dusty streets of Jericho ablaze with its rays. A shimmer of heat hovered over the sun-baked walls of the city as I threaded my way through trudging feet and whispering cloaks in the crowded marketplace. My curls clung to my forehead in perspiration as I paused briefly to plan the most efficient route home - all the way across the city. I had been listening to the stories of a foreign merchant near the city gates and had lost all track of time; I was out on an errand for Father and he was expecting me back with his package - half an hour ago. I was surely due for a very sorry bottom.
“Out of the way,” a very portly belly pushed rudely past and nearly spun me into a basket of dates. Regaining my footing just in time, I skirted around the basket and began to push through the crowd once again when I heard snatches of excited conversation coming from some boys zig-zagging their way towards where I had come from.

“Hurry... if... leaving... gone!” I grabbed the nearest boy hurrying past me - I could not remember his name, but I had played with him and his sister before.

“What’s going on?” I demanded. His face was flushed with sweat and excitement.

“There’s a man from Galilee who is supposed to be able to do all sorts of things, and he’s - oh just come and see for yourself!” He shook my hand off and scampered off after his friends. My curiosity spiked and I forgot all about my father and my bottom as I set off at a run after the boys.

I caught up with them soon enough, but by then we had been engulfed in a huge throng of people all heading towards the city gates. This was a crowd of people of which the likes I had never seen before. The sharp tang of sweat clogged the narrow gaps of space between bodies all jostling in one direction. I craned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of this man from Galilee, but all I could see were scores and scores of feet around me, and bottoms of all shapes and sizes above me. By now I had lost track of the other boys, but my attention was caught instead by the hubbub of excited voices around me.

“That’s right - Jesus the Nazarene, there! The one in the middle!” I could make out some people pointing, so I nudged my way through the sea of people in that general direction.

Suddenly, I heard a voice rise above all in a cry that was choked with desperation, hope, and urgency all at once.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

That sounded like one of the beggars that framed the city gates. I had heard that voice often enough every time I hung around the gates, looking for foreigners who would come dressed in strange clothes, displaying their exotic wares. That voice would loop in a pattern of “Alms, kind sir? Alms for a poor man unable to work for an honest day’s wage? Alms, kind sir?” He would accompany his plea for alms with a rhythmic bobbing of his almost bald head. I often stared at him and found myself looking away guiltily when his milky white eyes turned in my direction even though I knew he saw nothing.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” he cried out again hoarsely. I heard the sound of people trying to shush him, but he ignored them and bleated out the same plea in voice louder than I had heard from him before.

The mass of bodies suddenly stopped its forward progression and the entire crowd ground to a halt, and the indistinguishable murmur of the crowd faded. The blind man’s cry rang out even sharper now.

Then I heard man’s voice say clearly, “Call him.”

At those words, the shushing noises petered off, and I managed to catch a glimpse or two of the perplexed look on the faces of the crowd. The beggar’s piercing wails for mercy from this Son of David had become wretched moans of the same words, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

At this point I could stand it no longer, and I took advantage of the paralysis of the crowd to shove my way through towards the beggar’s voice. I suddenly burst through into a small clearing, where I saw the blind beggar lying on his tattered cloak at his usual spot beside the city wall, rocking on his haunches. Everyone’s eyes were upon someone who was still hidden from my view by the crowd.

Then eyes began to turn to the beggar as some of those near him called to him softly, “Take heart. Get up; he is calling you.” The beggar continued his whimpering before it sunk into him that this Jesus was calling for him.

            The change was remarkable. His face shot up and his milky eyes widened, and the years seemed to melt off his face. It seemed as though he had suddenly become thirty years younger in that instant, for he suddenly moved with a spryness that was astonishing. When he was not sitting or lying down, I had always seen him shuffling about, huddled in his cloak. Now he flung his cloak aside with great abandon (I heard the clink of coins as they clattered against the wall) and he leaped to his feet and felt about with his arms eagerly, waiting for a guiding hand that would grasp him by the elbow to lead him to this Jesus. A couple of hands did indeed grasp him and guided him into the crowd as the sea of people parted to make way for him as he stumbled forward excitedly.

            I squinted into the funnel of people as the mini procession halted before a man. My view of this man was still blocked by the crowd, however, but I had a rather clear view of the blind man’s face, which appeared to glow with hope and anticipation. The same man who had called the beggar to him - this Jesus - spoke in a voice that was both strong and tender at the same time. It reminded me of how my father sounds when he and my mother has had a good laugh over something and immediately afterward tells her simply that he cares for her.

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked the beggar standing before him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the beggar replied, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.”

            The anticipation that hung in the air was palpable, and many must have been holding their breath like I was - there was pin-drop silence.

Then Jesus spoke with compassion, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.”

            Before my very eyes, the milky cloudiness of the blind man’s eyes receded until his eyes were completely clear. As I watched in amazement, his pupils focused and he saw me. I must have looked completely flabbergasted, because he started laughing at the expression on my face, which soon turned into the laughter of one who is simply delighted. Those around him were astounded as well, and like a huge wave approaching shore, a slow murmur of amazement swelled into a deafening roar that broke over the entire crowd. Complete strangers bear-hugged the blind man who could now see and he joyously returned their hugs while all the while excitedly looking at anything and everything through eyes damp with gratitude. Jesus must have started walking again because the overjoyed man started off in his direction and was swallowed up by the crowd that now surged after him.

            I ran back home as quickly as my legs would take me and poured out what I had seen in one breath to my parents. My father cuffed me on the ear for telling untruths and I still ended up with a very sorry bottom for returning from his errand one hour late, but I had seen what Jesus the Nazarene could do, and that would change my life in the years to come.

fin.

________________________________________

Disclaimer: The intention of this semi-fictional literary drama is to provide another angle from which readers may view a narrative that, in its traditional form, may sometimes be taken for granted. This work by no means seeks to suggest the ineffectiveness or irrelevance of traditional scripture narrative, nor does it seek to replace scripture in any way. I have tried to stay accurate to scripture in the form of events and dialogue, but have also taken liberty with what is not explicitly written but may be insinuated, such as emotions. There are also fictional characters and elements inserted for adornment purposes. THE FOLLOWING LITERARY DRAMA SHOULD NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BE CONSIDERED SCRIPTURALLY AUTHORATATIVE.

Of Crunchy Pupae, Salty Anteaters, and Sore Buttocks

On the 24th of January 2013, I went on my first ever bona fide mission trip. Granted, I made a day trip to a Sengoi village around the same time last year (almost offing myself and my passengers in the process - but that’s another story), but that was still accessible by the highway; I was teaching English and could still somewhat communicate with my awful Bahasa, plus I entered and left smelling as good as I always do, so that hardly counts as a real mission trip. It was more like dipping my big toe into the treacherous waters of mission work.

Fast forward a year later - this trip didn’t only get my feet wet; I think I also got water in my ears.

I signed up for the mission trip for the simple reason that I needed the exposure to missions, which was a glaring omission from my ministry repertoire as a pastor.

Prior to the trip, I didn’t have much time or mental real estate to spend worrying, since the season for Christmas, planning for the year ahead, and the introduction of a new pastor just melted the days together like a peanut butter and yoghurt smoothie.

Suffice to say, I kept my expectations as low as possible. That has always been my tendency when it came to anything I was unfamiliar with. After a short stopover trip to Kuching, we ended up in Sibu with Rev. Peter Shin, a Korean missionary, who was essentially our main contact for our visits to the longhouses. He had an English name, dark skin, Japanese features, spoke Mandarin, and ministered to the Iban people - in short, a big ball of confusion. He was a nice, godly man, though.

The first longhouse we visited was only an hour long drive away from Rev. Peter's mission centre, and it yielded an interesting experience - fried butterfly pupae. After getting over the initial squeamishness of putting an insect into my mouth, I bit into one and chewed. I was pleasantly surprised! It was crunchy, and tasted like a Chickadees potato chip. There was a toddler there who was eating it like it was just chips to him, which it probably was. I had a few more, before I remembered that, though rich in protein, it was probably very high in cholesterol as well. Doctors, feel free to correct me.

The next day was the start of our real journey - a four hour drive to the river, and a four hour boat ride in motorized canoes that kept getting stuck along the river bed due to the low tide. I learned something that day. The next time I go on an extended boat ride, I'm bringing a big, cushy armchair. Being stuck in the same position of sitting on the floor of a narrow boat for four hours is not bum friendly.

Getting out to push the boat through overly shallow waters was fun... the first few times. We were pretty soaked by the eighth time, and in the end we ended up walking through the river for the last stretch - just like Jesus! - but with just the tiny difference of being in the water, rather than on it.

The visits to the longhouses opened my eyes to several things. Once again, I had set my expectations too low. The people we visited, though living simply, still had lights and electricity at night (although the generators shut off before sleeping time). Sleeping was initially difficult, and not because there were no fans or air conditioning, or because we were sleeping on the floor - we still had futons and pillows - but because my brain kept waking me up in the middle of the night to tell me (like some bad horror film) that it was quiet... too quiet.

The toilets, though without flushes, weren't just holes in the ground and at least had walls and ceilings (though most had a few holes disturbingly large enough to peep through without much effort). They had boiled water too, from which they served us an overabundance of sugary tea/cordial drinks every time our bottoms hit the floor (remember, there were no chairs). Their cuisine, though not familiar to me, was not as alien as I expected. We had an awful lot of wild boar, greatly salted, and the occasional anteater.

Bathing in the river was a new experience for me, especially in the presence of other men, not to mention other women. Though frolicking in the river had a fun ring to it, I had to consciously suppress my cognitive machinery that pushed to bring to my attention that I was washing my face in the same icy body of water that someone was scrubbing their armpit in, just a meter away. Needless to say, I strove to position myself upstream during bath times.

One particular longhouse that we visited required a two hour trek into the jungle, through rivers and up and over steep inclines and paths that would challenge any seasoned hiker. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me, especially when we had to make the same journey back, but in total darkness. The slew of sermon illustrations that ran through my mind about light and darkness was substantial as we made our way back with four people sharing three torchlights.

I learnt that the concept of time there was not similar to our familiarity with planned schedules and punctuality; rather, "starting at 7pm" meant "we'll talk and talk and talk and see how it goes at 7pm, then talk and talk and talk some more." Although frustrating at first, it eventually became sort of liberating to not be ruled by the trickling of sands in my mental hourglass.

The Iban people also taught me about worshiping in a community. As even their architecture is centered around community, worship was not the isolated, consumeristic exercise it has become for many urban people, but remained constant and cut across genders, ages, and even mental disabilities. As long as they followed Christ, they worshiped together at the same time, in the same manner. They did not have the luxury of personal preferences to shape their worship experience, perhaps, but they also lacked the unnecessary division that happens over things that are unimportant to the sincere pursuit of Christ.

After about four days, four hours of boat ride, and another four hours' drive, we were back in Sibu town, our skin much darker from the sun, and humbled by how contented the Iban people were to live their life. In gratitude for all the things we had access to, we proceeded to celebrate our newfound spirit of thanksgiving with Ronald McDonald. He looked on encouragingly as we thanked God for Prosperity Burgers and the like.

We flew back thankful. Thankful for the fellowship and bonding that we had enjoyed as a team. Thankful for the protection and equipping God gave us for the trip. Thankful for the encouragement and vision for prayer we left with the Iban people. And thankful for the joys and pleasures we so often take for granted... like McDonald's.

fin.

ZOMG new blog post! (God's Voice - Hear and Obey design)

It's been like, more than a year since I last updated. Woo! And no, this isn't some lengthy, witty piece filled my fears and musings about leaving seminary and entering full-time pastoral ministry. Maybe someday, eh?

Anyway.

Just sharing a simple little logo I created from scratch for our church camp's theme. :)

Doesn't it kinda look like a poster for a musical? :P

Ever had a celebrity pray for you?

The wonders of social networking:

For those of you who don't know who she is (probably all of you unless you own a Playstation 3), Christina Lee is an American Korean who hosts the Playstation Network's program called PULSE. Maybe not such a big celebrity for most people, but still someone I respect for her work nevertheless, especially because she's not ashamed of being Christian in the public eye.

I know her prayer isn't any more powerful than another's, but I find it very encouraging for God to be using someone of influence to reach out and bless others, especially in the gaming scene where many youths are easily influenced by people they look up to.

More Toolman Moments

*Grunt grunt*

My Guitar Hero World Tour guitar controller stopped working one day because I had left the batteries in for a few months, and they had leaked. After trying to clean the battery terminals with a variety of things (ranging from tissues, cotton buds, nail polish remover, WD-40, etc.) and failing to get it to work, I finally opened it up. What I found, was that the ground wire connected to the battery terminal had been eaten by battery corrosion, and had been disconnected.

Enter my newly purchased soldering iron (my very own cheapy one that takes an eternity to heat up to solder-melting heights).

I cleaned off whatever battery corrosion was left with baking soda (from a cake shop) dissolved in water, and went at the wire clipping, stripping, solder removal, and re-soldering for both live and ground wires to balance it.

So here's the controller all opened up:

Here's a close up of the affected wires, already re-soldered:

So here's the most important part after it's been reassembled:

See the red lights? It works! :D

I can finally have a full band again in Rock Band 2 (at least until I get the keyboard controller for Rock Band 3).

For the Record

The only link to the first sermon I gave on the 12th of December 2010 at Wesley Methodist Church Johor Bahru (entitled 'The Gifts of the Magi') was posted in a Facebook comment, so it'll probably be buried soon enough. So for archive purposes, I decided to post it up here (http://memoirsofadinghy.blogspot.com/2010/12/for-record-12-12-10-sermon-now-with.html), together with my Powerpoint presentation. I also edited out the buzzing noise in the background, so the result is much cleaner (though you can hear some digitalization if you listen too closely). My apologies for early/late animations - audio and video sync gets a little screwy when recording Powerpoint to a fixed audio track.

DIY Success

The thing about headphones is, no matter how great sounding they are and how well they're made, they're bound to die on you sooner or later. Such was the case with my faithful Sennheiser PX 100s, which I got for RM 180 about 4 or 5 years back - the sound on one side kept cutting off unless I held the cable in a certain angle. My first thought was: 'Dang - just when I got a replacement pair of foam pads for the ear pieces from e-bay.'

I definitely want these headphones again - nothing can beat the perfect blend of sound, portability, comfort, and value for money that these babies offer. But I don't exactly wanna fork out RM 180 just because one stupid cable is broken inside. So after unsuccessfully looking for someone to repair it for me during my two months in Johor, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

This is the old plug. As you can see, the red wire (right channel) is frayed. The plug is molded and cannot be reused, so I just chopped the whole thing off.

I managed to order a 3.5 mm stereo plug from e-bay for US $0.99 (RM 3.11), but the real challenge was getting my hands on a soldering iron here. Thankfully, I knew someone who knew someone who could lend it to me... eventually. I also had to make my own makeshift clamp using a pair of pliers, some rubber bands, and a cello-tape dispenser.

And here's the finished product, nicely soldered, crimped, and screwed back together with the new plug. Most importantly, it was working 100%. I can't tell you how proud I am of myself, 'cause I'm really lousy with my hands, in general. This is pretty much my first attempt at soldering - it wasn't very pretty, but it worked.

I'm happy. :)

Puzzling Over Photoshop

(Click the image to enlarge)

This was part of a flyer I designed for JB Wesley (the church in the picture). I was thinking that it looked a bit like some kinda banking or insurance advertisement.

If the photoshop is a bit crappy it's not just because of my lack of talent, but rather 'cause I just learnt how to use the pen tool (can you say hallelujah?). That, plus the puzzle texture I downloaded had annoying gaps between every puzzle piece that I wasn't going to manually extract out with my newly acquired super awesome penning skills.

It's That Time of the Day

The following is an article I wrote back in 2005 (according to the file's date stamp): 

It’s That Time of the Day by Shearn Sya

Quiet time… The ever-elusive ingredient to healthy Christian living almost all Christians struggle with. What makes it so difficult for us to set aside a mere slice of our entire day to devote to our Almighty Father?

            Almost every Christian knows that quiet time is required of us. Indeed, it is not forced down our throats, but it IS something we should be doing every day without fail, and we know that. Before we go further into the matter, however, let us first have a look at the question of the hour: What is quiet time?

            There is no specific guideline to quiet time. The Bible does not say ‘Thou shalt doeth quiet timeth before thy head hitteth thy pillow’ or something. However, a fairly common definition of quiet time would be: setting a certain period of your time each day to personally spend with God, usually accompanied with prayer and meditating upon His word. This time is up to the individual. Some do it in the morning, before they even brush their teeth, some do it while brushing their teeth, and some even do it while driving (though this is not advisable. Driving + Closed Eyes = Bye Bye). King David did his quiet time before he went to bed at night - When I remember Thee on my bed, I meditate on Thee in the night watches. - Psalms 63:6.

            There is also no specific time limit for quiet time. The author of Psalms 119:97 meditated on God’s word all day long. Most of us do not do that, however. We usually need a specific time to allocate, turning it into a slot in our busy, busy schedule. How long each individual dwells and meditates on God and His word each day varies from person to person. Some may have so many responsibilities to fulfill that they have perhaps only ten to fifteen minutes per day to spend in God’s presence, when everything is still, before they have to jump back into their worker bee’s suit and buzz around as usual.

            The activities undertaken during quiet time also vary. Some prefer to follow a specific study guide to the Bible, others would use a daily devotional, such as Our Daily Bread, while some just read the Bible from cover to cover. Prayer is often an axiomatic ingredient in the quiet time recipe. It may be favorable to simply be still and meditate upon the Lord and His word, while some prefer turning on some soft music to help them worship at the same time, and a few turn up some rocking praise songs to jump about to (Note: This is not very conducive for being still….. obviously). Whatever works for the person coming before the Lord; it’s a personal choice.

Why is quiet time so difficult to be consistent in, then? Many people tend to allow it to fall into the ‘routine’ category. When the same thing is done day in, day out, at the same time, in the same posture, wearing the same clothes, etc., the mortal body will almost certainly try to go into self-automated mode. Can you imagine quiet time reduced to a three second prayer of ‘ThankyouforthisdaypleasseforgiveoursinsandblesstomorrowinJesusnameweprayamen.’ every single day at 9:23 p.m., on the floor, 14^th tile from the door of the room, head bent over at a 23º angle, clothed in a creased pair of Smurf pyjamas? Though the situation may not be so extreme in most cases, it isn’t particularly far from ridiculous. Those who find they are able to do quiet time consistently and meaningfully have found it helpful to keep it fresh with new material, new ways of worshiping God, etc. It does not hurt to have accountability in your spiritual life, either. Though it may not reach the scope of someone doing quiet time with their spouse, it is still possible to have a prayer partner to start off the daily devotional, then have your own personal meditations and so on, and wrapping it up with a prayer with your partner. United, we stand. Divided, we make excuses.

However, fear of routine is not the only excuse for quiet time shirkers. A common excuse people use would be that they are too busy. A day is divided into 24 hours. An hour is broken down into 60 minutes. A minute is comprised of 60 seconds. Of the 86400 seconds per day, how many of those are spent unconscious? How many fly past when watching a half hour (1800 seconds) TV program? How many disappear in a 2 hour chat session with people you will probably see the next day in school/college? When you come right down to it, how busy can you be to not afford a slice of your 86400 second day to devote to the one who created you? The one who gave you the ability to sleep? The one who created the actors in the TV show you follow so religiously? The one who created topics to talk about for 2 hours?

Laziness is often another excuse. Or forgetfulness. Or exhaustion. Or opportunity. The excuses just go on and on, but that’s all they are – excuses. When there’s a will, there’s a way. When there’s God’s will, there’s a road map, BMW convertible, and an adorable puppy to accessorize your passenger seat.

God bless your time with Him.

The Loneliest Battle

This was a Youth Ministry assignment.

Blogger doesn't allow larger images, so the text would be hard to read... I chucked it down below for the benefit of those who want to look at something more legible than (what appears to be) dummy text (lorem ipsum dolor sit amet):

The Loneliest Battle

by Shearn Sya

Let me introduce you to John. John is a regular sixteen year old guy who attends church every Sunday with his parents, is the President of the youth group on Saturdays, does well in school, hangs out with the right crowd, and seems to have his life all together. Except for a certain habit that tempts him every night in the privacy of his room. A habit that no one would witness. A habit that he could not possibly share about during youth group. A habit that he couldn’t tell his parents about. A habit that he desperately tries to put a stop to but like a crown of thorns it digs into his flesh the more he tries to remove it. A habit called masturbation.

We live in a world that tells us that, as long as you’ve hit puberty, being a virgin is something to be ashamed of. Take a look at any magazine at a newsstand and you’re likely to find something to do with sex on the cover. Fashion demands for plunging necklines and shorter skirts. Sex scenes and jokes about sex in movies and TV are normal. And let’s not forget the Internet. It doesn’t matter whether you’re on Facebook socialising with your friends or you’re researching on communism - somewhere along the way you’re probably going to run into a banner about an x-ray scanner that sees through clothes or a social networking service just for sex. All this and more constantly bombard us with sex, sex, and more sex. Take this Gospel of Sex and mix it with a teen’s natural hormones and you’ll probably end up with someone like John.

John is not a rare breed. He’s as common as you and I and every other Christian teen. And let’s face it - what he struggles with is something many of us struggle with. Whether we were born and bred as Christians or we just said the Sinner’s Prayer last week, we are still vulnerable to all kinds of sin. So what makes masturbation so different? Let me give you an example.

Remember those epic battle scenes from the Lord of the Rings? Picture hordes of Uruk-hai and every assortment of Dark Creatures you can think of thundering their way across a flat plain towards your armies of Dwarves, Elves, and Men, all armed to the teeth and ready to do battle. Now hit Pause. Let’s start up our cognitive Photoshop and do a little editing on that picture.

Leave the forces of Sauron alone, but edit out all the Elves, all the Dwarves, and all the Men, except for one young soldier. Now zoom in and replace his broadsword with a pillow and substitute all his heavy plate mail armor with a pair of boxers. Click save.

That is a picture of John. He’s being assaulted by Uruk-hais each time he goes on the Internet. Nazguls lurk behind each page in every magazine he flips through. A Balrog leaps on him when he watches a movie. Cave trolls occupy the conversations his friends have with him. And he faces all these monsters alone.

John can’t fight the battle alongside others because even though sex is everywhere in the world he lives in, he can’t talk about it in church, the one place in his life that agrees with his conviction that masturbation is wrong. It would be too embarrassing to talk about it to anyone, or even to ask for prayer. So what is left for John? He prays for God to help him, and he makes a commitment to change. He dons some shiny new armor and wields a wicked sharp sword, and even gets a gatling gun air-dropped in. And it works... for awhile. Then one day when his armor’s cracked and rusty, his weapons are broken, and he’s tired, frustrated, and lonely, Sauron attacks, and he’s back in Mordor.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that even with God masturbation cannot be conquered. It’s very possible that God delivers you from the bondage of masturbation and that’s the end of it. If that were so, then all’s very well and good. I’m just saying that many times, God’s plan for us doesn’t include the easy way out, and a good struggle is in order to build us up.

So what does the sensible man do when faced with an army? The first thing he does is RUN! (Rambo would stand his ground, but notice I mentioned ‘sensible.’) Fleeing from temptation is one of the most crucial steps in dealing with masturbation. Rather than venturing into an Uruk-hai training camp hoping to avoid any unpleasant encounters, avoid the camp altogether! If you’re aware that going online at night gets you tempted, then don’t go online at night. Even safer, move your computer out of your room and into a public area.

What does the sensible man do next? He recruits his Legolases and Gimlis to help him watch his back. Knowing that you have a problem with masturbation isn’t enough. You need to find someone or someones to keep you accountable to the commitments you make. When you feel tempted, grab your phone and make that call right away. Whether your friend prays with you or just chats with you, it would be much tougher to yield to masturbation when you know full well that your friend’s going to ask you about it the next day.

“Now hang on a sec. That’s it?” you ask. “I just keep running with others watching my back as I run some more?”

Well, yes, that’s it. You just keep running and the running will get easier until eventually you look up one day and you notice that you’re nowhere near Mordor and that there’s not an enemy in sight. And while you were running, Gandalf the Technicolored came along and zapped the daylights out of Sauron and gang. God wins the battle for you. All you need to do is have faith and persevere.

That’s what John is doing. The battle still isn’t over for him. But it’s only a matter of time until it’s won, and until then, he’s not so lonely.

fin.

A Burning Tragedy: An Exegetical Application of Amos 7: 1 - 9

(Click the image to enlarge)

Disclaimer: This spoof newspaper page was created to illustrate how an exegesis of Amos 7: 1 - 9 may be applied in the form of an article designed to highlight the consequences of unrepentance and blatant chasing of worldly desires in the face of obvious warnings and evidence. There is absolutely no malicious intent towards Israel both as a nation and as a race. I merely took the visions of Amos literally and exaggerated them to a fanciful, modern-day context.

A Fondue of Fun, Fellowship, and Finishing First

Fans crowed with delight and others hid their faces as Allen 'O Anthropos’ McClymont thundered towards the basket under the scorching sun, deftly dribbling the ball around the flailing limbs and futile attempts of his opponents as they tried to slow him down. Time seemed to slow as McCylmont leaped gracefully into the air, soared over faces slack with disbelief and slammed the ball home just as the final second on the clock ticked off into awed silence. The nasal shriek of the buzzer was drowned by the deafening roar of the crowd filling the sweltering air.

The above may not have been a very accurate account of actual events, but it certainly captures the sense of excitement that reverberated throughout the campus at Seminari Theoloji Malaysia on the 6th of July 2009. For the first time in Malaysian history, three seminaries came together in the spirit of competitive camaraderie to face each other under the banner of the Malaysian Inter-Seminary Games in several sporting events, including basketball, volleyball, futsal, table tennis, and even carrom.
Seminari Theoloji Malaysia (STM) displayed its dominance in the court by remaining undefeated in all bouts of basketball and volleyball, and fought hard against the Bible College of Malaysia (BCM) in the futsal finals, but BCM showed true determination and was declared the victor of the futsal division. Malaysia Bible Seminary (MBS), however, was not to be left out, and utterly annihilated all competition indoors, securing victories in table tennis (both singles and doubles), as well as carrom.
After a hard day of pushing the athletic prowess of seminarians to the limit and a time of refreshing corporate prayer for the needs of the nation, the overall trophy based on each seminary’s cumulative performance was finally awarded to MBS with much rejoicing from its students. A relieved BCM came in at a close second, with STM close on its heels. Winning evidently wasn’t everything, however, as relationships were formed and strengthened with the promise of more interaction to come between the seminaries in the near future.

*

McClymont slipped away into the darkness, away from the frenzied throng composed of many giddy with triumph and many more still reeling from their defeat. ‘Next year,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Next year.’

________________________________________

Disclaimer: Anything in the article found in italics are a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I would, however, like to acknowledge that Mr. Allen Brian McClymont of the STM faculty has graciously consented to my taking creative liberties with the use of his persona in the writing of this article.

It's all Greek to me

Αα	Νν
Ββ	Ξξ
Γγ	Οο
Δδ	Ππ
Εε	Ρρ
Ζζ	Σσς
Ηη	Ττ
Θθ	Υυ
Ιι	Φφ
Κκ	Χχ
Λλ	Ψψ
Μμ	Ωω

Is it Greek to you too?

Time

I guess this was gonna go up sooner or later. If you've noticed the dates of my blog entries, there's been a two-day (I think?) gap between my last entry and this one. Care to hazard a guess why?

No, my life isn't uninteresting enough to merit nothing to blog about. No, I haven't been playing games although that's possible. No, I haven't been chasing girls, aunty or otherwise. No, I haven't been doing nothing but cleaning my room.

If you haven't guessed what the reason is by now despite the title and your monitor burning a nice picture of a clock into your retinas, I recommend Sudoku.

Anyway. Past two days has been chock full with stuff. Loads of stuff. First thing of note was the fact that I was voted student representative for my year. Now, I hope you don't think that I'm blowing my own horn or anything (those who know me well enough also know the extent of which I blow my horn in the car - not very impressive). We initially wanted to vote the natural extrovert that everyone usually crowds around, but he declined due to family commitments. Excuses! Next tossup in the vote was the one who voted the first guy, which happened to me. Me and my big mouth. I initially wanted to decline as well, since I know that leadership isn't my strength, and I'm more effective as a community builder from the inside, but the existing Student EXCO President mentioned that leadership isn't his strong point too, and that clicked something in me. I could look at this in two ways: it could be a burden, or an opportunity. I figured that I could run from this now, but in the future I was likely to be chucked into a leadership position anyway, given my choice of profession. Might as well prepare myself now, eh? Besides, I don't think it's that big a deal at the moment.

I'm gonna read this entry again a couple of months in the future and laugh at my naivete, I'm sure.

We also had a class on Time Management. I dunno if I was expecting it, but wow, life on campus is gonna be pretty similar to the life I had before I came here. Namely, having a crazy full schedule where sleep is a necessity rather than a luxury. It's unlikely that I will be able to have my preferred 8 hours of sleep, and will be more accustomed to 6 to 6 and a half hours of sleep per day. Oh well. Studying, reading, and assignments will be taking up a huge chunk of our time. I'm also the kind that procrastinates. I really don't want to do that this time, especially with the huge amount of dire warnings put forth by our seniors.

Next day we had our annual retreat, where I finally met all the other students on campus... The 2nd, 3rd, and 4th years. My roommate finally turned up, and turned out to be a Chinese guy who speaks little English, so communication is scarce. We pretty much co-exist peacefully. His answer to all my questions are usually 'Also can.' Although I'd wish for more responses than that, but that'd suffice regarding stuff like keeping the windows closed after six to avoid mozzie buffets.

Got ambushed the night before by the student worship coordinator to play bass the following morning. Turned out all the training I had under Susan paid off. Was able to apply and share with the band members with suggestions, band dynamics, etc. Was again ambushed today in the afternoon to play for tomorrow morning. I guess things aren't that different here after all, hehe.

I think I'll wrap it up for tonight. If you've noticed, this entry isn't very entertaining. I don't feel particularly inspired or witty at the moment, but there's just two days' worth of stuff to share that I wanted to chuck down before I forgot. There's actually more, but this has to do for now.

'til next time.

- Shearn

The King of the Jungle

"What makes the lion the king of the jungle? And before you answer that, ask yourself another question: which jungle is he king of?"

*Crickets*

(No, he's not king of the cricket jungle, I'm just using some sound effects there, for those unfamiliar with the implication of sounds, actions, or various onomatopoeia sandwiched between asterisks)

Anyway. That was the question posed to us today from our Critical Reading & Writing lecturer. Following the deafening silence that trailed his question, I finally plucked up the courage to say something about his hair (the lion, not the lecturer). I was lost on the jungle bit, since I thought lions only lived on African cliffs overlooking all other animals neatly bowing to the lion cub being dangled precariously over the edge of a cliff by an ancient baboon... but I digress. My lecturer's point was that we have to think beyond face value. He was basically suggesting that whatever we read or hear or ingest in whatever form, we should do so with an open mind, while considering the author's contextual influences, be they cultural, denominational, lingual, sexual- wait, that's not right... genderial? *Shrug*

Let me pause a second here to voice some concerns on the academic side of my theological pursuits. I had my very first taste of the ailment known as studentdebatingtheologicalissueswithlecturer-
withotherstudentinterjectingwhiletherestofusgetrestless-isis.

I'm amazed to say that I didn't forsee this coming. When I finally realized it, though, I groaned, winced, and gritted my teeth inwardly (all at the same time!) at the thought of many many many more to come. Especially for the inevitable many that would spawn not from the pursuit of new perspectives or conviction challenges, nor the strength of their own convictions, but for the sake of being right and/or imposing their values upon others.

I understand that the practice of excessive tolerance greatly contributes to phenomena such as gay churches and the like, but honestly, considering the fact that we're all from different denominations with different experiences and different backgrounds, tolerance and loving acceptance is totally, completely, essentially, and necessarily required (redundancies for emphasis). Not only is it the right thing to do, but tarnation! I ain't never gonna be wastin' no time on needless debates none (quadruple negatives for fun) when there's more important stuff to be learnt. I suppose the crux of the matter lies in whether we have the faith and security in our own convictions to know that they hold true for ourselves without needing others to reaffirm us with their agreement. And if our convictions be challenged during this time, all the better! What better way to be convicted of a conviction than sticking to it despite the challenges, rather than plain and simple close-minded stubbornness.

Back to the lion.

The baboon dropped the cub and the lion ate the baboon.

The End.

A New Beginning

Wow. I'm blogging. I've swept and mopped my room twice. I've wiped all the shelves and drawers. I bathe like 3 times a day. I woke up at 6:30 a.m. I did my quiet time before anything else. I did 50 pushups after that. I've neatly organized my clothes and articles. I'm drinking 8 glasses of water per day. I just did a full gym workout. I made my bed in the morning.

What's going on, you ask? (Or maybe you didn't, but I'm gonna tell you anyway)

I'm in a monast- err... seminary.

Seminari Theoloji Malaysia (STM), to be exact. Although we don't speak Bahasa Melayu here, so I dunno what's with the official Malay spelling and all. Anyway.


Yesterday was action packed. I set off for Seremban after teary goodbyes after church service, with my shoulders damp with many a female tear (not really). I got to my room and unpacked and settled in. Then I look outside my window and lo and behold, there's a big blue Volvo parked below it with a shiny KL Wesley car sticker on the windshield, and a map to Seremban peering up from the driver's seat. Nice try, William.

After I went out to explore the place (my dad crashed on my bed to verify and deem it fit for the pursuit of somnaiac festivities), I discovered William and Jon. Surprise surprise! William has a couple of pics of the room and the compound, so go look if you're interested: http://pigies.multiply.com/photos/album/51

After they went off (both parents and frienthers - friends and brothers, geddit?), I went hunting for a broom and mop and pulled a Sus-... umm... I mean, I cleaned the place really well. My roomie is probably a senior, and he won't be in until orientation is over (next Monday), so we'll see who he is then, and if he has any qualms about me and the way I live or vice versa.

We then went out for dinner at a foodcourt - chicken rice @ RM 3.50.... took about 20 minutes to come though. Guess they catch 'em live here. Then we went to Giant to buy stuff we needed. Ended up buying stuff like mozzie spray, mozzie zapper (can you spot the common denominator?), extension, new HUGE alarm clock, laundry basket, etc. etc. The bill came up to about a hundred and twenty bucks. Heh.

Today we went through a couple more briefings... Mainly going through the student handbook and stuff. No guy and girl can be alone together in any one place. Drats. There goes my chances with that lonely looking aunty. Oh well. I'll console myself with the fact that I HAVE INTERNET ACCESS IN MY OWN ROOM OMGWTFBBQROFFLECOPTER!!!111oneone. It cuts off at 12 midnight and starts again at 6 in the morning though. That's apparently a new rule, 'cause of abuse (?) from seniors. Oh well, at least I'll have less reasons to stay up late, and maybe get the sleep I need.

During the briefing they had 3 geeks come up (yes, it takes one to know one). They were the.... *Drum roll* Cyber Team! *Trumpet fanfare* .... *Wipes tears* They're basically your knights in shining firewalls - they help you with any IT related problems you may have. Actually, it's quite a good idea, plus I really salute them for actually going through with it. I know what it's like to be reasonably IT savvy and have billions of people ask for your help - not that those people are a nuisance, but mainly 'cause it really takes a lot of extra time and oodles of patience to help 'em out. These guys are willing to actually announce that they can solve their IT problems. The older folks were gazing at them like they were Jesus on wheels. I don't mean that literally though. But those folks were sure getting dewey-eyed.

On a related note, they have this student community forum thing, and the English was... how do I put this delicately... the English was interesting. Anyway, I volunteered my services as English editor (I don't wanna sound snobby about it but they really need one for the sake of the international students) and they seem eager for more help. So maybe this is the first of more ministries.

Oh speaking of languages... I'm getting a real headache from all the translating between English and Mandarin and vice versa. The majority of the students are taking their studies in Chinese, so sometimes it feels like us bananas, brownies, and international students are left in the lurch when they get carried away elaborating when they're on the Chinese translation bit. And it was real difficult for us to know when to switch off and on. There's this really nice Cambodian guy whose English isn't impeccable either, and he ended up missing out stuff 'cause he didn't know when to start listening... They translated their own stuff seamlessly. It was like, "Neemen hen pentan, nee kei wo siau, so you should follow the Student Handbook carefully."

But apart from those minor hiccups, all the people here are very nice. I'm not the youngest! The youngest is an Indian dude named Samuel, age 22, who happens to be the one I'm closest to currently. The Chinese dept. students are probably gonna form their own clique, so I'm mainly left with the Indians, foreigners, East Malaysians, and English speaking Chinese uncles... But they're all very nice. I've realized I'm not as shy as I used to be, and everything's pretty groovy right now. I know the work load is probably gonna be crushing in the future, but I'm pretty optimistic about life here at the moment.

Praise the Lord for His grooviness.

And uhh... I gotta go wear some clothes and go down for steamboat dinner, hehe.

'til next time...

- Shearn