What Macklemore Taught Me About Meaning and Jesus

I saw Macklemore & Ryan Lewis in Chicago last night. Their show being just one of the many concerts I’ve been to since leaving Houston for college. When go to a concert, I see artists on stage presenting their craft and know I am a witness of someone doing what they were made to do. A person who believes in something enough to share it with the world and submit themselves to public criticism is conducive to the intensity of sheer passion. With art, moments of unadulterated hope can be created. Something I forgot existed. 

After Macklemore’s show, I felt I had regained something lost. Due to a recent move from Houston, TX to Eureka, IL, I experienced a major paradigm shift which stripped me of all the beliefs I had once held dear. To give a bit of perspective, I moved to a town smaller than the high school I graduated from with nothing but cornfields for miles in every direction. Most people attend this college because it is close to their hometown and fairly a cheap education. You can only imagine what a big city girl who moved herself across the country felt like when I discovered this general mentality at orientation. When I lived in the city, I thrived on the energy and momentum of people who believed in things. People who knew they could take on the world and change big issues by staying true to their art and craft. In Houston, I was surrounded by so many humble individuals using their everyday passions to change things, and whose actions had an evident effect on the lives of so many people. The conversations with these innately incredible people changing the world seem almost distant now. Living in Nowhere, USA been such a determent to the hope I once held and been equal parts overwhelming and demoralizing. The latter being an experience filling the last several months with pain, depression and loneliness, and had me facing some serious questions about my faith regarding what is good and true.

As I have heard before, it is the people that make the places. So while, geographically, Eureka could very well be a contender for the most boring one-stoplight town on a map, the people I have encountered seem as equally telling of my inherent concerns. I fought through the inner battle these past several months, and realize how much moving to a small town has reared a perspective which hindered me from seeing the bigger picture. Every single day it takes everything in me to continue picking myself up and looking around to see what might be just beyond these cornfields. Last night was a reminder that there are people standing on stages to lead the masses from despair to hope. I remember a certain self-sacrificing Jewish Rabbi doing the same thing over two-thousand years ago. The world is moving in a positive direction, I stand firm in this fact. 

The moment Macklemore and Ryan Lewis took the stage an unsaid truth permeated the air acknowledging this music was celebrating something much bigger than two guys and their beats. The words, music, and the people present that night were celebrating truth. With Macklemore’s honesty and faithfulness to his art, he leads the way for a world that might be relentless in the pursuit of their very own art. Art which unveils the deeper reasons we live and unleashes the passions set fourth within us.

Unarmed & Unorthodox Pt. Three

Part Three: The Lies You Tell a Nun

My favorite thing about the nuns I stayed with is the ridiculous lengths they go to to be hospitable. The minute the 5 a.m. service was over, one of the nuns came over to me. I was suspicious at first because I wasn’t sure this nun even knew who I was, so I thought she was going to scold me because I forgot to ask if it was okay that I came to service that morning even though I wasn’t orthodox. Or maybe she was going to tell that I didn’t do that prerequisite gestures right before entering in the Nave, so I better leave because I was making their holy air unclean. As my pulse raced, she leaned into my ear and asked softly, “How do you like your eggs done?”

I looked at her as she saw confusion in my eyes.

“We can fry them, scramble them, boil them…”

Wait, I’m not in trouble? I thought to myself. I laughed softy and realized what she was asking. I smiled and replied, “Scrambled.” Just like my mind.

As I made my way back to the room where I was staying, several nuns approached me along the way to ask numerous questions about the comfort of the house that I had slept in. Things like if the temperature was alright and if there was anything more I needed. I waved each question off, assuring each nun that everything was perfect. I didn’t want to inconvenience any of the nuns further, even if I had been a bit cold in the house that night. The nuns that inquired seemed somewhat annoyed when I did this. It was like they did not like the fact I wasn’t allowing them to do stuff for me. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that by automatically turning down their offers to help me, I was robbing these women of their opportunity to offer hospitality. They wanted to care for me, a stranger; this was all part of their worship to God. I was kindly lying to the nuns in an effort not to inconvenience them, while in reality I was hurting them as I was neglecting to give them a part of me for their undertaking.

Caring for a stranger, offering hospitality, and giving to those in need are all a part of our worship to God. I knew this, yet it didn’t even occur to me that I would be on the receiving end of it.

I realize I do this more often than not, maybe not in the form of a hospitable nun, but in the form of a caring friend. Each time someone who cares deeply about me asks how my day is going or how things have been in my life, I write them off with an instinctual “I’m fine.” When that is not answering their question at all. Questions such as these are opportunities to allow others to love you, disguised as a simple greeting. But to answer their inquiry with honesty and let them into your life is offering an opportunity for their worship to God. Automatically answering with an, “I’m good”, may not be an outright lie, but it may not certainly be entirely true. Give unto others as you would have them give to you. That means I would like to love my friends deeply in the same way I am told to love my neighbor as I love myself. I want them to know that I am not too prideful to accept their help, just like any nun would approve of.

Unarmed & Unorthodox Pt. Two

Part Two: Mornings

My dad found a little monastery within spitting distance of some property he owns out in the middle of nowhere. He would drop by out of sheer curiosity, delivering toiletries and basic household items, trying his best to make small talk with this small community from a seemingly different world. I had only visited once before with my family prior to diving head-long into total immersion. The first time we all showed up I remember thinking that we have been in some culturally awkward situations before, but there is nothing like showing up to a Greek monastery with your small Asian mother, big American father, and not a single clue of what it meant to be Greek or Orthodox. After that visit, I remembered thinking to myself, “I’ve really got nothing to lose. It’s not like everyone’s got nuns for neighbors, let’s learn a thing or two while we’re in the neighborhood!” Maybe I’ll walk away from all this with nothing else but belly full of delicious vegetarian grub or maybe I’ll find nirvana, or whatever the Greek Orthodox equivalent is.

So that’s where I’m at: out in the middle of nowhere, helping nurse newborn goat kids, waving my hand around my face in the shape of a cross, and trying really, really hard to blend in. From daily 5 a.m. church services, to cleaning the church with nothing but a small bristled paintbrush, to eleven newborn baby goat kids to nurse, and finally midnight prayers before bed, there  is a lot to be said about monastic living.

Simplicity, solitude, and sanctification. Throw these three things together and you’ve got one insecure mess out of me. Yet the lives of these women are living testaments that stripping away worldliness and seeking a life of abundance while having nothing is inherently possible.

I threw my limp body out of bed and dragged myself past the gardens and peacock enclosures still veiled in the early morning’s darkness. Heaving the heavy wooden doors open I stumbled into the small dark church to attend my first 5 a.m. service. I followed the lead of a young girl, just one step ahead of me as she went through the typical procedures that must be done in the Narthex (the first part of the church, kind of like the equivalent of a front room). The girl began bowing, waving her hand in the shape of an invisible cross, and finally kissing the Jesus icon on the wall robotically before moving to next icon and doing the whole deal all over again. It was obvious she had done this thousands of times before.

I was a bit intimidated at the uncertainty of it all. There were three depictions of Jesus on the right side of the church and three Virgin Marys on left. Maria, the girl in front of me finished her motions on the right (Jesus) side before moving to the left (Mary) side. I shyly approached the first icon of Jesus, not feeling quite right with these foreign gestures and motions. I stood in front of an image of a man that seemed familiar yet so unfamiliar and gave him a slight head nod, mumbling a tired “Hey.” I thought that would suffice for now. I almost didn’t bother heading over to Mary’s side, but then thought this might be a good time as well as any to finally introduce myself, seeing as that we had never officially meet before. I approached her, smiled, and said hello. Feeling a bit awkward, I decided to wait for someone to formally introduce us, so leaving it at that, I turn toward the Nave (the main part of the church) and entered in.

The whole service was in Greek, which didn’t really matter, because even if it was in English I still wouldn’t have a clue to what was going on. It mostly consisted of the nuns singing these short little hymns. I didn’t need a translator to know the hymns were about their love for God and for their joy found in Christ. It was so beautiful I began wishing that I could start every morning like these nuns, full of unadulterated hope. I remember thinking during that service that I was really glad these women committed themselves to such a rigid and discipled life of total worship to God, because when I’m back home failing daily on my Lenten fast, I will always remember these women and the standard they hold themselves to. It really makes me think holiness might actually be possible, they carry themselves with a Spirit that we must only need to be still and let God be God and we’ll just be His precious children. He will provide our every need, protect us from our every fear, and cover our every sin. I’m over here trying to squeeze out of every last drop of God’s grace and mercy, weighed down by my fears, failures, and faults. As long as God is who He says He is, there will always be enough Love, Grace, and Mercy to go around.

Unarmed & Unorthodox Pt. One

Part One: Erika The No-Sock Nun

 

I showed up at a Greek Monastery last night, dressed head-to-toe in what I’d like to call my “Monday-Night-At-The-Monastery” best. I had my head scarf, long sleeves, closed toe shoes and long skirt all ready to go. I even threw some leggings on underneath, just in case a calf-length skirt wasn’t modest enough. I caught a glimpse of myself as I was getting out of my car, “So much for female empowerment,” I thought, “Just call me Head-Scarved Holum.” I made a face at my reflection before turning toward the dirt path that led through the tall pine trees into another world.

The thing about just showing up at a monastery with little to no notice is that there is almost never a good time to show up at a monastery with little to no notice. For living in utter solitude, these women seem to always be busy with something. A big festival, a pregnant goat, or some big-shot spiritual leader from Arizona coming to visit, the nuns always seem to be scattered about.  In my case, it was all of the above.

So my arrival for the nuns was pretty much on par with tending to a stray cat, relative to all the other things happening about. Walking up the path toward the beautiful Grecian pair of house and the church I vouched for the attention of one woman, thinking she was a nun. She turned away from feeding a presumably stray dog and directed her attention toward me. She started speaking very loudly in her thick Greek accent, “TO WHOM MAY I SAY YOU ARE.”

 “Uh, who am I? Or who is expecting me?” I asked, trying to clarify.

I stared racking my brain for the name of the nun I talked to on the phone a few days before. I’m awfully terrible with English sounding names, so the thought of trying to remember a very, very Greek sounding name was a lost cause.

“I’m Erika?” I was hoping that answered whatever question she was asking.

“OKAY, PLEASE SIT.” She made a slight gesture toward a couple benches clustered 40 feet or so away, made an even slighter gesture at a smile, and finally turned on her heel, leaving me among the rest of stray animals.

I began to wonder what all of my friends were doing on their spring break. I guess most girls my age tie string bikinis over their bodies for their week at the beach basking in the sun. Which is kind of the same thing as spending a few days at a monastery, except the word hot just takes a slightly different meaning. All the other girls showing little to no skin, my wardrobe consisted of showing nothing but my hands, ankles, and face.

Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

I was finally ushered toward the house where the nuns stayed. I would not even dare the attempt at entering in yet, a few of the Sisters came out to say hi briefly in passing. Each nun that I began to encounter took one look at me, smiled, and then glanced straight down toward my moccasined feet. “Oh, shoot.” I scream in my head, “I am such goner, I forgot to put on knee-high socks! Get me out of here. I guess when I knew I was meant to be covered from head to toe, I should have literally been covered head-to-toe!”

My guess is that the incredibly distinct tan line encircling my ankles would make anyone take a second glance, and the supreme stark contrast between my tanned legs and starch white feet was a sure attention getter, even for the Sisters at the monastery. I felt my sock-less-ness was just another red flag to alert the Sisters of spiritually inept and unkempt vagrant before them. Even though I had to ignore my instincts to flee, I overcame the brief moment of fear of being judged by some of the notoriously nonjudgmental clans one could possibly run with. Despite my own personal horror with my unorthodoxly uncovered feet, not a single nun said anything. So I decided to just go with it. No lightning bolts seemed to shoot out from the fingertips of neither Zeus nor the Judeo-Christian God so I thought I might be in the clear. I’ll have to ask later about a confession, just to be safe.

The Law of Conservation of All Things That Matter

C.S. Lewis asserted that, just as there are natural laws that govern the physical universe, there are natural laws that govern human society. At times, referred to as the “Moral Law” or simply the rules or right or wrong, these laws lay a foundation that gives human beings to judge what certain behaviors are deemed “right” and what others are allowably condemned as “wrong”. Lately, I have credited much of what my peers considered “kindness” or “niceness” through various acts of service or goodwill as justification of following the Moral Law. I whole-heartedly believe that acts of giving or acts or service were to be done, quite simply, because that is what reputable human beings ought to do. Yearning to be a respectable human being was more than just trying not to murder people, steal anything, or tear someone down with hurtful words, but more about rising above your circumstance, giving back, and never letting go of your dreams, which would eventually land you a place card with your name synonymous with good citizen of the world. Yet, why do we give each other so much praise for doing what ought to be done? The charity we give, the warmth and encouragement we share, and the condemnation for things malicious, are all a part of the Moral Law. This Law, which is just merely a foundation and starting point, is used as a measuring stick when we try to judge for ourselves who is righteous and who is wicked. Using the starting line to measure how far you’ve traveled is giving you the illusion that you have arrived, yet it is only marking the place to begin. Why should we create bombastic, inflated people through our encouragement of following the mere basis of what governs the foundation of society? As a people of God, we are called to be more than reputable citizens of the world. A good name with a good fame is not a bad place to begin, and in order to understand how to depart from the starting line, we must first understand the Laws of Motion. 

Isaac Newton’s Laws of Motion state three things:

First, is the velocity of an object remains constant unless the body is acted upon by an external force. Essentially pertaining to day-to-day life, consistency is key. Unless things beyond our control have taken a toll on our tithes or physical strength to provide and serve our consistency should not be hindered, yet keeping in mind that the hand of God that gives to us can inevitably take away. Spiritual disciplines have never once come to bite me back, nor have they left me with any regrets. Each and every day, God consistently breathes life into our frail human flesh, and with every consecutive breath, it is a reminder that God is a constant, unchanging variable. Never leaving us nor forsaking us. Consistency and discipline are two things extremely characteristic of God Himself, and as surely as the apple does not fall far from the tree, these two things characteristic of the very life of Christ Jesus, whom we aim and strive to be.

Secondly, the acceleration of an object is parallel and directly proportional to the net force, and inversely proportional to the mass. Or in other words, the determining factor of your rate of change or fruitfulness in life is proportional to the net force, or in this case, the force that surrounds us and moves us to action. As well as, how much you are willing to allow that Holy Spirit to move, because a breakdown of this law can be a simple as this: if a body is accelerating, there is force in it. When we sit and wait at the starting line, wanting to be provoked by some sort of gunshot, signaling that the race has started, we waste precious waking hours. The fact is this: Jesus departed and left us with His Holy Spirit, we have full knowledge of this and are called to live in such a way that we are running the race, fighting the fight, and never settling for less than what is best. We have no need for the gunshot, for we have come to run with the Holy Spirit, for in him we live and move and have our being. And that is what allows us to run this race till the end. Breathing is a constant reminder that God is with you; the Holy Spirit is a constant reminder that you are breathing for a reason.

Thirdly, every action has an equal or opposite reaction. Let me repeat that: every single action provokes another action of equal or opposite value. Or in our case, every single act of God in our lives is a call to action and unfortunately, any action on our part cannot even measure up in response to the grandeur and majesty of God. But nonetheless, THERE IS A REACTION. We can chose to either respond back, in praise and worship, or turn away and neglect His Goodness and His Grace. Not forgetting that negligence can come in various different ways. Such as, putting yourself in default mode and reverting to a state of complacency and lukewarmness is at its best a state of neglect and, in essence, an opposite reaction to the blessings, Grace, and mercy that God has lavished upon us. The mighty Love of God is nothing short of a tidal wave that can either provoke you to sink or swim, and when you decide not to move at all, you are not helping anyone. Not even yourself.

Furthermore, in light of God’s love and what Jesus has done for us, the Moral Law is an absolute load of garbage. Using this Moral Law as a mirror to wonder how good we look in front of God or worse: in front of man, will do a whole lot of nothing and most certainly won’t help us achieve what Jesus commanded before He departed: to go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything He has commanded. We are called to breathe deeply and know that God is good, all the time. To also know that God is with us and the Holy Spirit has awakened us to truly live. Acts of service, charitable giving, and living “well” is only the beginning. We are called to depart from the starting line and run until we’ve finally crossed the finish line to hear God say those words: “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

Like A Lion

"my God's not dead He's surely alive, He's living on the inside... Roaring like a Lion"

If I think that I do not possess the qualities to make a dent, much less penetrate this world with the kingdom of heaven, I persist in my belief that the Spirit of God lives inside me- the Spirit that possesses every single quality, resource, and power to forcefully advance the Kingdom of Heaven on this earth.

                My call, at this appointed time is to mentor and minister. Which position may pertain to the qualities of courage, humbleness, being constant, wisdom, and the ability to constantly seek things above.  Which in large part equals seeking God in the hearts of these girls, that are so dearly loved, and so, in total, indispensable. I must show them love, which is in fact showing them God. The same God who lives in me shall be evident in love, in sacrifice, and in courage. I cannot let the enemy hold me back, I cannot let the enemy hoard the God inside me. I must seek the God I know in these girls. The God I am familiar with, the God whose face I recognize. I must see His face in the hearts of every single one of them in love, for if they do not know love, they do not know God. Which take me back to the same place I started: what each and every one of us possess. The qualities of God that are endowed to us to penetrate the world with the Kingdom of Heaven. If  a girl does not know God, she does not know his qualities. If she does not know His qualities, then she does not know what lives inside her, is she does not know what lives inside her, then, by no means will she ever know what she is capable of. Because God is living and active- ready and roaring, waiting to be met, unveiled on Calvary to be seen. God has been waiting with eager eyes and an overflowing love. Like a lion, He is King. Beholding the power to reign, to mark the territory that is His, eyes locked on what is His, to never let go. He is roaring into the enemy’s eyes with a message that says, “She is mine.”

Tonight, I am on a date with God. I am a little nervous about if I look alright, what He thinks of me and if He will approve. I am even more anxious about if He’ll notice all the little mistakes I make- cause knowing me I’ll trip or fall, or definitely spill something. But as soon I sat down (and if I’m not mistaken, He pulled the chair out for me, what a gentleman!), we began to talk. Starting with small talk of course, “How are you?” “How was your day?” “Is it too warm in here?” I told Him everything was perfect. He told me how pretty I looked this evening and remarked that I have charm, the kind that most characterizes Southern Belles. I blushed. And slowly and tension started to subside.
I was feeling more and more comfortable, although everything was so sudden about this night. I still didn’t know what to expect, and He was trying to get me to let my guard down- to let Him know more about me, beyond the dress and the hair and all the smiles and laughs. It was difficult; this was something I was not accustomed to. Talking with God, and knowing that I was finally safe, made me not want to become so vulnerable, even in safety. I did not want to be exposed to my own picture of imperfections, while trying to be charming and pretty with good posture and a smile- as all Southern Belles must have at all times of course. I felt silly and wondered why I had even come. I am surely not the girl He meant to spend tonight with. Surely He thought He would find someone else. Someone willing to participate without fear to the kind of relationship He wanted to take from here. Not me. Most definitely not me, He has no idea what sorts of trouble He is getting himself into if he is serious about me. Well, we aren’t even past the salads, and I am already ready to leave. I want to run to the door as quickly as I can, because this is definitely not what I had expected. Is it getting warmer in here or is it just me? I wanted to return to talking about the day, our beloved friends, I wanted to the subject to go back to talking about all the sick and poor, and what we can do about it, I wanted to go back to talking about the plans for next week, what an awesome God He is, and what a beautiful sunset I had seen only hours before… But I still sat there with my God, my Father, my Dad. He was just waiting for me, just waiting till I was ready, the absolute essence of patience, and I could see that He wasn’t just waiting through the few minutes of my frantic mind racing, He wasn’t just waiting to see if I would stay for the entrée or if I would jet out at the first opportunity. From what I could see, He had been waiting quite a while, He was waiting, with eyes that told me I was beautiful (even I didn’t think so). He was waiting with a smile that told me He wasn’t lying when He had said He was delighted to be here tonight. He had been waiting patiently for quite a while, just for a moment to sit down with me, just for a moment to let me know that I have nothing to be afraid of, He wasn’t going anywhere. Even if I decided that this isn’t the type of relationship I’m looking for, He was ready to pursue me. He was ready to capture my heart with full force that would knock me head over heels in Love with a Man ready to sacrifice everything just to have me with Him tonight. God was waiting patiently, regardless if I wanted to jump up and flee, He was ready to jump up and follow.
So, as I continue through the evening, sitting alone in my bedroom, looking like I am dressed with somewhere to go, I am still sitting face-to- face with my date for this evening: God, the perfect gentleman, with the sweetest things to say, and promises to keep. Knowing my past, my present form (literally, as I am dolled up, I “present” myself- dress, hair, and a bow on top- the whole “package”) and the future entails: where I am headed, what I want and what He wants. He knows what past relationships I’ve had, the regrets and the mistakes, He knows the desires I have to not screw everything up and have my head on straight. But still, He makes it known to me that He has had His eye on me for quite a while now, and concludes that, according to what He sees now, we would be a pretty great match. Which made me understand what tonight was really about. Thinking to myself (which God could hear anyway), this night was about seeing sparks for the first time, a new way of being with my Heavenly Father. He’s told me a million times how much He loves me, How much He wishes to spend time with me, and how beautiful I am, and how precious my fragile heart is in His tender hands. And tonight for sure, He melted my heart right in the hollow of His hand. How good it feels to be a daughter of this astounding God! Taking the time to make Kodak-worthy moments with His children! I remember one time, I was in middle school and everyone could tell how cool you were by who you dated, who “liked” you, and who your boyfriend was. Well, I was talking to one of my friends who telling me about the stipulations her parents put on dating/boyfriends/etc. She said that she was technically “allowed to date” and free to date whomever she chooses, as long as her dad was her very first date. Back then, I thought about how awkward it would be to have to go out looking nice and formal, just to grab a bite to eat with your dad. What would that be like? Knowing that your first date wasn’t with prince charming, the man of your dreams, or your knight in shining armor, but with good ol’ dad. That was NOT the storybook fairytale I wish would play out in my life.
But tonight, as I sit here with my heavenly Father, knowing that the past doesn’t matter and I have everything to look forward to, I felt new. I could begin freedom with a sense that I have my best friend, the sweetest gentleman, the kindest prince in all the land (and sea and space and universe), and date here tonight that has waited longer than I could comprehend for a moment to take my hand and ask me to dance. And we’ll dance and dance and dance the dance of Love, Purity, Renewal and Peace.