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  • Aaron Lam
  • Apr 19, 2020
  • 2 min read

It was Easter Sunday. We worshiped and rejoiced in the resurrection of Jesus and the hope he has given to the cosmos. We were elated, almost in ecstasy. What a joyful moment. But now Easter has passed, and we begin to find ourselves coming back down to the concrete realities that we live in. There is still death and sorrow in this world, problems that we as a society and community face, as well as our own, are still present. It’s almost as if Easter Sunday was simply a flickering light that for once remained on for a couple of minutes, only to flicker out again. How are we supposed to be in this moment that may seem to be a disappointment?


On the liturgical calendar shown below (It's a Lutheran calendar, and I'll talk more about the concept of the liturgical calendar in a later post), one can see that Easter is longer than we would expect. According to the liturgical calendar, Easter is not one day, but fifty days! This season is called Eastertide, and it is a season of joy and commemoration of the Resurrection. This means that we should be celebrating, not treating these fifty days as any ordinary days.


I want to acknowledge that this may be difficult, given the ongoing pandemic, and grieving and lamenting should not be pushed aside. Death is harsh and cruel, but life must be viewed in its totality: moments of sorrow with moments of joy. Resurrection and the Easter season challenges us to view the state of the world and history differently: a world where Jesus is king and death is losing ground, inch by inch, as unbelievable and ridiculous as that may be. We celebrate that resurrection doesn't just change human mortality, but changes the human condition: the works of mercy abounding from Spirit-filled humans in every corner of the world, for the Kingdom of God is here.


So how do we celebrate Eastertide? Here are some articles that explain Eastertide and how we can celebrate. Given that these were written before the pandemic, you may need to alter some of these practices.


I hope that this will change your perception of Easter and Eastertide, that you will be celebrating within your house and neighborhood, and that we may do this together.




Picture is by EugeneZ, taken from Wikipedia

 
  • Aaron Lam
  • Apr 18, 2020
  • 3 min read

This is a repost of my essay for our Faith in Action ministry.


Our home – San Francisco and the Bay Area – has become an unsavory blend of paradoxes.

On its polished surface, San Francisco is considered one of the richest cities in the world, thanks to its affiliation with Silicon Valley. It is seen as a major center of culture, food, art, and music. It is known for its progressive atmosphere, accepting of various minority groups. A prime vacation spot for international tourists.


And yet, below that polished surface lies its ill underbelly. There is a growing wealth inequality that is affecting many residents. High housing prices and the lack of affordable housing (in other words, gentrification) are driving residents out of their home. And the homeless crisis continues to plague the city and most importantly, those who suffer from it. All of this has created a detrimental environment for those living below the poverty line, the marginalized, the most vulnerable.


In such a city where wealth divides neighborhoods, it is often easy to look the other way and ignore the plight of the vulnerable, to narrowly focus on ourselves and the things that interest us. However, we refuse to ignore them.


A few years ago, we formed Faith in Action (FIA), a ministry with the intention of reaching out to a certain population of the city. In order to give FIA a direction, we reflected and meditated on the life and teachings of Jesus. What we learned is this: for Jesus, the more excellent mark of discipleship is not the development of a proper systematic theology, but the development of having an eye for the poor. For Jesus, passionate care for the poor displayed the Kingdom more vividly than abstract theology that argues for its existence.


Therefore, we decided to follow our brothers and sisters who have led the way long ago, dedicating their lives to bring the Kingdom to the vulnerable. Our eyes and body are not drawn to the opulent houses of Pacific Heights or the hipster enclaves of the city, but we instead move to the slums, to the “abandoned places of empire.”


The “abandoned places of empire” is one of the “Twelve Marks” of the New Monasticism, a Protestant movement inspired by the various monastics of the past who faithfully followed Jesus. To have this mark means to relocate our lives from a place of comfort to a place of suffering, from the quiet suburbs to the filthy slums. It is to disrupt our complacencies and experience the terror of human agony. Where love is sold and consumed through TV, love is forged and felt in the ghettos. It is to come as servants who proclaim that the Kingdom is here. It is to experience and see restoration of the vulnerable, and of ourselves. It is to emulate the life of Jesus, who move towards the poor, living among and healing and loving them.


It is probably too much for us to enter this reality. The cost too high and the call too lofty. We may make excuses, or even object to such extraordinary reality. At the very least, we can attempt to follow a meager portion of it as Jesus declared, “The greatest among you will be your servant,” “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”


The Upside-down Kingdom is established in the abandoned places of empire and it beckons us to enter.


 

Updated: Apr 21, 2020

This a repost of my essay, edited by Rev. Kevin


The pandemic has thrown our lives into the chaotic waves of disarray. We are locked away from the outside environment we have taken for granted. We cannot be with friends and loved ones. We cannot congregate as a church. Distancing ourselves from each other to protect our communities, we become isolated. Isolation is an unfamiliar and terrifying experience for most of us, for we are social beings. Moreover, we begin recognizing that practicing our faith in isolation is difficult and our faith is formed and supported by community. We may wonder, “how can one practice Christianity in such isolation?”


I believe that such a time requires us to now look at how other followers have practiced their faith in similar situation. Due to our isolation, I believe that a tradition we can turn to is Christian monasticism. There are many traditions of Christian monasticism, but we will look and learn from the earliest monastics who started it all: the Desert Fathers and Mothers.


A note regarding this subject: this is a gross over generalization of the Desert Fathers and Mothers. These monastics were a complex group with a rich history. This writing will not do justice for these men and women of God.


Who were the Desert Fathers and Mothers? They were an eclectic bunch: hermits, ascetics, and monks – mainly men – who fled and lived in the Egyptian deserts, mainly in Scetis (now called Wadi El Natrun), beginning in the 3rd century CE. Why did they flee to a desert? For a few reasons. One of the prominent figures of the movement, Abba Anthony of the Desert (251 – 356 CE), was inspired by a sermon he heard, which preached that perfection can be achieved by selling one’s possessions as a way to help the poor and following Jesus. He did and then took the further step of moving to the desert. In the desert, Christianity became legalized in the Roman Empire under Emperor Constantine I. Christians were no longer persecuted and could practice the faith freely. However, this imperial endorsement had led to myriads of abuses, corruptions, and incompetency within the city churches. Some Christians desired and longed for a purer Christianity. They looked to the desert to not only escape the imperial structures, but also as a way to be with God. The harsh desert environment became a tool to practice a Christianity that took Jesus’ teachings seriously: selling one’s possessions as a prerequisite, giving alms to the poor, to fast, to pray, to contemplate, to live in solitude or in a small Kingdom of God, and to truly be dependent on God. Soon, many heard of Abba Anthony and these sporadic pockets of monastic communities, leaving their former city life behind to join the desert monks. As Church Father Athanasius of Alexandria noted, “the desert had become the city.”


Why the desert? The desert was far from the imperial hand and from the distractions and corruptions of the city. One can channel their focus and energy better into God. The desert was a harsh and unforgiving wasteland; it doesn’t care for the well-being of humans one bit, nor did it care what humans brought to it. This forced the dwellers to recognize their frailty, their need for God’s care, and to deflate their inflated pride. It taught them to be less anxious, to trust that God will provide for their needs. In addition, according to Jewish and Greco-Roman culture, the desert was a place of evil and temptation, where demons reside. It trained the monks to overcome their sins and base desires, ridding themselves of any form of pleasures. The desert was the place where Jesus was tempted by the Satan and overcame it. Overall, the desert was the place where true followers can practice the way of Jesus, to become Jesus-like. Martyrdom was seen as the highest form of devotion to Jesus. With the imperial acceptance of Christianity, asceticism was seen as the alternative to martyrdom.


What did an average day for the Desert Fathers and Mothers and their followers entail? They would wake up before dawn. The Fathers (known as “abba”) and Mothers (known as “amma”) would meet with their disciples to recite the Psalms. They would then return to their individual cell (living quarters) to perform work in the form of weaving baskets, ropes, etc. (which would be sold to the nearby villages) and prayer. Around 3 P.M. they would gather together to eat their only meal, which consisted of a loaf of bread, lentils, or beans. Then they would either visit one another or visit an abba or amma for a “word” – a wise saying – so that they may meditate on it. They would return to their cell to review their day, identifying any of their shortcomings to overcome them. Then, they continue to work and pray until sleep overwhelms them. Sleep, for them, was undesirable, for it robs them of their time to devote themselves to God.


It’s a mistake to think that the communities surrounding the Desert Fathers and Mothers were some naïve, idealized utopia or commune. Life as a monk was marked with difficulties and boredom. One had to show devotion to such life. But to suffer for the sake of Jesus was to be in union with him. Asceticism was martyrdom.


Unlike some, the Desert Fathers and Mothers were not interested in crafting a systematic theology or “correct beliefs.” Rather, they were most interested in how practicing the ways of Jesus will transform them, faith not as belief, but as lifestyle. Here is a list of some of their practices:

  • Hesychasm (Greek for “stillness, quiet, silence”) – The name of this practice usually refers to the Eastern Orthodox mystical movement, but it finds its roots in the Desert Fathers and Mothers. It is a form of meditative prayer, described as “interior silence and continual prayer.” While the exterior form of it is solitude, the internal form of it is inner quiet and peace.

  • Forgiveness – The Desert Fathers and Mothers heavily emphasized the importance of forgiveness. There are many accounts of prominent abbas who refused to come to a council to judge a monk’s failings, recognizing that they themselves are sinners and it would be hypocritical to do so. A prominent abba named Moses the Black came in with a leaking jug, arguing that, “My sins run behind me and I do not see them, but today I am coming to judge the errors of another.”

  • Almsgiving – Inspired by Jesus’ extensive teaching to care for the poor, the Desert Fathers and Mothers worked, mainly by weaving baskets and mats, to earn money so that it can be given to the poor.

  • Hospitality – Although most have an aversion to the outside world and prefer to live in solitude, the Desert Fathers and Mothers were extremely hospitable to visiting monks and city dwellers. They frequently broke their fasts to cook and eat meals with them.

  • Recitation of Scripture – As stated above, the Desert Fathers and Mothers would recite Psalms together, as well as meditating on Scripture in their cell.

Other practices include fasting, contemplative prayer, controlling negative thoughts, and

more.


Though unheard by many Protestants like us, the Desert Fathers and Mothers have an extreme influence on the development of Christianity of all traditions. Their influence ranges from the Hesychast movement in the Eastern Orthodox Churches to St. Benedict and his Benedictines, from the renewals of German Evangelicals and Pietists in Pennsylvania to the Methodist revival in England. They have continued to inspire monastics around their world such as those on Mt. Athos and even the Coptic monasteries in Egypt. They inspired individuals such as Thomas Merton, Henri Nouwen, and Richard J. Foster to live and teach others how to live a more committed life to Jesus.


Again, the Desert Fathers and Mothers teach us how to conduct our lives during a time of imposed isolation. Boredom and isolation force us to examine our lives. We are urged to live daily life more intentionally. What we do with this amount of unbusied time reflects our true values. The abbas and ammas demanded that faith becomes lifestyle, suffering a privilege. The solitary confinement of our home becomes the training ground to, “set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”


A monk went to Abba Moses the Black and asked for a word. Abba Moses said,

“Sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.”


 
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