jaylanun.com

Now I get it

jaylanun — Fri, 03 Sep 2010 13:15:20 +0000

The other day, my grandmother sent me an email. I always read her emails, but I very rarely pass them on. I’m just not the chain-email kind of guy.

This one, though, is too good to stop with me. It had a bunch of text format and smileys, but I erased them. The message is too important to have other things distract from it.

I asked God to take away my habit.

God said, No.
It is not for me to take away,
but for you to give it up.

I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No.
His spirit is whole, his body is only temporary.

I asked God to grant me patience.

God said, No. Patience is a byproduct of tribulations;
it isn’t granted, it is learned.

I asked God to give me happiness..

God said, No.
I give you blessings; Happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain.

God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from
worldly cares
and brings you closer to me.

I asked God to make my spirit grow.

God said, No.
You must grow on your own,
but I will prune you to make you fruitful.

I asked God for all things that I might enjoy life.

God said, No.
I will give you life,
so that you may enjoy all things.

I asked God to help me LOVE others, as much as He loves me.
God said… Ahhhh,
finally you have the idea.

Strong!

jaylanun — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 19:00:36 +0000

The historical truth of the bible is used by God to illustrate the larger spiritual principles that flow through it. While most religious books are collections of philosophy, moral principles, and ethical issues, the Bible is something much greater. It packs a greater wallop because God’s superintendence of the included history confirm the spiritual truths that He wished to communicate. In short, God has been operating this world in such a way that He might speak to us with and without words, showing us instead of just telling us.

Hosea 6:6, Mercy not Sacrifice

jaylanun — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 14:39:34 +0000

Hosea 6:6
For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.

God is a God of Love and of Grace and yet we are always trying to pay Him for His gifts. Grace is free, friends. If you try to pay for it, you will never receive it at all. Our sacrifices to God are motivated out of our love for Him, not from a need to pay Him back.

The moon landing was a hoax, actually.

jaylanun — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 18:28:57 +0000

You don’t know what you’re asking of someone when you ask them to be a Christian. You are asking them, as Jesus did to his disciples, to leave the safety of their world. You are asking them to drop everything they have, everything they are doing, and join with you as you pursue Christ. Community is inherent in this and every religion. You are taking them from one place, from one way of life, from one social circle, from one mindset, from one reality, and firmly placing them in a whole new world. By introducing them to Jesus, you pack them into your spaceship, and bring them to the Moon. If you are focused on making millions of converts and not disciples, then you are being cruel and not merciful. You take them to the Moon, and kick them out of the shuttle without a spacesuit. You celebrate their decision to be an astronaut, and then you kick them into the heavens without any training. You’re placing them into a totally new situation and not explaining how to deal with it. Is it any wonder we see such backsliding in our churches? It’s time to focus on health, not growth. The numbers will come.

Let’s all decide to take the time to talk to new believers and explain things. Answer questions, and not be afraid to get deeper.

PS: I definitely want to buy one of those astronaut Jesus figurines like in the picture for this post. Bizarre Jesus toys make me really happy, for some reason. I’m sorry that it cut his head off in the previews. You Can see the whole thing here. :)

Sand and Glass – Samantha Bailey

jaylanun — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 03:57:04 +0000

“There will always be salt in the ocean’s waters. And as many times as the waves crash upon the sand, so does the salt recede again with the tides. But a little bit of salt still seeps into the sand. To many, it remains invisible, hiding itself in the works of sand castles and the bliss of children’s play. Seemingly harmless, but it’s presence is there. However when the glassmith goes to mold a creation, he doesn’t intend to leave the sand in it’s present state of impurity. If Christ is who he says he is, and has done what he claims to have done, then the same is also true for the disciple. He must diligently fight to reject the salt, for he knows that when sand is refined many times under heat and pressure, it becomes glass- pure and smooth in order to fulfill it’s purpose. Like the waves and the sand, the disciple is at war. He is quite like the sand, and must be refined over and over. And he, like it, will not be left tarnished.”

– Samantha Bailey

Intimate

jaylanun — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 19:34:44 +0000

“Why do we consent to abide all our days just outside the Holy of Holies and never enter at all to look upon God?” –A.W. Tozer

What I Learned this Summer

jaylanun — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 16:36:10 +0000

I have grown in ways that I can’t describe over the course of this summer. I have gone through highs and lows of faith and obedience, crashing waves of doubt and insecurity, and incredible experiences that gave me more clarity than any textbook or Wikipedia article ever could. I have compiled a list of the jewels of wisdom I have received from my experiences with God over the summer. It’s already hard for me to remember the person that I was before this summer.

No two people believe the exact same thing, even within churches or marriages.
While “interfaith dialog” can get ugly, arguments between denominations and sects is often uglier.
If you trust other people’s beliefs blindly, you’ll find yourself ripped apart by dogma and doctrine.
And, as an incredibly wise (but occasionally wrong) man once said “Doctrine can go to Hell, honestly.”
Don’t listen if they say that considering other points of view is “dangerous”.
Your heart belongs to God, and you ought to seek Him anywhere you go.
Always try to figure out what is truthful by testing it against God’s Word, because no one has ever been right, even though everyone thinks they are.
You are a snob and a fool if you think that you have the world figured out.
Art has often stemmed from the elusive “human condition”. Artists have tried to capture the strange and distant characteristics of humanity that cannot be expressed in words. How strange are the ways of these hairless monkeys. How much more elusive are the ways of a Great Creator God. Anyone who thinks he understands God’s ways is a fool.
There is absolutely a God. He made me to love Him, and that’s just what I intend to do.
God has created us all to live. To truly live in community with Him, and with our entire selves given up to Him.

Excerpt from Life of Pi, Ch. 24

jaylanun — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 14:50:22 +0000

Alas, the sense of community that a common faith brings to a people spelled trouble for me. In time, my religious doings went from the notice of those to whom it didn’t matter and only amused, to that of those to whom it did matter—and they were not amused. “What is your son doing going to temple?” asked the priest. “Your son was seen in church crossing himself,” said the imam. “Your son has gone Muslim,” said the pandit. Yes, it was all forcefully brought to the attention of my bemused parents. You see, they didn’t know. They didn’t know that I was a practising Hindu, Christian and Muslim. Teenagers always hide a few things from their parents, isn’t that so? All sixteen-year-olds have secrets, don’t they? But fate decided that my parents and I and the three wise men, as I shall call them, should meet one day on the Goubert Salai seaside esplanade and that my secret should be outed. It was a lovely, breezy, hot Sunday afternoon and the Bay of Bengal glittered under a blue sky. Townspeople were out for a stroll. Children screamed and laughed. Coloured balloons floated in the air. Ice cream sales were brisk. Why think of business on such a day, I ask? Why couldn’t they have just walked by with a nod and a smile? It was not to be. We were to meet not just one wise man but all three, and not one after another but at the same time, and each would decide upon seeing us that right then was the golden occasion to meet that Pondicherry notable, the zoo director, he of the model devout son. When I saw the first, I smiled; by the time I had laid eyes on the third, my smile had frozen into a mask of horror. When it was clear that all three were converging on us, my heart jumped before sinking very low. The wise men seemed annoyed when they realized that all three of them were approaching the same people. Each must have assumed that the others were there for some business other than pastoral and had rudely chosen that moment to deal with it. Glances of displeasure were exchanged. My parents looked puzzled to have their way gently blocked by three broadly smiling religious strangers. I should explain that my family was anything but orthodox. Father saw himself as part of the New India—rich, modern and as secular as ice cream. He didn’t have a religious bone in his body. He was a businessman, pronounced busynessman in his case, a hardworking, earthbound professional, more concerned with inbreeding among the lions than any over-arching moral or existential scheme. It’s true that he had all new animals blessed by a priest and there were two small shrines at the zoo, one to Lord Ganesha and one to Hanuman, gods likely to please a zoo director, what with the first having the head of an elephant and the second being a monkey, but Father’s calculation was that this was good for business, not good for his soul, a matter of public relations rather than personal salvation. Spiritual worry was alien to him; it was financial worry that rocked his being. “One epidemic in the collection,” he used to say, “and we’ll end up in a road crew breaking up stones.” Mother was mum, bored and neutral on the subject. A Hindu upbringing and a Baptist education had precisely cancelled each other out as far as religion was concerned and had left her serenely impious. I suspect she suspected that I had a different take on the matter, but she never said anything when as a child I devoured the comic books of the Ramayana and the Mahabharata and an illustrated children’s Bible and other stories of the gods. She herself was a big reader. She was pleased to see me with my nose buried in a book, any book, so long as it wasn’t naughty. As for Ravi, if Lord Krishna had held a cricket bat rather than a flute, if Christ had appeared more plainly to him as an umpire, if the prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, had shown some notions of bowling, he might have lifted a religious eyelid, but they didn’t, and so he slumbered. After the “Hellos” and the “Good days”, there was an awkward silence. The priest broke it when he said, with pride in his voice, “Piscine is a good Christian boy. I hope to see him join our choir soon.” My parents, the pandit and the imam looked surprised. “You must be mistaken. He’s a good Muslim boy. He comes without fail to Friday prayer, and his knowledge of the Holy Qur’an is coming along nicely.” So said the imam. My parents, the priest and the pandit looked incredulous. The pandit spoke. “You’re both wrong. He’s a good Hindu boy. I see him all the time at the temple coming for darshan and performing puja.” My parents, the imam and the priest looked astounded. “There is no mistake,” said the priest. “I know this boy. He is Piscine Molitor Patel and he’s a Christian.” “I know him too, and I tell you he’s a Muslim,” asserted the imam. “Nonsense!” cried the pandit. “Piscine was born a Hindu, lives a Hindu and will die a Hindu!” The three wise men stared at each other, breathless and disbelieving. Lord, avert their eyes from me, I whispered in my soul. All eyes fell upon me. “Piscine, can this be true?” asked the imam earnestly. “Hindus and Christians are idolaters. They have many gods.” “And Muslims have many wives,” responded the pandit. The priest looked askance at both of them. “Piscine,” he nearly whispered, “there is salvation only in Jesus.” “Balderdash! Christians know nothing about religion,” said the pandit. “They strayed long ago from God’s path,” said the imam. “Where’s God in your religion?” snapped the priest. “You don’t have a single miracle to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without miracles?” “It isn’t a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that’s what! We Muslims stick to the essential miracle of existence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing—these are miracles enough for us.” “Feathers and rain are all very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us.” “Is that so? Well, a whole lot of good it did God to be with you—you tried to kill him! You banged him to a cross with great big nails. Is that a civilized way to treat a prophet? The prophet Muhammad—peace be upon him—brought us the word of God without any undignified nonsense and died at a ripe old age.” “The word of God? To that illiterate merchant of yours in the middle of the desert? Those were drooling epileptic fits brought on by the swaying of his camel, not divine revelation. That, or the sun frying his brains!” “If the Prophet—p.b.u.h.—were alive, he would have choice words for you,” replied the imam, with narrowed eyes. “Well, he’s not! Christ is alive, while your old ‘p.b.u.h.’ is dead, dead, dead!” The pandit interrupted them quietly. In Tamil he said, “The real question is, why is Piscine dallying with these foreign religions?” The eyes of the priest and the imam properly popped out of their heads. They were both native Tamils. “God is universal,” spluttered the priest. The imam nodded strong approval. “There is only one God.” “And with their one god Muslims are always causing troubles and provoking riots. The proof of how bad Islam is, is how uncivilized Muslims are,” pronounced the pandit. “Says the slave-driver of the caste system,” huffed the imam. “Hindus enslave people and worship dressed-up dolls.” “They are golden calf lovers. They kneel before cows,” the priest chimed in. “While Christians kneel before a white man! They are the flunkies of a foreign god. They are the nightmare of all non-white people.” “And they eat pigs and are cannibals,” added the imam for good measure. “What it comes down to,” the priest put out with cool rage, “is whether Piscine wants real religion—or myths from a cartoon strip.” “God—or idols,” intoned the imam gravely. “Our gods—or colonial gods,” hissed the pandit. It was hard to tell whose face was more inflamed. It looked as if they might come to blows. Father raised his hands. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!” he interjected. “I would like to remind you there is freedom of practice in this country.” Three apoplectic faces turned to him. “Yes! Practice—singular!” the wise men screamed in unison. Three index fingers, like punctuation marks, jumped to attention in the air to emphasize their point. They were not pleased at the unintended choral effect or the spontaneous unity of their gestures. Their fingers came down quickly, and they sighed and groaned each on his own. Father and Mother stared on, at a loss for words. The pandit spoke first. “Mr. Patel, Piscine’s piety is admirable. In these troubled times it’s good to see a boy so keen on God. We all agree on that.” The imam and the priest nodded. “But he can’t be a Hindu, a Christian and a Muslim. It’s impossible. He must choose.” “I don’t think it’s a crime, but I suppose you’re right,” Father replied. The three murmured agreement and looked heavenward, as did Father, whence they felt the decision must come. Mother looked at me. A silence fell heavily on my shoulders. “Hmmm, Piscine?” Mother nudged me. “How do you feel about the question?” “Bapu Gandhi said, ‘All religions are true.’ I just want to love God,” I blurted out, and looked down, red in the face. My embarrassment was contagious. No one said anything. It happened that we were not far from the statue of Gandhi on the esplanade. Stick in hand, an impish smile on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, the Mahatma walked. I fancy that he heard our conversation, but that he paid even greater attention to my heart. Father cleared his throat and said in a half-voice, “I suppose that’s what we’re all trying to do—love God.” I thought it very funny that he should say that, he who hadn’t stepped into a temple with a serious intent since I had had the faculty of memory. But it seemed to do the trick. You can’t reprimand a boy for wanting to love God. The three wise men pulled away with stiff, grudging smiles on their faces. Father looked at me for a second, as if to speak, then thought better, said, “Ice cream, anyone?” and headed for the closest ice cream wallah before we could answer. Mother gazed at me a little longer, with an expression that was both tender and perplexed. That was my introduction to interfaith dialogue. Father bought three ice cream sandwiches. We ate them in unusual silence as we continued on our Sunday walk.

Fairweather

jaylanun — Mon, 09 Aug 2010 22:46:53 +0000

Our souls flirt with the power and the intimacy available to us; most of us reject full communion with Christ in favor of a casual fling.

Revolution

jaylanun — Fri, 16 Jul 2010 01:30:08 +0000

All you hippies who are looking to catalyze a change in society, look no further. There is someone I know who is a social revolutionary in the most extreme sense of the word. Counterculture, man. Seriously. Dude is an absolute god in my book. Here, read one of the snips about him turning the tables on money-grubbing thieves.
15 When they arrived back in Jerusalem, Jesus entered the Temple and began to drive out the people buying and selling animals for sacrifices. He knocked over the tables of the money changers and the chairs of those selling doves, 16 and he stopped everyone from using the Temple as a marketplace.[a] 17 He said to them, “The Scriptures declare, ‘My Temple will be called a house of prayer for all nations,’ but you have turned it into a den of thieves.”[b] 18 When the leading priests and teachers of religious law heard what Jesus had done, they began planning how to kill him. But they were afraid of him because the people were so amazed at his teaching. Mark 11: 15-18 NLT.