Life is a Never-Ending Buffet

I hate buffets.

I've never enjoyed the idea of a place where you could eat endlessly because I always felt like it was an injustice to those who do not have that kind of choice on the other side of the globe. On top of that, individuals splurge in buffets; getting more than they could possibly finish and leaving what's left to waste because there just was not enough room in their stomachs to stuff the food down their throats. The rest is trash, when it didn't need to be. It is like spilling water in front of people who were dehydrated; their life before their eyes. And the consumerism that buffets reflect.... I feel like I can go on forever. But I had an interesting experience while I've been taking on adulthood here in my first full-time job. I began to feel like life was a never-ending buffet.

It was Thursday of this week. I was as busy as ever planning out my Sunday sermon, editing the youth club applications, making sure my intern was staying occupied with his responsibilities, and thinking about budgeting. Just, the whole gamut. It was lunchtime. Normally, we would eat lunch together as a staff. Someone would cook for all the staff members who were in the office, and we would sit down together for a break. We had a Filipino soup with rotisserie chicken and white rice. It was incredibly delicious and filling. I was particularly grateful this day because I began to realize how many times I have been fed without having to pay for my food. It was so abundant that I've lost count of the number. I knew, when I was young, that one could never feed oneself because one simply did not have the financial stability to do so. The caretaker -- in my case, my parents -- did the feeding. I was content with that, willingly accepting their gift of feeding me. Though, like any independent child would feel, I always eagerly anticipated the moment when I would be able to feed myself. I always believed that once I began earning a sufficient paycheck, I'd be my own caretaker. I would never be fed anymore by someone else.

And isn't that how we feel about our lives as Christians? As we are young, we soak everything up like a sponge, but as we grow older, we begin to be less open to advice, or to learning from another. We begin to see ourselves as the givers. As the one who imparts blessing, but rarely the one who receives it from another individual. We respond as if we have grown out of receiving blessings. We feed others, but have seen ourselves as growing out of being fed. We have been so consumed by this misconception that we don't even expect to be fed anymore. We've become hardened to words of encouragement, to words of exhortation, or even to inspiring stories told. We do the feeding.

But this experience sobered me. I will never stop being fed; and being fed freely.

We have this inherent rule of thumb as human beings. We love being our own masters. This is why independence feels so gratifying. Earning our own paycheck feels so gratifying. Cooking our own meal feels so gratifying. Doing our own laundry; having our own friends; paying for my own car. All of these things. We like to earn everything we have because we've grown cynical of the system of freeness. Independence is much more stable. Earning our possessions is much more stable. Paying for our own meals is much more stable.

Free food is not food we can receive.

Young or old, food will always be served at the table of Jesus Christ; and this will be given freely. And trust me, there is no other option. But the hard part follows. Will it be freely received?

We hide behind giving because our inability to receive makes us insecure. Nothing in this world is free. If we were to receive freely, it just means that a favor is to be owed.

What have we done to deserve free food? How have we earned it? Check this.

The oldest truth in the book. We don't deserve it. We have done nothing. And even if we were given the option to attempt at deserving the food, the result will remain. It is an impossibility. But free food is given yet still. And it will be given -- forever and ever; because the grace of God found in the man Jesus Christ was enough to purchase it for us. Now, through this overflowing grace, we can cut the crap. Stop pretending like you're too good for free food. Or stop allowing fear to overcome your ability to freely receive.

Jesus says come, receive.

Just like my host family says. "No rent. Come and receive."
And my titas and titos say. "No money. Come and eat."
Just as my newfound friends say. "No strings attached. Come and be loved."

They learned it from the Son of Man, Jesus; who says come, receive. This food will be given endlessly. Come. Recline at table. Eat.

And my decision? Lord, I'm going to cut the crap. I will choose to receive.

An Outsider's Greatest Gift

So I've finally arrived to New Jersey. But it was not an easy 13-hour drive.

I had driven drives either comparable or longer than 13 hours before -- 17 to Virginia Beach, VA,  14 to Deadwood, SD, 14 to Seattle, WA (from Yellowstone), and 22 from El Paso, TX to Chicago, IL -- but this one was much unlike the rest. Each one of these lengthy, wonderful yet boring, adventurous yet monotonous, worshipful yet exhausting times on the road have been secured with the reality that I will be going home soon. That when I arrive home, it will still be my home. I will find my repose in the comforts and familiarities of my fluffy pillows and my scented bed sheets, right out of the dryer. I will stroll, jog, or even saunter down the blocks of McGuane Park, or bike down the Magnificent Mile. When I was done with that, I'd walk to Bridgeport Coffeehouse to get an refreshing iced coffee or drive Uptown to get a delicate yet casual bowl of Pho from Tank Noodle. I knew where I could go to find safety. The nooks. The crannies. On this drive, I was faced with the reality that I did not know. I was faced with the fact that Chicago may not be my home for a very long time. There might be long stretches of time before I even had the chance to go back. Not only was I faced with this reality of a new home, I had 13 hours of facing reality.

As I began driving down 90/94 west, I got through the skyway and paid a toll. Driving through Indiana was just the beginning stages of unbelievable freakout. Having accepted my move, I did not think I would be going through the restlessness I did so soon. I remembered thinking, "I'd been to New Jersey before, but this is not a short trip we're talking about here. This is real life. I will be in New Jersey for some years." Then, I proceeded to think, "I know nothing about New Jersey" and "I know nothing about money."

And then I prayed, "Jesus, get me through this drive without having a heart attack. Amen."

Indiana. Ohio. Pennsylvania. There really was not much on the road to distract me from such sentimental thoughts, such natural emotions, and such anxiety because I would not consider my route particularly picturesque. And neither would you, if you were with me. I texted my brother halfway through the drive saying, "How's home?" Very insinuating of me. Just ask me the darn question. Or any question, so that I could tell you I miss home; so that I wouldn't have to wrestle with this reality alone on a 13-hour drive while Taylor Swift is singing about her latest break-up. Not helping.

"How's the drive?"

(YES.) "It's alright. Trying not to miss home too much." My brother offered his words of consolation and it cushioned me in such emotional and cognitive relief that I had enough stamina to make the rest of the drive. The cliche was that Pennsylvania poured throughout the entire 5-hours from one end to the other. So you're feeling me too, huh Pennsylvania? Okay, okay, okay, so what's with the title of this post.

The outsider's greatest gift is not comforts and familiarities. The insider's gift is such a thing; yet I'd challenge all to consider also that it may be the insider's greatest vice. The outsider's greatest gift is an incarnational hospitality.

There was no doubt in my mind that entering my new home would be both a joyful and sorrowful experience. I would still be deep in the process of grieving the departure from my home amongst all of the sub-inquiries that I had in my mind. But the unforseen surprise for me was this: the rain stopped pouring. The rain stopped pouring in New Jersey.

I walked into my pastor's home, whose place I would be staying at for who knows how long, and I was greeted with great joy, eager expectation, and a confirming desire for relational investment. This family offered to me not only a bed to sleep on, but a basement to live in. They offered not only a space for physical rest, but a more of a sanctuary, where I could find spiritual rest. They even acquired for me a brand new desk and television; which is more than I need. The church greeted me with the same kind of hospitality the next day while I put my office together with the greatest amount of feng-shui I was artistically capable of. Lastly, I was touched by the group of post-grad men serving in Bible Church International; as they loved me and welcomed me with their hospitality. As if that was not enough, they burned with fervent spirits and powerful vision for the youth group. I was deeply encouraged. There were aspects that reminded me of home, and others that reminded me of my travels, and yet others still that I was completely unfamiliar. Yet the rain stopped in my heart, and the grieving was done. I'm here; continuing in my pilgrimage as I always had been. I pray the Lord keeps me steadfast.

New Jersey, my love for you is increasing day by day. And so is my burden.

And I love it.