GJH

vii. that those who live may no longer live for themselves

2017-07-18T23:20:00.005-07:00

Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God: the answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord!

Despite the realization that I will always struggle to value others above myself, I have hope. I can look to Jesus, who, “Though he was God, he did not think of equality with God as something to cling to. Instead, he gave up his divine privileges; he took the humble position of a bondservant and was born as a human being. When he appeared in human form, he humbled himself in obedience to God and died a criminal’s death on a cross.”

Jesus outshines any of my accomplishments to the hundredth order of magnitude. The more I consider him, the more I realize how much I pale in comparison—only to discover that, even under the new framework, I esteemed myself too highly and Him too low.

The more I look at Jesus, the more I realize how little I know.

This is not how things were just one year ago. At the end of my first year of college, I truly believed that I was about two years from reaching the pinnacle of my walk with Jesus. That in a few short quarters, I would know all I needed to know of him. Instead, there is so much more He has to teach me.

He continues to show me that I'm not in control, and that He is the only one that can satisfy.

He continues to make it clear that life is not about me, and goodness is not determined by my comfort.

He continues to reveal to me how grave my sin is. With that, He has displayed how much greater is his love.

This is what makes Jesus so compelling. I can't ascertain his wisdom, and I can't comprehend his love.

So, amidst all the things that I can't explain, I have arrived at the following. If I had to distill all I learned in London into a short summary, I couldn't do any better than this. It's the story of our brokenness, and of the secure and surpassing love of Jesus Christ. It's the story that God has been orchestrating since the beginning of time; London's buildings, streets, trains and cathedrals simply set the stage:

At just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation. Romans 3

vi. i will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses

2017-07-18T23:18:00.004-07:00

Where were we?

Ah yes. Small and frightened, Greg is standing in North Greenwich station, having just heard that the chances of finding his backpack are grim. Amongst the team, tensions are high and morale is low. But I said before that I was very glad to have had this experience. Now I get to tell you why.

So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses...For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12

In that moment where my own shortcomings were all too evident, my team and I prayed that God would demonstrate his power by allowing me to recover my backpack. This leads me to one of the most natural (and most significant) lessons I could have gained from a prayer tour.

My view of prayer was radicalized.

In fact, even though I had signed up to pray for 8 days straight, I don't even think I could have given you a reason for prayer before going to London. I knew that Christians prayed, and I took it for granted without asking why. However, from my time in London, I submit three purposes for prayer:

Prayer requires (and enables) us to correctly see other people. Every night I got back to my room, I flopped on my bed and was all but comatose until morning. Being constantly reminded to focus on prayer revealed how hard, how exhausting, it can be. This in itself is not an argument to pray, but it led me to wonder why prayer was such a draining experience. I arrived at the conclusion that I get so tired from it because it is highly unnatural, so extraordinary, to actually see the people around me. It's not common to care about the man sitting next to you on a park bench, or the family across from you on the tube. It's easy to ask for things for ourselves; those thoughts occur to us naturally. To consider the stories of others, to bear their burdens as if they were my own, is tiring. Prayer prompts the Christian to recognize that the human beings she comes across are, well, just that. Disciplined prayer can drastically change the perception of our fellow man.
Prayer requires (and enables) us to rightly see ourselves. As my plane took off for London, I imagined the amount of good my efforts were going to produce. I reveled in how much I would see a two-thousand-year-old city change in the span of a week. Had God not updated my vision of prayer, I would have been sorely disappointed. Not only was it unrealistic to expect every Londoner to be dramatically changed in my short time there, it was also the diametric opposite of what my goal should have been. To see all the results of the prayer tour manifest themselves through human efforts in one week would have made for a largely unsuccessful trip. The most successful tour would be the one where 99% of the changes God effected through the team were unbeknownst to us until we got to heaven. The greatest strategy, then, would be to invite God to display His power to continue transforming London long after we had left. We had to admit that our human efforts were worthless compared to the awesome power of God, if we would simply call upon Him to act. Prayer always and everywhere demands that I recognize my own powerlessness, and humbly ask God to enact His (better) plan to bring His Kingdom, for His glory. Prayer, then, is one of the greatest tools to combat pride.
Prayer requires (and enables) us to accurately perceive God. Nowhere in the above description of prayer do I get any of the credit, and nowhere did I deserve it. Any answered prayer is exclusively evidence of the wisdom and power of God. When I pray "Your will be done," I am confessing that God's plan is perfect, and admitting that He alone has the power to enact it. Whether or not my prayer is answered affirmatively, I pray because I know that God has the power to do what I am asking. Prayer requires that I believe this about God, but prayer itself is also the vehicle to remind me of that fact when I nearly forget.

After we had finished our work on the day of the misplaced backpack, I got a notification from WhatsApp. Someone had gotten my contact information from the Bible and journal inside my "rucksack", and let me know it had been turned in to Barking station. Here's an interesting fact about Barking: it's not even on the same line as North Greenwich station (where I lost my backpack). Somehow, my backpack had transferred lines without losing anything. I guess that makes my bag a better rider than I am.

Maybe I'd be looking at this situation differently if I hadn't found my backpack. However, I know this: Regardless of outcome, I am glad I had the experience. I learned a lot about the Underground and the Lost Property Office. I tangibly experienced crazy grace and compassion from Christian community, a quality that it is admittedly lacking too often. Most importantly, prayer blew my mind.

I know there are many explanations for why my backpack was returned rather than stolen, but that's not really the point. Whether or not praying was the deciding factor that allowed me to get my things back, the important part is that we prayed. Doing so made us assign God His proper place.

Despite how closely we hold our plans and how highly we value our own strength, He is God, and we are not.

Yours, O Lord, is the greatness, the power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty. Everything in the heavens and on the earth is yours. Power and might are in your hand, and at your discretion people are given strength. 1 Chronicles 29

v. where moth and rust destroy

2017-07-18T23:15:00.002-07:00

This is not meant to be a proof of God. It is merely a testament to how I've found Jesus to be the solution to my brokenness. You can take it or leave it.

To take it requires faith that there is an unchanging God who provides stability and security, who blots out our weakness, and who outshines any human effort so gloriously that the only response is humility.

On the other hand, you can leave it, but you are faced with three questions: one of life's purpose if everything is futile, one of mankind's powerlessness to do what we know we ought, and one of our pride. At the end of the day, I think you will find that to leave it requires faith as well.

Either way, I hope you will read on, at least to hear the reason for the Hope that I have.

It sucks to know that nothing in this world can satisfy me forever. Still, I strive for good grades so that I can chase a career that will make me lots of money. I idolize perfect relationships with my friends, family, and future wife, forgetting that all of them will end in heartbreak. Although I know this in my head, my heart yearns to be loved.

I have an intense aching in my chest, and in a world without God, I am forced to believe that this is the way it was meant to be.

If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world. C.S. Lewis

Matthew 6 echoes the disappointment of living in a world where things are not secure because "moths eat them and rust destroys them, and thieves break in and steal." Jesus is practical; He tells us that trying to build our own kingdom is folly when we have no control over what tomorrow will bring. Instead, he directs our focus towards the Kingdom of Heaven. "Your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need."

For this reason, Jesus immediately precedes this passage by teaching his followers to pray, "May your kingdom come soon. May your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven." For years, I recited that without giving it much thought, but recently I've seen how hard it is for me to mean those words:

May your kingdom come soon. I don't pray that.

I pray "May my kingdom be built soon" or "May your kingdom come after I've had the experience of being happily married." I pray for moth-edible treasure.

Jude promises that, as members of the Kingdom of Heaven, believers are "called by God the Father, who loves you and keeps you safe in the care of Christ Jesus." Unlike the things that I often run after, Jesus is the one who can provide me with security, safety, and the love that my soul craves so deeply.

Every day the earth spins, and sometimes, crazy things happen on it. In such a world, it's refreshing to know that "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17).

And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8

iv. god

2017-07-18T23:13:00.002-07:00

"Well, Greg," you say, "You learned that you're powerless, mistake-prone, and prideful. Sounds like you had a great trip!"

Actually, you're right!! I am certain that spending ten days in London was my most formative experience in the past year, and one of the best times of my life. Of course, the lessons I learned were bitter pills to swallow, but how sweet the aftertaste!

Let me step back and explain just how the devastating realizations reached in London were transformed into joyous memories.

I attended small, private schools from preschool to high school. My parents made incredible sacrifices to send me to these institutions, and I'm beyond grateful to them for gifting me an excellent education in academics as well as religion. A side-effect, however, was that I grew up insulated by Jesus bubble wrap. My teachers were Christians, as were my classmates and friends outside of school. In the classroom, at church, and from my parents, I learned to engage and have respectful conversations with people of opposing views, but I almost never got to put that advice into practice. Everyone I knew believed the same things that I did.

Then I came to UCLA, where I faced an intimidating transition. Not only were most people I met non-Christians, but I was exposed to behavior that had been completely foreign to me. Most clearly, there was the party scene. But worse, at a school that professes tolerance, my professors told me outright that everything I had been raised to believe was false, or else they depicted Christians as the most evil group of people in history.

I had been on mission trips to destitute locations, including the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Yet the largest culture shock I had ever felt was when I enrolled in a California Public University.

For the first time, I understood the necessity of Jesus' Great Commission to "Go and make disciples..." because there were actually people who weren't his disciples in the first place. I found a church that seemed to share this sense of urgency, and I resonated with their mission to see renewal in Los Angeles through the gospel of Jesus Christ. This church, RealityLA, had also been given the opportuinty to plant a church in London, and a trip there to pray for and support this new church plant caught my attention. I applied to participate in the prayer tour.

As I outwardly prepared to further the Kingdom of Heaven in London, I inwardly reveled in the kingdom I had built for myself at UCLA. I congratulated myself on my grades, the friends I had made, and the ways that I had grown as a person. I was especially pleased with how much my time in London could bolster my reputation.

Once I got to London, learning that I was powerless to build such a kingdom shook how I saw myself, my relationships, and my faith in a foundational way. It was not a comfortable feeling, but it was a necessary one.

Only when I clearly see myself and my own frailty can I recognize Christ as the source of all my strength and efficacy. Only when I see the gaps in my ability to ensure stability, keep my act together, and fight pride can I call upon Jesus to fill those gaps.

It may seem like we've just made a huge jump. One minute we're talking about clocks and lost backpacks, the next we're discussing my spiritual relationship with Jesus Christ. Hear me out though; my pride and my mistakes are inseparably intertwined with any discussion of my faith in Jesus. In fact, they're the very reason I need Jesus, and one of the main reasons I'm still a Christian today.

When I left my Jesus bubble and heard what the world outside of it said about Him, a conflict raged inside my head, pitting all I had been raised to believe against all that was now being presented to me as fact. As I struggled with this question, it became clear that there was one inescapable fact about myself that weighed heavily into the discussion. I remember standing in the shower, deep in thought, when it hit me: I'm messed up! I do things I wish I didn't do all the time!

From there, I can either accept the biblical explanation that I am a sinner, or try to reconcile my very clear perception of my sin with the prevailing theory that I am my own god.

Indeed, when professors and colleagues say that God is dead, I rejoice that I am powerless, because I think my shortcomings are one of the greatest evidences to the contrary.

He has shown Himself to be strong in my powerlessness.

He said to me, 'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' 2 Corinthians 12

iii. pride

2017-07-18T23:12:00.000-07:00

The British Empire touched every continent by 1920. The largest empire in history, the sun was always shining on some part of its 35 million square kilometer expanse. It's why English is spoken in the most countries across the globe today (101), almost double the number for the next most frequent language. It's also why every timepiece in the world is correct only when it's set to the 24-hour clock on the Prime Meridian in Greenwich Park, London.

In the age of imperialism, mapmaking was a big deal, and no cartographer was more famous than Gerardus Mercator. To this day, the Mercator Projection is the most commonly used map in the world, the one you had in the classrooms of your elementary school, and the first to feature the Prime Meridian. England sits directly in the center at the top of the page. It is only natural that the European mapmaker would put himself at the focus:

We are each the hero in our own story.

We are each our own Prime Meridian. The world revolves around us, and our surroundings are acceptable only when they meet our exacting specifications. I hardly take the time to notice other people, let alone get to know their story. They are auxiliary characters; in my mind, I am far more important.

I am an extremely prideful human being, but that's redundant.

That's why I rush to hide my insecurities. It's why I get embarassed when I do something stupid in front of people I'm trying to impresss. It's why I try to say funny things. It's why I'm writing this right now—because even though I know nothing about photography or writing, part of me hopes that someone will see the pictures and the posts and think more highly of me. I wish that weren't true, and it's not the only reason, but it's a factor.

My time in London forced me to consider the areas of my life where I thought I was being the most altruistic and conclude that my motivation for doing so was at least partly self-oriented. Do I get involved with clubs on campus that champion causes I care about? Partly because I want to feel like I'm doing good. Do I organize events for outsiders to get involved? Partly because I want to have more friends. Do I serve the homeless? Partly because I want to tell people about it. And (in a mind-blowing case of pride-ception), when I do something in secret that no one will congratulate me for, I take pride in my humility. Pride is so deeply rooted in my human condition that I don't believe I will eradicate self-service from my motives as long as I live.

That infuriates me. Everything in me wants to reinforce the idea that I am the perfect standard, the Prime Meridian, to which all others should compare themselves, as all clocks are judged based on their concurrence with Greenwich Mean Time. At the same time, I know that I am imperfect (consider my Underground track record). Therefore, I know that to consider myself perfect, to still be prideful, is good evidence that I am in need of a major correction in perspective.

By the end of the twentieth century, most countries of the former British Empire had realized that Imperial units were dumb. If you ever had to take a x12 multiplication test, you probably agree with them (the reason multiplication tables go up to 12 is based on the Imperial framework of 12 inches in a foot and 12 pence in a shilling). In a major shift, countries adjusted their measurements according to a different standard, the metric system, abandoning the one that had stood for at least 500 years.

What would it look like if I had a similarly radical shift? If I admitted that I wasn't perfect, that I wasn't better than my neighbor, or smarter, or more important?

But then, if I am not the standard, much as I would like to be, is there one? If not, why am I always comparing myself to others, why do I have this notion at all? If there is, where can I find it?

ii. sometimes i'm an idiot

2017-07-18T23:08:00.002-07:00

When I got home, I had many amazing stories to tell friends and family, but I left out this one. It doesn't necessarily paint me in the most flattering light, but I think there are some good lessons to be learned from it.

You've already read about my first mishap with transportation in London, going the wrong way from the tube to my accomodations. The next day, I was ready to give the Underground another go, and I was determined not to screw up the world's best public transit system two days in a row. This was the first day that my group and I planned to tour the city, so at least I had them to direct me once we got out of the station. My only job was not to miss a train while getting myself and my belongings to Greenwich.

My first ride went off without a hitch, and transferring from one line to another went smoothly as well. Confident and more relaxed now, I settled into my seat, placing my backpack securely under the chair for safekeeping.

We arrived at our station. I was so proud to have completed my journey successfully that I waltzed right out of the train. To know that I was a competent traveler after all felt as if a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Actually, that weight was my backpack.

This was my team's first impression of me: I turned around just as the doors were closing. Emotions flooded into my brain as I realized my blunder. Most of all, I was embarrassed to be the youngest member of the group—small, backpackless, and 0 for 2 on the tube—slowing everyone down. I asked for help from the station attendant, who was very understanding but told me that the chances of seeing my backpack again were almost zero. She called each station from where we were until the end of the line, but no one had seen anything.

The London Underground can handle nearly 5 million passengers in a given day, about the same as the total population of South Carolina. The odds of no one taking my backpack intentionally or by accident were slim. Even if it were turned in, there was no guarantee that it would be processed quickly or that the Lost Property Office could contact me about it. By the afternoon, I had mostly given up hope of having it returned.

In the end, I did come home from London with my backpack. Everything from my jacket to my journal to the money I had inside was accounted for. Losing it and having to go on the rescue mission gave me the opportunity to get a lot more practice on the Underground. I also got to take an incredibly derpy picture at Platform 9 3/4 (see above)! Basically, a lot of good came from my idiocy.

More on that later, but for now, let's take a moment to let the idiocy truly sink in. When I got home, I liked to tell people that I traveled alone to a country where I knew no one and made it safely home again. As much as possible, I hid the fact that I almost lost $200 worth of belongings at my earliest opportunity, all because I couldn't remember the one bag I had to keep track of.

Even if we don't come right out to tell others about our mistakes, we certainly remember them. When I think about the headache I caused myself and my team by losing my backpack, you can be sure that I'll check for my items before leaving the next train. That was one lesson I learned from the experience.

Another lesson is more simple, but perhaps more important too: screwing up is irrefutable proof...that sometimes I screw up. The reminder that I might lose my head if God hadn't twisted it on tightly is the same reminder I get when I say things I know I shouldn't to people I care about, or when I drive like I'm the most important person on the road. Namely, I learn that I'm not perfect.

There are two things that come very easily to me: rooting for New York sports teams and making mistakes. Harvey Weinstein

Why do I try so hard to conceal these imperfections? Without reminders like the one I've just described, why is it so easy to pretend that they don't exist?

The answer might resonate with you, and it's the subject of the next post.

i. security

2017-07-18T23:05:00.000-07:00

The buildings that make up London's skyline are unique. The pursuit of wealth that captivates those who work in them is not.

For almost two millenia, London has been a city of great riches. Founded in A.D. 43, Londinium quickly became a bustling port that was a significant asset for the Roman Empire. Today, London's financial district sits on the site of that Roman city. This Square Mile in the center of modern London is a symbol of success—to hold a position in "the City" is to have made it. It is indicative of wealth and power; the $1.9 trillion that changes hands here every day accounts for nearly 50% of total daily global turnover. In other words, of all the money spent on foreign exchange markets across the world, half of it passes through this tiny Square Mile in the heart of London.

If anyone were able to achieve security for themselves, surely it would be the world-renowned executives that sit in corner offices high above the Thames.

But security is elusive.

On the morning of June 24th, 2016, every one of those seemingly invincible executives was in his or her office hours before dawn. They all faced the realization that finances could prove unsteady at any moment. For some, the foundation of their trust, hopes, and desires was buckling underneath them.

The night before, Great Britain had passed a referendum to exit the European Union. No one could be sure how the economy would respond. When I visited London a month later, firms considered too big to fail were still struggling to stay afloat, and the Bank of England was still working to save the country's currency from its free fall.

It's tempting to imagine the buildings in the financial district as skyscraping fortresses. Brexit is just the most recent occurance to tell us that those citadels are not so strong after all.

I think of the things upon which I build my trust, some more worthy of it than others. Money is fleeting. Friends can disappoint us, and even if they don't, every relationship is bounded by death. My grades are contingent on my professors, and by the time I've gotten my first job they don't matter anyway. Political leaders lose elections, or let us down once they are elected (and sometimes it seems like that's the exhaustive list of actions taken by politicians).

The Golden State Warriors blew a 3-1 lead.

We get angry because we had put our faith in our friends, our loved ones, ourselves, and our heros. Yet everyday, the world spins around, and sometimes, crazy things happen on it. It's important that the object of our trust not be subject to change with the shifting shadows.

Do not let your happiness depend on something you may lose. C.S. Lewis

Read This First!

2017-07-18T22:53:00.001-07:00

If you're like me, the first thing you do when you get to London, England, is take a wrong turn out of the Underground station. You lug a suitcase, a carry-on, and a backpack just less than a mile before you suspect your mistake, at which point you go into a Starbucks. You really need their free WiFi, and you haven't discovered Pret a Manger yet. After getting your bearings (correctly this time, you think), you begin walking towards your flat.

You are too stressed to notice anything as you walk. The suitcase bumps up a cobblestone road past incredible architecture, culture, and industry, and you don't see any of it. From the time you land at London Gatwick Airport to the time you settle into your room, you barely even process the fact that you're in the UK.

When the pressure of making sure you don't get hopelessly lost on your first day subsides, you finally have time to register that you're on a new continent.

It is then that a shrinking feeling comes over you. The gravity of London hits. You're alone in a city of nine million people, where everyone speaks your language, but nobody knows your name.

I'm not sure it's possible to go to London without experiencing a paradigm shift. You can't walk past the financial district's monoliths without feeling small. You can't stand before Buckingham Palace or the Palace of Westminster without feeling insignificant by comparison. You can't experience 2000 years of history and feel like more than a vapor. Or see the poverty in Tower Hamlets and feel capable of effecting any change.

You feel powerless.

I didn't like that feeling. I still don't, really. But I was about to learn that I had better get used to it, and I might even do well to feel that way every once in a while.

It's okay to feel powerless, because sometimes I am.

You probably already believe me, but in case you don't, come back for the next three days: I'll give you three examples that made my shortcomings unmistakably clear in London. Then, in the following four, I'll let you know how I made my peace with powerlessness, and how it's revolutionized my life.

If that sounds depressing, I promise that it's not, and I think you'll find that to be true if you stick with me for these next 7 days.

THANK YOU for taking the time to listen to the lessons I'm learning, mostly by messing up!

GJH