Sunday, March 31, 2013
Easter Recollections
It's Easter Sunday today and we had an outdoor Easter service at our church. The sun was blazing bright and the worship team led by Moriah Peters kept us mostly on our feet clapping and swaying to the music. Pastor Bob chose the title Easter in 3-D for his sermon and as usual he presented us a great sermon on resurrection.
In my six decades of life, I've worshipped on Easter Sundays at various churches, some in different countries. But never an Easter Sunday passes by without me thinking of the sunrise Easter service at the small country church in my home town. I grew up attending such early morning Easter services and when I moved to Canada, on this part of the world, I was disappointed to find no sunrise Easter services to attend.
Oh, how I cherish the memory of me getting up around 5 am in the morning, pour buckets of cold water on my head to wake me up and scrub myself with sandalwood soap to smell good and dressing myself in something soft and white to reflect Easter. Since my parents rarely attended church and my older siblings had already left home for college or for work, I joined my friends to go to church.
On Easter morning, those of us kids who want to go for the service met at one of our friend's house and from there, with a candle in one hand, and clanging tambourine with the other,we walked towards our church singing " Hallelujah, He's risen, " in our native tongue. As we passed a huge Hindu temple and turned the corner towards the street leading to our church, we'd see flickering candles and hear the sound of drums and singing coming from opposite direction.
All of us would gather near the front of the church and wait for the church bell to gong thrice. Once that's done and the organist start playing the organ, we would file in a line and walk down the aisle of the church and take our place at the choir section. The sanctuary decorated in white Easter lilies and people mostly dressed in white looked serene and beautiful.
Easter Sunday was the day usually selected for any children to get baptized or adults to get confirmed to become a member of the church. Baptism was done by the pastor sprinkling water on the head instead of immersion baptism. I didn't know why my parents didn't get me baptized when I was a child as they did for my older siblings. So, at age 13, wearing the white beautiful taffeta dress my older sister sewed the previous day, I walked to the altar by myself and got baptized. Because my pastor and wife had been to the Holy Land the previous month, I was lucky enough to be sprinkled on the head with the water brought from Jordan river.
On another Easter Sunday morning, five years later I walked along with a few of my friends to the altar, wearing a white georgette sari and blouse and a pearl necklace around my neck and got my confirmation as well as a brand new Bible. My very own Bible to read! Until then I had been reading the old family Bible my mother had got from her family.
I never grew up hunting for Easter eggs or hearing about Easter bunnies. It was in Sweden, while my husband was doing his postdoctoral studies, his professor and wife invited us for an Easter brunch and it was then I came to taste an Easter egg chocolate for the first time. The professor's wife had cleverly placed the eggs which looked like real boiled eggs in their holders and laid them out neatly in front of us on the table. Our hosts had a hearty laugh in watching our amazed look on seeing the chocolate instead of real yolk inside the egg.
I remember the time, when my oldest daughter was in grade 2, her teacher had asked the class to write about Easter. It was two years earlier that we had immigrated to Canada and my daughter hadn't still got familiar with Easter tradition here. So, while the other kids wrote about Easter bunny and egg hunting, she had written what Easter meant to her. The teacher, who was a Christian was so thrilled to read a seven year old immigrant child writing - " Easter is not about Easter bunnies or Easter eggs. It's about Jesus rising from the dead on a Sunday morning." Being in a public school, the teacher couldn't talk to my daughter about how pleased she was to read what she had written. But when I went to meet the teacher later one day, she mentioned about it and encouraged me to keep up with our bringing up in faith.
Our second daughter who was born in Canada, grew up hunting for chocolate-laden eggs on Easter mornings, munching on Easter eggs and reading stories about Easter bunnies. I don't know what she would have written if her teacher had asked her to write about Easter.
It is sad that the world we living in today is becoming more market centered and less Christ centered and our children are growing up in such culture. Yet, I'm so thankful for the freedom we have in celebrating these seasons in whatever way we want and in whatever place we choose to worship with our families. Such freedome should never be taken for granted!***
Friday, March 29, 2013
It's Good Friday Today
" The men who were guarding Jesus began mocking and beating Him. They blindfolded Him and demanded, " Prophesy!" Who hit you?" And they said many other insulting things to Him.
(Luke 22:63-65)
This is the passage I started reading on this Good Friday morning. Something stopped me from reading further, but to go through it over and over again to picture the scene in my mind. Here stood my Lord, the Son of God, the Prince of Peace before Him all knees would bow down one day, as a prisoner, hands bound, being mocked and beaten by mere men, servants of the Roman regime.
Abandoned by His disciples, followers, family and those whom He loved enough to heal, the Sovereign Lord stood alone amidst the mocking crowd without uttering a word to defend Himself. A word from Him would have brought down the heavenly angels for His rescue and revealed His true identity to the mocking men. But that wasn't our Lord's style. He never tried to impress human beings and prove Himself by doing amazing things. Remember, that's what Satan tried to make Him do when he tempted Him in the wilderness soon after His baptism in the Jordan river. Then and there, the Son of God snapped back at the devil saying, "Do not put the Lord Your God to the test." Jesus had been firm on His statement from the start of His ministry and He was not going to back down from it just to save Himself from pain and humiliation.
After all, Jesus knew before hand what was in for Him for the next couple of days. Yes, His flesh pleaded with the Father in the garden of Gethsemane to remove the predestined suffering if possible. But when He found peace with His Father's will, He knew far too well that no amount of suffering nor humiliation would keep Him back.
So, instead of getting angry with those who were mocking Him, Jesus must have felt sorry for them. After all, they were just the tools of their masters and they were doing what they were doing best to show off their authority and power. What a vast contrast between the human and divine perceptive of authority. Here stood the King of kings who orchestrated the establishment of the universe silent without using His authority while servants of Roman regime showing off their authority in their time of opportunity. No wonder Jesus declared that unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Unless those men had eyes to see who Jesus was really, they could act only in the way they knew to act. Jesus knew that. That's why on the cross, He prayed, " Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing." He must have prayed for all those who cried out and demanded Him to be crucified, those spat on His face, mocked and laughed at Him all the way to the cross, those who slashed His back with whips and nailed Him on the cross.
Surely it was painful torture Jesus underwent to redeem the world. His precious blood was needed as an atonement, It was a priceless sacrifice made out of love, even for those who beat and humiliated Him beyond measure. Their acts may have grieved Jesus and brought much pain. But He refused to give into anger and pass judgement on them. Instead, He understood their human nature and prayed out to His father to forgive them. What more do we need to prove Him divine? Who else in human form had ever displayed such love as what was showed on the cross at Calvary on that Friday two thousand years ago?***
Today, we call it Good Friday in its remembrance. As a child, I used to wonder why they didn't call it Bad Friday because Jesus died on that day. I was not mature enough at that age to realize that Good News was spread and goodness was berthed because of what happened on that Friday.
Strangely Good Friday is not a public holiday in California where I live now. It's my off day, so I didn't need to go to work. To make it convenient for all to attend, our Good Friday service is schedule at 6;30 pm.
I always cherish the memory of attending Good Friday and Easter services while I was growing up. As a teenager and a new born again believer, I used to be a vegetarian throughout the lent season and fast all day on Good Friday till I return back from church service that evening.
Even though I grew up in a Hindu neighborhood and Buddhist country, we, the handful of Christians living in our neighborhood observed these day with great piety and servitude at a nearby American Mission built country church with high steeple beautiful stained windows. A huge bell gonged loud enough three times before every church service so that the churchgoers in the neighborhood could hear and walk down to the church on time.
Good Friday service at our country church usually started at 3pm and went for three hours straight in order to bring remembrance of the three hours Jesus hung on the cross. I can still hear in my ears the sweet voice of our church's nightingale, Sakuntala, singing songs on the passion of Christ and playing her violin solemnly.
With a pin drop silence hovering in the sanctuary, all eyes closed and knees bent, the songs and prayers truly lifted us up to view the scene in our minds. The pastor along with guest preachers focused their sermons mainly on the seven words Christ uttered on the cross.
No one complained or left half-way of the three hour service. We didn't have any high school ministry at church to keep us teenagers occupied during the service. So we all attended the one and only service provided. Instead of drums and guitars, we had organ and violin as accompaniment when we sang hymns. When collection plates were passed around,coins of 5, 10, 25 cents equivalent to pennies were mostly put, rarely more valuable rupees.
I've attended Good Friday services at many churches in different countries in my life. But nothing brings me so much rich memories as the ones I had at the simple American Mission built church in my hometown in 1960s. There was so much depth and reverence in the worship that impacted all who attended.
(Luke 22:63-65)
This is the passage I started reading on this Good Friday morning. Something stopped me from reading further, but to go through it over and over again to picture the scene in my mind. Here stood my Lord, the Son of God, the Prince of Peace before Him all knees would bow down one day, as a prisoner, hands bound, being mocked and beaten by mere men, servants of the Roman regime.
Abandoned by His disciples, followers, family and those whom He loved enough to heal, the Sovereign Lord stood alone amidst the mocking crowd without uttering a word to defend Himself. A word from Him would have brought down the heavenly angels for His rescue and revealed His true identity to the mocking men. But that wasn't our Lord's style. He never tried to impress human beings and prove Himself by doing amazing things. Remember, that's what Satan tried to make Him do when he tempted Him in the wilderness soon after His baptism in the Jordan river. Then and there, the Son of God snapped back at the devil saying, "Do not put the Lord Your God to the test." Jesus had been firm on His statement from the start of His ministry and He was not going to back down from it just to save Himself from pain and humiliation.
After all, Jesus knew before hand what was in for Him for the next couple of days. Yes, His flesh pleaded with the Father in the garden of Gethsemane to remove the predestined suffering if possible. But when He found peace with His Father's will, He knew far too well that no amount of suffering nor humiliation would keep Him back.
So, instead of getting angry with those who were mocking Him, Jesus must have felt sorry for them. After all, they were just the tools of their masters and they were doing what they were doing best to show off their authority and power. What a vast contrast between the human and divine perceptive of authority. Here stood the King of kings who orchestrated the establishment of the universe silent without using His authority while servants of Roman regime showing off their authority in their time of opportunity. No wonder Jesus declared that unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. Unless those men had eyes to see who Jesus was really, they could act only in the way they knew to act. Jesus knew that. That's why on the cross, He prayed, " Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing." He must have prayed for all those who cried out and demanded Him to be crucified, those spat on His face, mocked and laughed at Him all the way to the cross, those who slashed His back with whips and nailed Him on the cross.
Surely it was painful torture Jesus underwent to redeem the world. His precious blood was needed as an atonement, It was a priceless sacrifice made out of love, even for those who beat and humiliated Him beyond measure. Their acts may have grieved Jesus and brought much pain. But He refused to give into anger and pass judgement on them. Instead, He understood their human nature and prayed out to His father to forgive them. What more do we need to prove Him divine? Who else in human form had ever displayed such love as what was showed on the cross at Calvary on that Friday two thousand years ago?***
Today, we call it Good Friday in its remembrance. As a child, I used to wonder why they didn't call it Bad Friday because Jesus died on that day. I was not mature enough at that age to realize that Good News was spread and goodness was berthed because of what happened on that Friday.
Strangely Good Friday is not a public holiday in California where I live now. It's my off day, so I didn't need to go to work. To make it convenient for all to attend, our Good Friday service is schedule at 6;30 pm.
I always cherish the memory of attending Good Friday and Easter services while I was growing up. As a teenager and a new born again believer, I used to be a vegetarian throughout the lent season and fast all day on Good Friday till I return back from church service that evening.
Even though I grew up in a Hindu neighborhood and Buddhist country, we, the handful of Christians living in our neighborhood observed these day with great piety and servitude at a nearby American Mission built country church with high steeple beautiful stained windows. A huge bell gonged loud enough three times before every church service so that the churchgoers in the neighborhood could hear and walk down to the church on time.
Good Friday service at our country church usually started at 3pm and went for three hours straight in order to bring remembrance of the three hours Jesus hung on the cross. I can still hear in my ears the sweet voice of our church's nightingale, Sakuntala, singing songs on the passion of Christ and playing her violin solemnly.
With a pin drop silence hovering in the sanctuary, all eyes closed and knees bent, the songs and prayers truly lifted us up to view the scene in our minds. The pastor along with guest preachers focused their sermons mainly on the seven words Christ uttered on the cross.
No one complained or left half-way of the three hour service. We didn't have any high school ministry at church to keep us teenagers occupied during the service. So we all attended the one and only service provided. Instead of drums and guitars, we had organ and violin as accompaniment when we sang hymns. When collection plates were passed around,coins of 5, 10, 25 cents equivalent to pennies were mostly put, rarely more valuable rupees.
I've attended Good Friday services at many churches in different countries in my life. But nothing brings me so much rich memories as the ones I had at the simple American Mission built church in my hometown in 1960s. There was so much depth and reverence in the worship that impacted all who attended.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Lesson learned from my pedicurists
It's time up for me to go for pedicure, I thought as I looked up at my toe nails at the verge of curling down. I could have walked up to the Nail salon just next door to our appartment complex, for it would have saved me money and time. But I wanted to go to the salon at Fashion Valley mall where I had been getting my pedicure done for the last four years I'd been in San Diego. Yes, it's $15 dollars more than the one next door and someone had to drive me across the town to go there. But I prefer going there for the pampering and special attention I get there. I think every woman needs to be pampered now and then to feel special. Especially it means a lot for a stay-at -home mom who somehow feels that it's her role to pamper everyone except herself. I work part -time now so I'm no more a stay-at -home mom, but that doesn't mean I avoid getting pampered.
I remember it well the first time I had the luxury of getting a massage and nail treatment in a spa. It was a gift from my oldest daughter for Mother's Day. I was in fact so nervous to walk into the salon that I almost turned around and walked back to the car. I wasn't sure what to expect in a posh salon like that where mostly young women came for beauty treatment and tanning. But when I walked out later after a soothing back massage, hands dipped in hot wax and manicured and the sole of my feet feeling like baby's bottom, I decided to count as one of my precious moment to remember.
Though I didn't follow up later with massage and spa treatments, I somehow continued to get a pedicure on a regular basis. It almost became a necessity because I could no longer bend down and cut my nails. Yes, aging does interfere and cause us to call for assistance. I could view that as a blessing in disguise, instead of blaming on my bulging tummy or poor back.
Lilly was my first nail technician at Spa &Salon in Fashion Valley. She was a petite Vietnamese woman in her fifties. It's not my nature to engage in conversation when I go to a hair salon, spa or grocery store. I like to be left alone with a magazine to read. But Lilly wouldn't allow me to do that. She knew the art of drawing customers like me into conversation. Also, she also knew how to pamper her customers by offering to bring coffee or water to the chair, bringing the latest People's Magazine filled with juicy celebrity news , choosing the perfect nail polish for the toes and giving a good foot massage. During the time I spent on the spa chair while she filed my nails and massaged my foot, I learned a lot from her and she, something about me too.
Soon, I found out that she was one of the boat people who came from Vietnam in the early seventies. She was single and pregnant when she came and already she had three young mouths to feed. She neither knew English nor an education to support her young family. Thankfully, she had some relatives to give her shelter and food at the beginning. I can't imagine how this unskilled and uneducated woman from far east got the courage to pull through the early years in a foreign land probably in a hostile environment. Today, I see her as a strong, confident woman fluent in English and well skilled as a nail technician. In between years, only she knows how many challenging moments and precious moments she must have gone through to make the woman she's today. Unfortunately, Lilly is no more working in this salon now. She had been laid off a month ago due to job cuts.
Ann was another nail technician who attended to me when Lilly wasn't free .When Ann told me that her husband was once a diplomat serving in foreign service, I found it hard to believe her. Why should she , who was once a diplomat's wife chose to wash, massage and nail polish other women's feet? Hasn't she felt demeaning to do a job like that. After all , at one time she must have mingled with other diplomats' wives at parties and beauty parlors and then to choose to scrub other women's feet and attend to their needs sounded unimaginable to me. Didn't she consider it to devalue her status in her community in some way? I would have definitely thought like that if I had been in her position.
Jesus Christ, before He had His last supper in the Upper Room,got down on His knees and washed the dusty feet of His twelve disciples, including Judas and gently wiped them with the towel in His hand. Here, I, who pride myself to be a follower of Him cannot even imagine myself giving foot massage to another person. Though I don't see myself a prideful person, such attitude made me to see what is hidden deep inside me. For sure, there are some ugly spots that need to be washed and bleached to make me humble and gracious.
I remember it well the first time I had the luxury of getting a massage and nail treatment in a spa. It was a gift from my oldest daughter for Mother's Day. I was in fact so nervous to walk into the salon that I almost turned around and walked back to the car. I wasn't sure what to expect in a posh salon like that where mostly young women came for beauty treatment and tanning. But when I walked out later after a soothing back massage, hands dipped in hot wax and manicured and the sole of my feet feeling like baby's bottom, I decided to count as one of my precious moment to remember.
Though I didn't follow up later with massage and spa treatments, I somehow continued to get a pedicure on a regular basis. It almost became a necessity because I could no longer bend down and cut my nails. Yes, aging does interfere and cause us to call for assistance. I could view that as a blessing in disguise, instead of blaming on my bulging tummy or poor back.
Lilly was my first nail technician at Spa &Salon in Fashion Valley. She was a petite Vietnamese woman in her fifties. It's not my nature to engage in conversation when I go to a hair salon, spa or grocery store. I like to be left alone with a magazine to read. But Lilly wouldn't allow me to do that. She knew the art of drawing customers like me into conversation. Also, she also knew how to pamper her customers by offering to bring coffee or water to the chair, bringing the latest People's Magazine filled with juicy celebrity news , choosing the perfect nail polish for the toes and giving a good foot massage. During the time I spent on the spa chair while she filed my nails and massaged my foot, I learned a lot from her and she, something about me too.
Soon, I found out that she was one of the boat people who came from Vietnam in the early seventies. She was single and pregnant when she came and already she had three young mouths to feed. She neither knew English nor an education to support her young family. Thankfully, she had some relatives to give her shelter and food at the beginning. I can't imagine how this unskilled and uneducated woman from far east got the courage to pull through the early years in a foreign land probably in a hostile environment. Today, I see her as a strong, confident woman fluent in English and well skilled as a nail technician. In between years, only she knows how many challenging moments and precious moments she must have gone through to make the woman she's today. Unfortunately, Lilly is no more working in this salon now. She had been laid off a month ago due to job cuts.
Ann was another nail technician who attended to me when Lilly wasn't free .When Ann told me that her husband was once a diplomat serving in foreign service, I found it hard to believe her. Why should she , who was once a diplomat's wife chose to wash, massage and nail polish other women's feet? Hasn't she felt demeaning to do a job like that. After all , at one time she must have mingled with other diplomats' wives at parties and beauty parlors and then to choose to scrub other women's feet and attend to their needs sounded unimaginable to me. Didn't she consider it to devalue her status in her community in some way? I would have definitely thought like that if I had been in her position.
Jesus Christ, before He had His last supper in the Upper Room,got down on His knees and washed the dusty feet of His twelve disciples, including Judas and gently wiped them with the towel in His hand. Here, I, who pride myself to be a follower of Him cannot even imagine myself giving foot massage to another person. Though I don't see myself a prideful person, such attitude made me to see what is hidden deep inside me. For sure, there are some ugly spots that need to be washed and bleached to make me humble and gracious.
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