Delight

Sitting on a desk, in a relatively quiet corner of Changi Airport, while waiting for the plane that will take me home, I read L.M.Sacasas’s essay, “The World Is Something To Behold, Not Just Use.” He writes:

We are made to take delight, all creatures according to our kind. I believe that this delight is not only our highest purpose, a kind of play that bleeds into worship, but also an indispensable way of knowing the world.

The essay is infused with much wisdom, offering a counterpoint to the Machiavellian pragmatism that our modern world upholds, giving primacy to beauty and delight as ends in themselves because they are God’s gifts to us.

Sacasas argues—rightly so—that the world largely sees the value of things largely for their usefulness rather than the delight they can inspire in us.  

In God’s gracious economy, beauty leads the way. Before we learn to make good use of a thing, we must behold and delight in it. Perhaps it is only by first delighting in a thing that we can then discern how to put it not just to effective use but to a use that can truly be called good.

Ebola

I somehow put two and two together: a post from Drs. Scott and Jennifer Myhre, whose blog I follow religiously, and a Christianity Today article. Both refer to a young man serving as a missionary doctor in Africa during the deadly Ebola virus outbreak.

That man is Dr. Peter Stafford. I realize, with amazement and concern, that Peter is my age: 39 years old. He is a surgeon, specializing in burn treatment, ministering to patients in Nyakunde Hospital in Congo. He serves with his wife, Rebekah, 38 years old (around my age, too), who’s an ob-gyn.

The Myhres wrote:

And join us in thanking God for sparing Dr. Peter. He was severely ill, unable to walk without assistance and troubled by mental anguish and high fever by the time the evacuation flight could finally be arranged. His life was spared by the grace of God, the prayers of hundreds if not thousands, and the competent persistent work of many people in several countries. He’s nearly finished the treatment period and entering convalescence, as his family and another doctor (Dr. Patrick LaRochelle) have a final week of quarantine to be sure they escape infection, but so far so good.

He is on his way to full recovery. 

 What struck me most about the CT piece is this line: 

Peter felt intense fatigue; at times he could not stand up to look out the window. He also had an intense fever but no thermometer to measure it. He felt delusional and could not eat or sleep. He desperately wanted to see his family but did not have the energy to record videos to send them or find some other way of connecting.

“We had just learned with our kids these small little verses. One was, ‘When I am afraid, I put my trust in you’ [Ps. 56:3], and that was just continuously replaying in my mind,” Peter said.

At the peak of his productive years, Peter and Rebekah chose the path of service. I don't know the story behind it. But I imagine that God put in their hearts a burning desire to serve wherever God leads them. God's direction pointed them to the people of Congo. 

There are days when I feel unhappy with my career, ungrateful and indifferent to God’s grace that sustains me. When I read stories about people living their lives for the glory of God and the love of all people across the world I realize I must be content with my lot. I am where I should be. Where God leads me, I will, and should, follow. 

Father's Day

I know it’s Father’s Day today because Auntie Morena had called me up yesterday to ask if the church could use my electric vehicle’s battery as power source for the congregation’s sound system. Some parts of Marbel will experience a scheduled brownout this Sunday. I got the call as I was buying breakfast at Cafe Leticia at the General Santos City International Airport, while waiting for Auntie Netnet to pick me up on a fine, earthquake-free morning.
 

This day inevitably turns my recollection to my own father. Tatay passed away eight years ago. He remains alive in our memories. My faith tells me he is alive with the saints and angels, singing and laughing and worshiping the God he had lived for. We talk about him still. I encounter random people who have fond memories of him. He could be serious and silly, irritating but charming, and, despite his imperfections, he enjoyed being a father. He enjoyed our company, and we enjoyed his.
 

Because he had been around our lives so much, it is impossible to detach himself from our childhood and adulthood memories—and why should we do that? Tatay lived to see Manong, Sean and me graduate and become full grown adults. He would say, "You're getting taller than me!" He was deeply proud of us. He talked about us with his friends, who knew the landmarks in our careers and personal lives.

A deep regret I have is that I wasn’t able to lavish him with gifts and travels—things he would have loved. I was barely starting my career, was still in subspecialty training, and didn’t have much extra money. But he couldn't care less: what mattered to him was that we were around, safe and well.  

 

My brothers and I acknowledge that Tatay was the more fun parent. I remember dining with him in a Vietnamese restaurant where he ordered items in the menu he couldn’t pronounce. Nanay, on the other hand, is a kill joy; she knows that, especially when we make her try new food or experiences, which she refuses. She would say, “If your Tatay were alive, he would love this.” This—pertaining to food, trips, family occasions, and every day surprises and novelties that God lavishes upon our imperfect but blessed lives on earth. We live with a subterranean acceptance that we have lost him on this earthly coil but with the expectation that we will meet again soon.

It was hard to make me cry before 2018. But something moved the switch in my lacrimal glands after my experience with loss. For instance, an episode of Everwood, an American drama series in Netflix, can easily bring tears to my eyes these days. In that series, a world-famous neurosurgeon from New York leaves the city after his wife dies from a car crash, and brings his son and daughter to start a new life in Everwood, Colorado. I turn Everwood if I need a good cry. When I rewatch Kramer versus Kramer, the last film I saw with my father, I turn into a puddle.

But Father’s day inevitably turns my eyes to the ultimate father—God Himself. Tatay was but an imperfect version. God is infinitely good, merciful, and loving, and He dwells in and among us. I'm grateful for those precious years with my father.  

I need to stop writing because Paul is waiting for me to walk him around the neighborhood. Tatay would have loved Paul, as he once loved his dogs Jill and Rocky and Eve and Rocky II. He would have enjoyed being with us. But he is in a far more happier place with the Lord Jesus Christ. 

I can imagine him saying to us, as in the moments when he had wanted us to try something new, “Dali na kamo diri.”  

 If you're a father and if you have a father, Happy Father's Day! 

On Psalm 40

You have multiplied, O Lord my God, 

your wondrous deeds and your thoughts toward us;

none can compare with you!

I will proclaim and tell of them,

yet they are more than can be told. (Psalm 40: 5)

 

As for you, O Lord, you will not restrain

your mercy from me; 

your steadfast love and your faithfulness will

ever preserve me! (Psalm 40:11)

 

I meditate on the Psalms because they are real prayers of real people. They don't hide anything. They instead expose the realities of the human heart, including mine.

David wrote Psalm 40 where he "looks both backward and forward as he considers his need for God," according to Dane Ortlund. Birthdays, or any milestone in one's life that's worth remembering, offer someone a space for instrospection. What has one done with one's life? And what does the future hold?

My friend Hazel reminded me this year would be our last as thirty-something-year olds. I celebrated my birthday a few days ago. I chose a quiet celebration -- meaning, no grand celebration, save for a coffee chat with high school friends the day after. 

David's Psalm resonate with me deeply. My life is peppered with the grace of God multiplied many times over. His mercies towards my sinfulness and shortcomings are not restrained; they overflow.  What a real blessing to be alive in and for Him.  

Whimpering

Paul wakes me up in the middle on the night, howling in front of my bedroom door. At 12 midnight, I am half-awake, half-asleep, trying my best to drown out the noise of his whimpering. He is thirsty, I can tell. Out of irritation, I get up and open the door. My dreams fade away from memory as I reenter reality. My glasses are elsewhere, but I know where to go. The dim light in the living room guides me to the front door, where Paul eagerly awaits me. 

That episode reminds me of prayer. If I can be moved by the ceaseless noise of a dog to get out of my comfort zone, how much more will God, whose love is infinite, unconditional, and unfathomable, hear my prayers, listen to my longings, and do what’s best? 

Beautiful, comforting, and sweet

Here's an excerpt of the speech I gave during the graduation ceremony of Marbel Evangelical Fellowship Christian Academy (MEFCA) last Friday. I spoke to the toughest crowd to engage — elementary pupils — but they're also the most honest and charming. In the middle of my talk, I saw a little boy's head bow in drowsiness, and spotted two girls giggling about (I suspect) an entirely different subject. I also met Ma'am Celina Lemana, my high school biology teacher and second-year high school adviser (II-Venus in KNCHS Special Class); her nephew studies in MEFCA. Nanay and Auntie Cecil are members of the school board and listened to my speech, as well. When I approached her after speaking, my mother said nothing, which means the talk must have gone well.

The topic was, "Filipino graduates: Prepared to lead with competence and godly character," with 2 Timothy 3:16 and Philippians 4:13 as key verses.

*

God is so good to us he gave us a book we can read and study. But unlike other books, the Bible is a living thing. God speaks to us when we read it. Our hearts and minds are transformed when we listen to God’s Word. It’s a beautiful, mysterious, marvelous thing–the way God lovingly reveals Himself to ordinary people like us. Whether we are young or old, boy or girl, smart or not so smart, strong or weak, God’s word is for us. The words of the Bible are the words of God Himself. These words teach, discipline, correct, and train us to live worthy of God. These words are complete. We cannot add to them. They are enough to equip us for every good work. The good work can mean our ministry in church, school, jobs, and our families and personal relationships. The good work can mean the chores our parents tell us to finish, or the needy people that God brings on our way. 

But in order for words to make sense, you must read them. So take time to read your Bible. Make your quiet time the highlight of your day. I know it’s very hard for your generation. Smartphones and the internet are distracting you, shortening your attention spans, and making you less smart. It’s also creating many problems for you, like mental health issues. May I recommend something? Turn off your phones, leave them in the other room, or somewhere else you have no access to. And start and end your day by reading your Bible. Read the words slowly. Memorize the verses. Turn them into song. Think and pray while you do so. Take down notes. Ask God to open your heart to understand His message. Ask God to help you obey Him. His words are beautiful, comforting, and sweet.


I believe we all can learn something important by listening to Paul’s words to Timothy (2 Timothy 3:14-17):

But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.

When you start reading, meditating, and applying God’s Word to your life, you will, like Timothy, be prepared to face whatever life has in store for you.

Photo: lighthouse at Barrenjoey, Sydney, New South Wales.

Internal calm

I read Psalm 25 for my meditation this Monday morning, the start of another week marred by rising oil prices and, on a personal note, illnesses that hit close to home: two of my distant aunties have been diagnosed with terminal cancers. A friend's father has died because of a progressively worsening malignancy. 

Verse 4 reads, "Make me to know your ways, O Lord; teach me your paths." David prayed that God would move in his heart so that he would yearn to know God's ways, His paths. The poem's imagery alludes to a journey: there's a beginning and end to it. The beginning is the call to follow the way and leave all worldly cares behind; the end is God Himself. I suppose the words "ways" and "paths" must mean something else, as well: a pattern of living based on God's precepts and commands that God's chosen children are called to live by.  The Christian journey is a pilgrimage towards hills and valleys, with pain, sorrow, and joy intermingled. But the Christian does not walk alone; God empowers him. On his own, he will inevitably fail. 

I love the honesty and vulnerability of this Psalm. There is no arrogance in it, a fact that must have been surprising to the people of surrounding cultures who had first heard this song: the king publicly asks for forgiveness for his transgressions, and proclaims his desperate need for God. Instead of boasting, David shows humility. Verse 4 reads, "Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long."

Dane C. Ortlund--one of my favorite Christian modern writers of our era, the same man who wrote my favorite book, Gentle and Lowly--helps me make sense of the Psalm. His book, In the Lord I Take Refuge, settles my heart and mind towards the long week ahead, a tool and a guide and, yes, a friend to my heart. Meditating on this Psalm, he writes, "When life overwhelms us, when the bottom is falling out, this is where Scripture takes us to God. We do not achieve internal calm by securing external calm. We find internal calm by looking to God." 

I took the photo on my way to Lugano, Switzerland, where I told the driver, who lived in the German-speaking part of the country, that I was from the tropics and I wished to escape the sun--a fact that puzzled him.

David Whyte's The Opening of Eyes

My Advent meditation takes me to Jesus declaring himself as God in John 8:58. That God would choose to become man is astounding to me. Christmas reminds me of God's humility, first displayed in his earthly birth, followed by quiet childhood we know not much about, and ending with his love displayed on the cross -- an unmerited love towards us -- the greatest demonstration of love there is. 

In David Whyte's poem, the persona takes on a journey of discovery, or a rediscovery ("I knew then, as I had before..."), of the wonder of the great meaning of life. We toil and struggle on these earthly shores, but there comes a time when our pilgrimage comes to an end. I imagine the persona pausing in his journey and beholding, through careful contemplation, with his eyes opened, a vision of eternity -- or heaven, if you will. The vision overwhelms him: this is what he had been longing and searching for after "years of secret conversing / speaking out loud in the clear air."

The great meaning of life can be discovered through an encounter with God: Moses before the burning bush, and each one of us who have been called by God to his holy presence. We will land on a sure foundation, our dirty shoes left behind, because we are approaching holy ground. 

Nanay tells me she imagines heaven as a place where she will finally be embraced by the loving arms of Jesus: forgiven, accepted, loved. 

“The Opening of Eyes”
by David Whyte

That day I saw beneath dark clouds
the passing light over the water
and I heard the voice of the world speak out,
I knew then, as I had before
life is no passing memory of what has been
nor the remaining pages in a great book
waiting to be read.

It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things
seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years
of secret conversing
speaking out loud in the clear air.

It is Moses in the desert
fallen to his knees before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
as if to enter heaven
and finding himself astonished,
opened at last,
fallen in love with solid ground.

Christmas is upon us

Christmas is upon us. Beginning today and until the end of the Christmas season, I'm using the Biola University's Center for Christianity Culture and the Arts (CCCA) 2025 Advent Project. Each day I receive a devotional that  includes a verse to meditate on, a poem, a song/music, and a painting/mural/visual art form. Everything is tied up with a brief meditation.   

Most world religions acknowledge the historic Jesus as a great prophet/teacher. Yet, the trajectory of Scripture from beginning to end proclaims the deity of Jesus Christ, the Son of God and second person of the Trinity, who took on flesh to redeem the world from sin. The Nicene Creed, an early statement of faith recited by Christians for hundreds of years, articulates that Jesus is "the only-begotten Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father; through him all things were made. For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven, was incarnate from the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, and was made man."

We understand Jesus to be the visible image of the invisible God. That Christ, the “Great I Am,” would leave the heavenly realm and humble Himself to walk among mere mortals is the awe-inspiring story of Christmas. The real significance of the Nativity is to be found in the incarnation of Christ. Our Advent meditation begins by pondering names that identify Christ as one with the Godhead. Each title has something particular to tell us about the Messiah in His relationship to God the Father. So come, let us worship and fall down before Christ Himself, our King and our God.

Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zebaoth

On mornings like this, as the sun rises to begin a new day, a heaviness weighs upon me. I squeeze a pillow under my blanket, then slowly leave my bed to turn off the air conditioning and make myself coffee. Paul lies on the living room floor, oblivious to my presence.

The tasks are many. I pray for strength to carry out the good work that God has set before me (Ephesians 2:10). When I turn on my cell phone, kept at bay in an empty room, I imagine a string of notifications, missed calls, and unread images. I let my phone be. I do not rush to it -- that bewildering machine that distracts and entertains -- but make time to grind the coffee beans and wait for the water to boil.

Dawn is my favorite time of the day. Full of possibilities and calm, it allows me to gather my thoughts. Gathering is necessary because my mind is a clutter, no matter what shelves I put up to compartmentalize and organize my thoughts. Friends know me as a morning person. I do my best thinking when everyone is asleep, and there is a cool freshness, albeit short-lived, around me. A few hours later, humidity and heat will prevail, but I will have been done with my prayer and meditation. 

Perhaps people in my profession are familiar with -- and have grown used to -- the weight of stories of pain and suffering. Perhaps this is the "good work" set before me today, one in which I can honor God through quiet compassion. I need God's strength to get me through the day. I need a perspective that sees past the cancerous tumors.  

Music helps. This morning I discover Johannes Brahms's  Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen, Herr Zebaoth. 

 

 

Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen,
Herr Zebaoth! 
Meine seele verlanget und sehnet sich
nach den Vorhöfen des Herrn;
mein Leib und Seele freuen sich
in dem lebendigen Gott.
Wohl denen, die in deinem Hause wohnen,
die loben dich immerdar. 

The English translation is: 

How amiable are thy tabernacles,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth
for the courts of the Lord:
my heart and my flesh crieth out
for the living God.
Blessed are they that dwell in thy house:
they will be still praising thee.  

  The song longs for heaven, where God dwells, and there is no more pain and suffering.

Lunch fellowships in church

On the first Sundays of the month, after communion service, my local church gathers together for fellowship lunch. Each family brings food to share. Visitors are welcome to join. If you leave, people will insist, smiling and pleading, that you stay and have a small bite, at least. This has been going around since my earliest memory of being in church and is one of the highlights of the church's monthly calendar. 

After getting food, you find a table and chair, small and colorful, borrowed from the nearby pre-school classrooms. (Our church has a school ministry.) You have a chat with others. If you hardly know anyone, someone else will approach and welcome you. A familial warmth circulates in the atmosphere. The formal communion in the worship service overflows in the informal lunch tables. Everyone feels at home such that nobody hesitates to eat with their hands, should the food require it.

That seems like a nightmare for introverts, but there's a table for the quiet and shy. They usually recognize each other and gather together. The fellowship lunch for them may feel just as welcoming. We have people in church who are naturally predisposed to quiet; the people at church would simply come over and ask, "Hi, are you good? We have more food." Our church excels in hospitality and generosity. 

The local church is amazing to me. In my life, God has brought me to places where there are churches that preach the Gospel and that happen to serve amazing food. Food equals warm welcome in Filipino Christian culture. 

On this Monday morning, as I prepare for work, I remember the lunch fellowship we just had: a feast for the body and soul. 

I love what Alistair Begg wrote:

The world is full of people struggling to find where they fit or striving to maintain their position in a company, society, friendship circle, or even their own family. God does not ask you to struggle or to strive but simply to enjoy. If you belong to God's people by faith in Jesus, then you have been rescued by His name, you have been freed from share, and you are part of His people. It is here that you fit, here that you find your home.

So yes: the church feels homey because it is home. 

Rest

  

There are fleeting moments, as in the past days, when the desire to rest and refrain from work gets overwhelmingly powerful. Stepping out of the house brings about a weariness—fatigue and sadness combined. Those moments don’t last long, usually a few minutes upon waking up, before daylight, but they do make me wonder about the reasons why I do what I do. 

Perhaps because it has been raining in this part of the world, usually in the afternoons—a welcome respite from the equatorial heat of lunchtime. I love rains. They make me think deeply. I enjoy the rain when I’m at home, looking out the window, listening to the white noise of water crashing on the roof, observing the soil and grass getting wet, the flowers and leaves dancing as they receive the drops from the skies.

Perhaps because we’re nearing the end of the year. We’re closer to December than January, a fact that surprises me even as I write this. Time moves quickly as a whole, yet the acceleration of time remains  unobserved despite the hour-by-hour schedules I sometimes have to keep up with. The cares of this world, if I’m not careful, can drown the rhythms of the moment: weeks feel like days, or the reverse. I know my to-do list for the day, but I often forget what date it is, unless I check my phone. 

But the body keeps the score. And I must rest. 

Active rest is hard. I must have heard it from the late Tim Keller, whose voice I still listen to most times of the week on way to work, that rest involves idleness (doing nothing), meditation (studying Scripture and praying), and avocation (doing something else other than work, like a hobby unrelated to one’s primary job). I schedule moments of rest because I realize I’m not a machine. When I feel rested, I become more effective in my work. These rest periods may look like a 20-minute nap at home before I start my clinic, or an extended period of travel, like a week spent with friends and their families, or a weekend with my brothers, who now each live in Europe and Australia, or a quick drive to the farm with my mother.

But rest—the real, abiding, refreshing rest—is primarily spiritual. I love what the Redeemer City to City says about the topic:

True rest can only be found in Jesus Christ. We must stop looking to occupation as our main source of identity and fulfillment. Our true identity is a beloved child of God. Salvation is not based on our achievement, but on Jesus’ finished work on the cross. As Tim Keller writes, “the ultimate source of the tranquility we seek is Jesus Christ, who—because he has toiled for us on the cross—can offer us the true rest for our souls (Matt. 11:28–30).”

When we turn away from idolizing our career and look to Jesus, we regain a proper perspective on vocation and rest. Similar to work, rest was part of God’s original design for creation. God took a break (Gen 2:2-3). Likewise, God commanded His people to observe the Sabbath, a day when no one was to labour (Exodus 20:8-11).

Some people apply this passage by taking a day off each week. However, practising Sabbath is much more than a vacation. In reality, we cannot experience a Sabbath day if we do not have a Sabbath heart. In The Rest of God, Mark Buchanan writes: “A Sabbath heart is restful even in the midst of unrest and upheaval. It is attentive to the presence of God and others even in the welter of much coming and going, rising and falling. It is still and knows God even when mountains fall into the sea. You will never enter the Sabbath day without a Sabbath heart.”

It’s amazing to me that Jesus offers a welcome embrace for the world-weary and overworked among us: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:29).

Reinstalling Linux Ubuntu brings a flood of memories

Memories came back to me as I downloaded Ubuntu in my brother's Lenovo ThinkPad. 

It was his old work computer, wiped of any traces of work-related memory, and reduced to the laptop's version of a tabula rasa. It runs on Windows, a fine operating system whose most current version feels foreign to me. (I think Windows reached its peak of elegance and user-friendliness with Windows 98.)

This ThinkPad looks old but not that old. It bears scratches of use. I love this aesthetic: the gamit na gamit look. The Japanese may call it wabi-sabi, the  imperfection that comes with the natural cycle of decay. 

I automatically decided to partition the hard drive to house both Windows and Linux operating systems. I still had the skill to do that many years later, like riding a bicycle. 

I could think of no better Linux distribution than Ubuntu. Has it really been 17 years since the ISO disc had arrived in the mail, addressed to my UP Diliman dorm room in the year 2008?  I remember how excited I was then, intrigued by the concept of having a computer that looks and feels different. I had great fun upgrading to various versions. I wrote that playing around with the OS, specifically installing Wine, a layer over Ubuntu that allowed me to run Windows programs, gave me "the thrills."

This time, instead of waiting for my installation CD to arrive, I downloaded a 5 Gb file to the ThinkPad and, using a special program, converted my flash drive to an installation disk. The download took less than 10 minutes; today's internet connection is so fast compared to how it was -- oh my, here we go again -- seventeen years ago, when I had to wait for an entire day for the process to complete. 

I plugged in the installation hard drive as I rebooted the computer and pressed F12 repeatedly. The Ubuntu installation proceeded smoothly from there.

I did not realize the process of installing Ubuntu in an old, overused laptop would bring a flood of memories, many great ones for which I am extremely grateful. My Yakal dorm room and my bunk bed, my roommates, my old college life, my friends from Molecular Biology and the Dorm Christian Fellowship. Life was simple and uncomplicated. I could not have imagined what I would be 10 years after college graduation. I am way past that timestamp. It has been seventeen years, and God's goodness has run, and continues to run, after me.

My song is love unknown

I love hymns.

I love visiting churches with hymnals. I remember the hymnals as sweet-smelling maroon hardbacks aged by by overuse, with some pages detached and the spines torn. My grandmother’s Alliance church in Polomolok had those. During singing, the pastor would announce the song number; the congregation would flip the hymnal; the pianist would play the first two lines; then everyone sang.

It's not a stretch to claim that such formal liturgies have largely gone out of flavor. I’ve heard of churches that split up because half of the congregation did not approve of drums.

Many churches choose a more contemporary style of congregational singing, which is not wrong in itself. But I have a problem with shallow songs, with extremely repetitive lyrics, and hardly any reference to Scripture. Alistair Begg wrote about this phenomenon: 

H]ear our loss of focus on the gospel in our songs. This is no comment on musical styles and tastes, but simply an observation about the lyrical content of much that is being sung in churches today. In many cases, congregations unwittingly have begun to sing about themselves and how they are feeling rather than about God and His glory.

Songs are vital in the believer’s life. My hero, John Calvin, wrote: 

Now among the other things which are proper for recreating man and giving him pleasure, music is either the first, or one of the principal; and it is necessary for us to think that it is a gift of God deputed for that use. Moreover, because of this, we ought to be the more careful not to abuse it, for fear of soiling and contaminating it, converting [it to] our condemnation, where it was dedicated to our profit and use. If there were no other consideration than this alone, it ought indeed to move us to moderate the use of music, to make it serve all honest things; and that it should not give occasion for our giving free rein to dissolution, or making ourselves effeminate in disordered delights, and that it should not become the instrument of lasciviousness nor of any shamelessness…

And in fact, we find by experience that it has a sacred and almost incredible power to move hearts in one way or another….

What is there now to do? It is to have songs not only honest, but also holy, which will be like spurs to incite us to pray to and praise God, and to meditate upon his works in order to love, fear, honor and glorify him.

As for the rest, it is necessary to remember that which St. Paul hath said, the spiritual songs cannot be well sung save from the heart.…For a linnet, a nightingale, a parrot may sing well; but it will be without understanding. But the unique gift of man is to sing knowing that which he sings. After the intelligence must follow the heart and the affection, a thing which is unable to be except if we have the hymn imprinted on our memory, in order never to cease from singing. For these reasons this present book, even for this cause, besides the rest which has been said, ought to be singular recommendation to each one who desires to enjoy himself honestly and according to God…

I consider myself blessed to grow up with hymns—not exclusively, though. The local churches I’ve joined played a mix of contemporary Christian songs and classic hymns, both beautifully played.

The songs in church—whether they're classic and modern hymns or contemporary songs by, say Don Moen or City Alight—connect me to God. They lift my spirit and calm my soul. They nourish my mind and bring joy to my heart.

Since last year I've been taking piano lessons, precisely because I want to play hymns. I have no ambition of doing a Rachmaninoff concert, but I should at least develop enough skill to play songs in the hymnal. My piano teacher Ma’am Deb told me I could get a hymnal in the local Christian bookstore but the stocks were empty that I had to order through Amazon. Hymns of the Christian life, albeit a secondhand copy, is one of my favorite books.




I’m on hiatus, piano-wise. My Monday lessons have to take the backseat for now. Ma’am Deb seems busy, too. But as soon as we resume, I’d love to learn My Song Is Love Unknown (1664), a hymn by Samuel Crossman. I first heard it sung when I streamed Redeemer Downtown’s Maundy Thursday service in Youtube (the song starts at 25:29 time mark).

My song is love unknown,
my Saviour’s love to me;
love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I,
that for my sake
my Lord should take
frail flesh and die?

He came from his blest throne
salvation to bestow;
but men made strange, and none
the longed-for Christ would know.
But O, my Friend,
my Friend indeed,
who at my need
his life did spend!

Sometimes they strew His way,
and His sweet praises sing;
resounding all the day
hosannas to their King.
Then 'Crucify!'
is all their breath,
and for His death
they thirst and cry.

Why, what hath my Lord done?
What makes this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run,
he gave the blind their sight.
Sweet injuries!
yet they at these
themselves displease,
and 'gainst him rise.

They rise, and needs will have
my dear Lord made away;
a murderer they save,
the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet cheerful He
to suffering goes,
that He His foes
from thence might free.

In life no house, no home
my Lord on earth might have;
in death no friendly tomb
but what a stranger gave.
What may I say?
Heav'n was his home;
but mine the tomb
wherein he lay.

Here might I stay and sing:
no story so divine;
never was love, dear King,
never was grief like Thine!
This is my Friend,
in Whose sweet praise
I all my days
could gladly spend.

Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Laurie Wilson, meditating on Jesus' last words: 

Christ came to do the Father’s will. The cross was our Lord’s focus from the beginning of His earthly sojourn. “My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me, and to finish His work” (John 4:34). Christ was the only sin offering that could and did satisfy God the Father’s righteous demands. All of humanity’s sins, past, present, and future, were transferred to Christ, who graciously bore the ugliness and degradation of it all for us. On the cross unimaginable horror was turned into glorious hope. The “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world” had incredible mercy upon us. “It is finished” but it is not yet over. Richard John Neuhaus explains, “It will not be over until every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. That triumphant note does not mean the simple displacement of suffering with victory…The only way to the light is the way he took, the way through the heart of darkness, the way of the cross. That is where he is to be found, that is where he finds those he takes to the Father.” Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Each of us is marked by the memories of words spoken to us.

Alastair Begg on the power of words: 

Each of us is marked by memories of words spoken to us. Perhaps we reflect on the joy of a child's first words or still feel the bitterness of a friend's hurtful words. From our earliest days, we learn how to use words both to bring harm and to bring gladness. King Solomon was right: "Death and life are in the power of the tongue" (Proverbs 18:21).

A "gallery of living experience"

Alastair Begg, in Truth for Life: 365 Daily Devotions:

What a great sadness it is when churches become like dusty old libraries, filled with so many lives that are like volumes of truth just sitting there, never used. The temptation as we become increasingly aware of the truth is just to sit and think about it without ever taking action. James put that kind of life in stark terms: it is to deceive yourself. No—a church is to be a gallery of living experience. There out to be a vibrancy about believers, so that when we face the world's many problems—problems we ourselves are not immune to—we can see them for what they are and respond by holding out the truth of God's word as we ourselves live it out. 

Quiet contemplation on Easter Sunday

I enjoy the Holy Week to the same degree, if not more, as I do Christmas. These holidays, whose schedules are not explicitly mentioned in Scripture—a fact that dissuades other Christians from celebrating them at all—bookmark key events in the earthly ministry of Jesus Christ. Secular calendars designate them as national holidays. And rightly so. For who, in his right mind, would open cafés during this time, especially on Good Friday, when the inhabitants of the city are at home, recuperating from and avoiding the summer heat, or in church, deep in prayer and contemplation?

There is a season for every activity under heaven. So goes a line from Ecclesiastes, written by the wise King Solomon, who, when asked by God what gift he would like to receive, chose wisdom over riches and long life.

This rule, or reminder, if not fatherly wisdom, has encouraged my choice of quiet contemplation and prayer and the reading of books these past days. The harsher alternative would be to resume regular programming: going to work, busying myself with tasks and to-do lists. Honest work is a blessing from God. And so is rest. 

I could have chosen to extend my trip where it was nippy, sweater-weather and all, devoid of the discomfort of tropical humidity. But I could not quite pass the opportunity to enjoy my own room and my own thoughts and the thoughts of God. Rare are the moments when I can sit down with a book and a cup of coffee, my phone hardly ringing save for the reminder that my screen time is down by 25%, my presence hardly needed in hospitals (ah, what grace!). 

The ride from the airport early this week showed me roads that were almost empty, as in the pandemic lockdown. So hot was the weather that the grass by the road turned brown, and the trees looked thirsty. 

At home, the air conditioning is in full blast. Even Paul cannot stand the heat and would curl up in my mother’s bedroom, where it is cooler, and where he is conditionally allowed to stay as long as he remains a good boy.

I spent the greater part of Good Friday in church for prayer and fasting. Delighting in God’s Word was the theme of the congregational meditation, drawing from the riches of Psalm 119 and from the reminder that the Word is with God and the Word is God Himself (John 1:1)—beautiful theological and practical truths that animate my life and those in the household of faith. I was rewarded with a nourishing meal, the perfect arroz caldo, our local church’s tradition to break the short fast.

During this season I also enjoyed The Chosen (season 1) on Netflix. What I love about it is the tender portrayal of Jesus living a perfect life in an abject, sinful world, choosing to mingle with the demon-possessed, the lepers, the lowly.

I finished Marilynne Robinson’s Reading Genesis, her meditation on the first book of the Bible. Her close reading of Genesis has stirred in me a gratefulness for the priceless truths of Biblical Christianity, even if being a Christian has fallen out of flavor in the secular world. She writes about Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Noah, and Joseph; and compares and contrasts Genesis with the Enuma Elish and other similar accounts from surrounding cultures at the time. I read, but not wholeheartedly agree with, everything that Robinson writes. I do not find her particularly relaxing but always worthwhile. I often have to repeat myself and am rewarded by greater illumination after several rounds of rereading. I must have listened to all her podcast and YouTube interviews, and I love her novels and her essays. I am what you call a huge fan.




I finally got to finish The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton, a gift from my friend Racquel Bruno in 2015, during our residency in internal medicine. I started reading it nine years ago. I got preoccupied with work. I was also bored by the first few chapters that I had to set it aside, hoping I would probably find the stamina and encouragement to complete it. In January this year, I took a brief survey of my book collection. Catton’s novel stood out like a sore thumb. I read it from the beginning—not from the middle where I had placed my bookmark, because so much time has passed that I’d already forgotten the plot. It is the longest book to win the Booker Prize with its 800-plus words. There was sweetness and deep joy in reading it the second time around, a reminder to myself not to give up too easily. My favorite part, ultimately, is the love story between the naïve but good-natured Emery Staines and the prostitute Anna Wetherell. Now I am itching to visit New Zealand and to read Catton’s Birnam Wood.




It is Easter Sunday today. Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

The rhythm of His grace

The Lent Project is a gift that keeps on giving. Alongside Scripture, the chosen author of the day chooses a poem, an artwork (painting or sculpture), and music to supplement and enrich the daily meditation. I had to take a pause from my daily Bible reading schedule to accommodate this enriching online devotional, which sends me email updates when new posts are available.

For March 7, Dr. Arianna Moloy writes about the ministry of love to the saints. The passages are Galatians 6:7-10 and Hebrews 6:10.

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

Allow me to share some quotable quotes from her meditation.

Exhaustion can cause mental overload and spiritual heaviness, resulting in a kind of chaotic weightiness making it hard to breathe.

And: 

Weariness skews perspective. Like a kind of emotional sunburn, any comment received in exhaustion lands in an overly tender and painful manner.

Dr. Moloy draws from the Bible's encouragement:

This is why Jesus’s invitation (e.g. Matthew 11:28-30) to draw near to him, receive comfort, and learn how to approach what’s before us with his guidance is such an incredible gift. The God of the universe offers to teach us the rhythm of his grace so that we might experience true rest in the very core of our being.

The "rhythm of his grace." I like that very much. In my moments of exhaustion—physical, spiritual, emotional—I should turn to Jesus' words (Matthew 11:28):

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

The song, Your Labor Is Not in Vain” from the album Work Songs: The Porter’s Gate Worship Project Volume 1, is just wonderful. 

Hiraeth

Yesterday's Sunday preaching was on the spiritual riches of believers in Christ. Today's devotional takes me to Ephesians 3:14-21, in which Paul prays that the church be able to grasp the all-too wonderful concept of the love of Christ. My reading also includes a poem by Wendell Berry which evokes to me the incomparable feeling of contentment. 

All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman's silence
receiving the river's grace,
the gardener's musing on rows.