A Meditation on Isaiah 35

One night when I was in the depths of depression, I was getting ready for bed. Out of force of habit, I sat down to read a psalm. But in my tiredness, I missed Psalms and ended up reading through all of Isaiah 35 before I noticed my “mistake.”

Here’s what I read:

1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;

the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus;

2 it shall blossom abundantly

and rejoice with joy and singing.

The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,

the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.

They shall see the glory of the Lord,

the majesty of our God.

3 Strengthen the weak hands,

and make firm the feeble knees.

4 Say to those who have an anxious heart,

“Be strong; fear not!

Behold, your God

will come with vengeance,

with the recompense of God.

He will come and save you.”

5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,

and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

6 then shall the lame man leap like a deer,

and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.

For waters break forth in the wilderness,

and streams in the desert;

7 the burning sand shall become a pool,

and the thirsty ground springs of water;

in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,

the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

8 And a highway shall be there,

and it shall be called the Way of Holiness;

the unclean shall not pass over it.

It shall belong to those who walk on the way;

even if they are fools, they shall not go astray.

9 No lion shall be there,

nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it;

they shall not be found there,

but the redeemed shall walk there.

10 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return

and come to Zion with singing;

everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;

they shall obtain gladness and joy,

and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

I believe that God directed me to the “wrong” passage that day because this was exactly what my hurting soul needed. I needed to read this promise of renewal for the deserts – the empty, lonely, broken places of the world – because my heart felt like a desert. I needed to hear that no matter how hopeless I felt, I wasn’t really without hope because God had promised to make things right.

Verse 10 in particular stood out to me with its promise that “sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” I believe the complete fulfillment of these verses will come when Christ returns. But until then, God’s promise that better things are coming can give us hope and comfort.

But is that all our faith offers? Is it merely a piece of positive thinking or an “opiate of the masses”? Not according to Isaiah.

Verses 5 and 6 speak of healing for the blind, the deaf, the lame and the mute. Just as God gives us emotional comfort, He offers healing. We see that in the pages of the Bible, and I believe that God continues to work miracles today. Yet once again we will need to wait until Christ returns for all disease to completely disappear.

OK, so Christianity offers emotional and physical healing – for us. But is it just a personal thing that only touches its followers? Again, the answer is “no.”

The whole point of this passage is that the physical world will be healed. Verses 1, 2, 6 and 7 speak of desert being turned into lush, fertile land. In a sense, this is undoing the effects that sin had on all of nature. Part of God’s curse after the first sin was that the land would be unfruitful, producing thorns and thistles instead of good crops. But here we see the curse undone. Even the harshest, least hospitable lands are transformed into lush valleys. The whole earth becomes a fruitful, safe and holy place.

How does all this happen? The passage doesn’t explicitly say, but verse 8 points to the answer. It refers to the “Way of Holiness” in which the redeemed walk. Verse 10 indicates that it leads back to Jerusalem, the city of God. In the Bible, Jerusalem is seen as the place of God’s presence, and we know from the New Testament that the way back into God’s presence is Jesus. He is the One through whom our hearts, our bodies and all of creation will be healed. When we believe and obey Him, we walk in the way of holiness.

We all face moments when we feel dry and empty. We sometimes fall and wander away from the way of holiness. But we must “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.  Say to those who have an anxious heart, ‘Be strong; fear not!’” That means picking ourselves up when we fall, but it also means building others up when they are weak. We must remember, as it says in verse 4, that God will come and save us. We can be strong and work to restore the things that are broken in human lives and the outside world only when we place our hope in the One who has the power to accomplish this seemingly impossible mission.

Mongolia Report

This past June, my parents and I went on a mission trip to Mongolia. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to see and participate in God’s amazing work in that country.

We spent most of our time in Khenti, a province in northeastern Mongolia. It consisted mostly of grasslands full of wildflowers. Distant mountains on the horizon marked the end of miles and miles of sky. This beautiful country is very sparsely populated (about 3 million people in 1,565,000 square kilometers). Most of its people are nomadic herders who live in gers (also called yurts/蒙古包). Each county has a central town (though by Taiwanese or American standards they’re really villages) with stores, gas stations, etc. Some people build wooden houses in these centers; others pitch their gers in the town, often in a relative’s back yard.  Others live in the countryside and only visit the county center to buy necessities like food and gas. Outside the central part of the country there is no running water, and all roads are made of dirt.

In Mongolia, my parents and I worked with an organization called V.E.T. Net. Based in Mongolia’s capital, Ulaanbaatar, V.E.T. Net was started by a group of Christian veterinarians to help provide veterinary training. Veterinarians are vital for a society so centered on herding. Yet veterinary training isn’t very good; some veterinary school graduates have never even worked on an animal. V.E.T. Net provides training and high-quality medicines to help these veterinarians serve their communities. Since it is a Christian organization, it uses this to open doors for the Gospel.

V.E.T. Net’s mission expanded over time to include other kinds of teaching. One program called Claim a County sends pairs of teachers throughout Mongolia. They run summer schools for the herders’ children, teaching English and Biblical principles. Some children only get to attend school in the summer because in the winter their families live too far from the county center. The English lessons attract many children from grades 1 to 12, and night classes for adults often begin, too. All the teachers are Christians, and frequently, the love they show to the communities lead to churches being planted. The program is very well-received. Some county leaders even beg the teachers to stay beyond the three-year limit.

           

My parents and I traveled to several of the counties involved in the Claim a County program. We traveled with my father’s friend Morris (an American who has done many short mission trips to Mongolia), a Mongolian driver named Jagaa, and the president of V.E.T. Net, Ganzo, who translated for us. First we visited a few areas where the program was over to encourage believers. My father led devotions for both our team and local people every day, except for one day when I led devotions. Morris, a businessman, led workshops about budgeting and personal finance. We also spent time talking to the locals with Ganzo’s help and listening to their stories.

We spent three days at the first county center and then moved to a second. But next day we heard some terrible news. A van carrying some teachers who planned to meet us had rolled over. We rushed toward the next county center, where my parents, Morris and I were supposed to wait while Ganzo and Jagaa went to help the accident victims. A local Christian leader went with us. Eventually, we reached a point where the road was so flooded that we could not pass, so we turned to find another route. But then our van sank into the mud. After a lot of pushing and gathering wood and stone to put under the tires, we realized we couldn’t get it out. My parents and I got in the local Christian leader’s car with Ganzo and drove toward the next town center looking for a truck to pull our van out. We finally found a ger with a truck outside, only to discover that the truck was out of gas. We agreed to buy gas at the next county center, bring it back and pay to use the truck. My parents and I were dropped off at a dormitory where we would be staying.

Ganzo and the local Christian leader got the truck, pulled the van out and went to get the other van. Meanwhile, we received a call from one of the teachers who had been in the accident. She was only a bit bruised, but the other teacher had injured her arm. The driver had seemed fine at first, but it turned out he had a concussion, and at this point its effects were just becoming plain. But no one at the dormitory knew enough English to explain this to us. All we were told was, “The driver … his body is very bad.”

Praise God, our team was able to pick them up and bring them to the hospital (really a clinic) in the center where we were staying. The next day Jagaa drove them back to Ulaanbaatar to get medical treatment. Now, they are all safe and recovering.

The county where we ended up was in its first year of Claim a County. We worked with two wonderful teachers, Mogi and Nara. I spent lots of time with Mogi, the English teacher. Her “textbook English” was excellent, but since she didn’t have much contact with native speakers, she had some trouble with pronunciation. So she had me teach the students all the new vocabulary, read passages out loud and generally help in the class. The children were very enthusiastic and eager to ask us questions about ourselves. They were divided into two classes: grades 1-6 and grades 7-12. Eventually, Mogi divided the younger class in half because of the age difference and the class’s size. It had over 40 students. I really enjoyed getting to know Mogi. She was a very kind young woman who clearly cared about her students and wanted to be the best teacher she could be. My parents and Morris visited Nara’s character education class and said she was also an excellent teacher.

After four days at that county center, Jagaa returned, so we moved on to one more county center. We couldn’t sit in on classes there, but we brought the teachers some supplies. We spent the night in a ger and then got up early to make our way across the bumpy dirt roads back to Ulaanbaatar.

I was continually amazed at the faith, generosity and hospitality of the Christians I met in Mongolia. The country is mostly Tibetan Buddhist, and Christians are an extreme minority, so they experience a lot of pressure from neighbors and relatives. But they have a truly inspiring love for God and for each other. The work I did in Mongolia was only a small contribution to God’s mission there, but it is a contribution I was honored to make.

Christian Worldview and Martial Arts

Once when I was in college, I was hanging out with a group of guys from our Christian fellowship group. The conversation turned to MMA, and one of them asked if anyone in the group knew martial arts. After a moment of hesitation, I said, “I have a black belt in kung fu.” One of them burst out laughing. It seemed ridiculous that a sweet, quiet girl like me would do kung fu.

But I wasn’t joking. My black belt came from the kids’ program at my kung fu school, but my school was run by a teacher trained in Taiwan who had very high standards for his students – even young ones. It took me about seven years of consistent hard work to gain the black belt. I’m really out of practice now, but it was a fun experience, and I can still do all the basic techniques and some of the forms.

That’s why I was so interested in a blog post by Warren Fox, another American Christian martial artist living in Taipei. Fox described how he began learning to fight as a child. He, unlike me, learned martial arts for self-defense; he was an African American growing up in a town full of KKK supporters. The post, which I highly recommend, also talks about some more general issues related to the origin and morality of martial arts.

As I see it, martial arts raise two potential problems for Christians. The first is that they’re designed for violence. If one is a pacifist, I see how this would make them unacceptable. But most Christians I know aren’t. And those who aren’t opposed to force in principle shouldn’t reject martial arts for this reason. My martial arts instructor told us clearly that we should only use the techniques we learned if someone physically attacked us. Even then, we were urged to run away, or do just enough damage to allow ourselves to escape. (Self-defense note: if you stomp on the top of an attacker’s foot, where the shoelaces would be, you can usually break a few bones, which will prevent them from chasing you.) Kung fu was not for showing off or picking fights. It was a powerful tool that must be used wisely.

The other potential problem is that eastern martial arts developed in a culture with an unbiblical worldview. That in itself doesn’t mean Christians shouldn’t use them. The same can be said of tea, paper and fireworks. The basics of martial arts consist of punches, kicks, blocks and stances – purely physical actions. But at higher levels, the techniques begin merging with Buddhist or Taoist philosophy (depending on the style). They begin blending with what Fox calls “ritual” – chants and techniques meant to tap into energy, either within your body or from a source outside yourself. These, I believe, can be spiritually dangerous and even demonic. But those are distinct from the techniques themselves, and it is possible to study and learn the techniques without delving into this dangerous territory.

Fox came to the conclusion that the ritualistic aspects of martial arts are a corruption of a good thing God gave us. I would argue that using it for unnecessary violence is the same.

But if God did create martial arts, then it must have real benefits. The obvious benefits of martial arts are self-defense and defense of others. When I studied kung fu, I did it because it was a form of exercise that I actually enjoyed and was reasonably good at. I have miserable hand-eye coordination, so any sport involving a ball was extremely difficult for me. Kung fu required different skills, and it wasn’t competitive. My goal was to compete only against myself, to do deeper, stronger stances and crisper, more accurate techniques than I did the previous class.

Kung fu also taught me discipline – the willingness to practice and even endure pain for my own improvement. And it helped me begin to feel more confident in myself. It even helped my body image – my legs may have been large and lumpy, but at least I knew they could throw a mean roundhouse kick.

These are all blessings, and they should lead us to praise the God from whom all blessings flow. The God who created our bodies, who knows every joint, muscle, ligament and tendon, who describes Himself as a mighty warrior and the leader of an army of angels, reveals his glory even through martial arts.

The Sun in the Night

Those who like me grew up going to church are aware that Christians like to draw a distinction between joy and happiness. The idea is that happiness is based on circumstances, but joy is not. We like to quote 1Thessalonians 5:16-18: Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

And that’s all well and good, but for someone who struggles with depression, it can be confusing. The Bible says we should be joyful in all circumstances. Depression is a circumstance. Therefore we should be joyful when we’re depressed. What?

This seems impossible, so I started examining each step of the argument. I don’t want to deny the truth of Scripture (by saying we don’t have to be joyful always). Arguing that depression is a sin (not a “circumstance”) also doesn’t make sense to me (for reasons I can explain if people are interested). So, paradoxical as it sounds, there must be a way to find joy in depression.

I’ve come to a tentative solution: joy in the midst of depression looks less like happiness and more like hope. I think the details are better explained in poetry than in prose.

The Sun in the Night

Joy is the sun that fills my world with light,

That paints the flowers with their rainbow hue,

That crowns the dancing waves with diamonds bright

And shimmers out from every drop of dew.

But sorrow strikes – I spin into the dark.

Night rises up to steal the sunlight’s throne.

A hungry void devours every spark.

Night hisses, “Light is dead. You are alone.”

Yet though the sun is hidden from my gaze,

It does not for that reason cease to be.

I see it in the moon’s reflected rays

And grasp at hope’s unfelt reality.

Joy’s gravity holds me within my way,

Saves me from slipping out into despair.

It guards me till I spin back into day

And dawn paints roses in the morning air.

Two Poems on Suffering

It's been a rough month. My last post touched on a news item that hit close to home, but there has been a lot of other bad news since then. We've had bombings in Boston (which also hit close to home, since I went to school there) an explosion in Texas, and earthquake in Sichuan, China, continued civil war in Syria, and a collapsed building in Bangladesh, not to mention countless other tragedies, many of which probably didn't get reported. All this bad news has caused me to think a lot about how messed up the world is. These are my best attempts at expressing my thoughts so far.

Waiting for Hope

We wait within this world of pain

Where sunlit days explode in fire

Directed by some dark desire

The shrapnel falls like April rain

We wait within this world of fear

With trembling rocks beneath our feet

Our shelters crumble in the street

And with them falls all we hold dear

We wait within these feeble frames

Where battles rage in every cell

The parts against the whole rebel

Or fall to famine, flood or flame

We wait – but if we raise our eyes

To look beyond our dying sun

In heaven sits the Living One

Upon whose wings from death we rise

We wait, and through the night we sing

Undimmed, the hidden stars still shine

Hate will give way to love divine

As ice dissolves in certain spring

And the second poem:

Prayer of Suffering

O God who hears our every plea,

When darkness blocks the sunlight’s beams

When bomb blasts shatter tranquil air

And cheers and laughter turn to screams,

We cling to hope that you are there.

O God of glory, fiercely just,

The cosmos rests within Your hand,

O master of each hurricane,

Although we do not understand,

We beg You for the grace to trust.

O Christ who bore our every grief,

Absorbed death’s fullest agony

When grief and pain impale our hearts

Back to Your spear-torn side we flee,

Your blood is balm for our relief.

O Christ who overthrew the grave

Within Your triumph we find peace,

We thirst for Your returning day

When You will cause all war to cease

And Your tormented people save.

O Spirit who grants every grace,

Infuse our hearts with mercy’s power,

To break the bonds of fear and pain

And even in this evil hour

With selfless love the night to face.

O Holy Spirit, living flame,

Send out Your glory’s radiant beams

To pierce the heart of evil’s throne,

Defeating dark, demonic schemes

And bringing honor to Your name.

To My Fallen Comrade

Hearing the tragic news about the death of Matthew Warren, Rick Warren’s son, stirred up deep feelings in me. I realized that we had much in common – so much so that but for God’s mercy his story could have been mine. We were fairly close in age, both Christians raised in Christian homes with parents who do some kind of ministry (my father has even worked with Rick Warren on a project), and we both struggled with mental illness for years. But I pulled out of it (more or less), while Matthew never did. This is a terrible time for the Warren family, and although I know nothing I say can heal this grief, I am offering my prayers to the One who can. I dedicate this poem to Matthew Warren and hope it will bring some kind of catharsis and/or comfort to those who are grieving.

To My Fallen Comrade

It was a weary, lonely fight we fought

Standing side by side, yet miles and miles apart

Upon the blackened landscape of our thoughts.

With all our strength we strove each morning,

Wrestling our weary bodies from the beds

Where we had fought, bled, wept

For sleep that fled.

With every breath we breathed we choked

Upon the black and burning smoke that cloaked

Our every move, obscuring sight,

With darkness deafening our ears

To words of hope.

We struggled through the days, weeks, months and years,

Begging our Lord for peace that did not come,

Striking at shadows, never knowing

Where to swing to smite the beast

That battered, bruised and broke our hearts until they hurt to beat

And every breath burned.

How did I escape that battelefield

To find this sweet oasis where the air

Is clear and light can fill my eyes?

But you, my brother both in faith and battle blood,

Are fallen, and my heart is filled with tears.

I long to tear into that demon in the dark

That stole you from this world

With so much joy untasted,

With so much good undone,

But there is nothing I can do.

So rest, my brother, in the sleep that once fled

Until the day when agony and death will lie dead

And we will dance where once the darkness reigned

And weep no more.

Mount Moriah

My Bible study has been reading Genesis, and last week we studied chapter 22, in which God called Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Like any good father, Abraham loved his son deeply, and Isaac was also the promised son through whom God had promised Abraham an enduring legacy. That legacy would include the Messiah, which is why I refer to Isaac as the “child of hope.” However, the first two couplets could also refer to another “child of hope” whom I mention more explicitly at the end of this sonnet.

Mount Moriah

Would God demand as idols did of old

Youth’s priceless blood poured out in sacrifice?

The child of hope by heavenly voice foretold

Cut off from Earth by ceremony’s slice?

His servant flinched but faltered not in fear.

He rose beside pale light of trembling dawn

While stillness masked his sorrow’s silent tear,

Perplexed but trusting hope’s child would live on.

His trembling hand held up the awful knife.

Beneath its blade his bound beloved lay.

But then a word, a trade of life for life,

The boy was saved; grace shone in bright display,

An echo of far greater grace God gave

When His beloved Son He did not save.