Tag Archives: Grace

So You Want to Be a Christian Journalist?

When I first came to Jordan, I didn’t think much about my purpose, vision or values as a journalist. I just thought, I love writing and I’m good at making friends, so inshallah this will work..! I also was desperate for income and thankful just to have my pitches published at all. But recently I’ve been thinking and praying about why I write and who I’m writing for. I’m trying to articulate the mission and values underpinning my decision to write – and in extension, my mission and values in life (whoa).

This is important because a) my discipler Ivy told me to do it when I graduated and I do everything Ivy says, hahah; and b) journalism is a spiritual minefield for competitive types like myself. Journalism fosters a striving mindset, especially among freelancers. Everyone is always scrambling to one-up each other, get the next scoop, pitch a better story and write something that will get you noticed and pay the rent. Hustle is everything. Humility gets you crushed.

How does the Gospel Worldview apply in this context? What does it mean to write not for my self, but for Christ and His Kingdom? Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

1. Don’t be a hater.
“Therefore, rid yourselves of all malice and all deceit, hypocrisy, envy, and slander of every kind.” – 1 Peter 2:1

Half the Internet seems to be made up of haters and trolls, ripping each other apart and belittling anyone who disagrees with them as ignorant fools. It’s so common that it seems OK, which makes me sorry and sad.

I pray about this all the time, though, because I am naturally disinclined to be humble and so very quick to judge. When someone says something I find bigoted or mean, my knee-jerk response is equally dismissive mockery. I often want to ridicule the politics and opinions that I disagree with.

In Western media today, slander is not only easy but also lucrative. There are so many liberal outlets that love scathing exposés of “dumb Republicans” and so many right-wing outlets that do nothing but denunciate the left. As a freelancer scraping by from commission to commission, it’s really tempting to join in.

But Christ preaches a message of humility, which means I am not to denounce anyone, even if I disagree with them. Even when criticizing, I must be gentle and gracious, remembering that I don’t know everything. My goal is not to bash the other side to the ground but to ask genuine questions so we can make better polices, tell fuller stories, consider more narratives and seek truth. I want to build, not to break. I am to always remember that I am not infallible. I may very well be wrong.

2. Tell truth that makes peace.
“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.” – Proverbs 31:8-9

“But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness.” – James 3:17-18

Sometimes journalists put on a hero affect, championing investigative work that speaks truth to justice and holds the powerful accountable. I am all for this, but pray also for words and stories that will tell truth in a way that ushers in peace. This means a) humanizing rather than polarizing, and b) rejecting vitriol.

My activist friend Kristian moved me during a trip to Israel/Palestine last August when he said, “I always assume good intentions.” Let us not demonize anyone based on assumptions about their backgrounds or beliefs, he said, but approach them thinking, You are a human like myself. I believe you want people to live and thrive, not to hate or oppress or destroy. This seems like a pretty basic humane mindset, but it’s not at all the standard in much of today’s journalism. We are quick to take sides, tacking good guy-bad guy narratives on everything from healthcare to foreign policy to environmental protection. It’s an easy narrative and one that makes for a good story – the evil man oppressing the small and weak! The rich stepping on the poor! The Man, who must be resisted!

The first problem with this approach is that it makes people shut down. Readers see vitriol and they stop listening. Rather than persuade others, it triggers their self-defenses. The second problem is that it doesn’t sound like Christ.

The Gospel narrative does not sugarcoat injustice. Christ does not brush over Sin and Dark and our screaming, falling world. But He also doesn’t pin blame on the Right or Left or Americans or elites. The Gospel, I think, asks us to humanize. Our tendency is to cry, “The world is broken, look, and IT’S ALL THIS OTHER GUY’S FAULT!” The Gospel says instead, “The world is broken, and the fault is upon all of us, and only Christ can save.”

When I wrote this story last fall, an aid worker I interviewed begged me not to take a simplistic good guy/bad guy approach. My Sudanese refugee friends had been telling me, “The UNHCR and NGOs are racist! They give aid to Syrians but not to us!” I realized that would be the easy story to write: Sudanese are being overlooked. This is discrimination. But the harder and more truthful story was that yes, there is injustice, but not out of malicious intent. Everyone is trying to help, yet it’s not enough. The problem is complex. Unilateral blame is easy. Finding a solution is not. But let’s go for the latter, because that will move us toward actually getting a blanket and food and medicine to our neighbors who need it, whereas the former makes a flashy headline and nothing else.

3.“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves.” – Philippians 2:3

I bolded and italicized and title-ized the entire verse because this is the mantra I pray and ask for grace to remember every single day.

This verse hit me deeply this year when I started working for a nonprofit that provides legal assistance to refugees, migrants and other marginalized people. Many of our projects are politically sensitive and require discernment in their media coverage – which means, counter to my previous journalistic assumptions, I should not always write everything about every story. In fact, there are some stories I shouldn’t tell at all.

Without Philippians 2:3 in my mind, all I care about is getting big scoops and deep stories with enthralling, juicy conflict. But when the Gospel comes in, my key question changes from What will make the best story? to Is my writing going to help or hurt people? As a self-seeking journalist, my portfolio and career come first. As a Christian, people become ablaze with dignity and importance. They are my brothers and sisters and neighbors, image-bearers of God who mean much more than fodder for my next pitch. Protection of the weak takes priority over my collection of clips. It doesn’t matter if I never get to write a story again.

I know these lessons are basic. But I wrestle with them every day, not only in what stories to write but also what to include in each piece. Paradoxically, writing for my Audience of One means using more discretion and sensitivity than I would if Christ didn’t factor into my work at all. I need prayer, humility, grace and a clear set of principles so that I won’t be lured to pursue gold stars of journalistic success at the cost of others’ suffering.

Actually, I need prayer, humility, grace and a clear set of principles in general. I prayed for discernment on what it means to be a Christian journalist, but ended up with answers on how to follow Christ, journalist or not – funny, yeah? Or divinely planned by a wise and loving God who shows us more of Him in every single thing we do… 🙂 PTL.

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Concerning Camels and Needles

“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

– Matthew 19:24 (NIV)

In this familiar quote by Jesus in the gospels of Matthew and Mark, a rich man approached Jesus and asked the Son of Man what he should do to inherit eternal life. Jesus replied that he should keep the commandments, and the man stated that he had kept them all. To which Jesus responded, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” The young man was sad because he was unwilling to do this, prompting Jesus to speak the above verse to His disciples.

In the last couple of years, this verse has always been one that elicited both guilt and concern in my heart whenever I read it. Here I was, working in an industry known for its high compensation, and here Jesus was, telling us how hard it is for people with great wealth to enter His kingdom.  Fortunately, God set my heart at ease last month when through UChicago’s InterVarsity Fellowship, I attended a Bible study that spent some time digging into this passage.

Note: I’ll go ahead and state the obvious. Clearly I am more likely to interpret this passage in certain ways since I want to enter the kingdom of God (who wouldn’t?). Because of this unavoidable bias, please take my thoughts with all the salt required to melt the snow in Chicago this winter.

Idols

First, the perhaps easier way out for someone like me. One way to interpret what Jesus said is to broaden the scope of the passage to that of idols in general, instead of focusing on the particular idol of money. The rich man was someone who claimed to follow the law and hoped to earn his way into heaven. However, Jesus knew that for this particular man (and for everyone else in this world), there was some “idol” that he would not give up for God, so He asked him to give up his riches. If this man idolized something other than money, Jesus would probably have asked him to give that up to follow Him.

Even though there are other idols that can keep us from God, Jesus did specifically mention worldly riches here  and we can’t ignore that. While I can’t claim to know His complete reasoning,  these are two possible points that Jesus may have been trying to address here. First, we turn to the historical context. In Jesus’ time, the disciples expected the great/rich men of the world to glorify the Messiah with their wealth and power (from John Gill’s Exposition); therefore, like many of Jesus’ teachings, this was a counter-cultural statement that demonstrated how radical Christianity was in that society. It is no surprise that the disciples responded in the following verse with “Who then can be saved?”

Second, there is something about worldly riches that makes it easier to corrupt into sin than just about anything else in this world. God is sovereign, but money can give us a false sense of power. God’s will is final and already done, but money can make us feel in control. God calls us to live humbly, but money can breed arrogance and condescension. While having money is not naturally sinful, it’s all too easy for broken human beings to corrupt it into an idol. It’s one of the most dangerous gifts that God can give us that is not inherently broken.

Grace

Another interesting question that came up in our study was what it meant to give up our idols for God. In this case, if we idolized our riches, do we really have to sell everything and follow God empty-handed? Isn’t that a little harsh? I think the answer is…maybe. On one hand, God blesses His people with talents, whether it’s spiritual gifts or resources, so that they may glorify Him in this world. On the other hand, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.” (Job 1:21, NIV) If God asks us to give up something for Him, we should be willing to do just that. In my opinion, this latter point is important. It’s not necessarily about taking the gifts that God has blessed you with and getting rid of it all to follow God, it’s about the willingness to give it up without a moment’s notice if that’s what He calls us to do. Now am I saying that I am willing to part with my worldly riches instantly if God told me to do so? Well….

In verse 26, Jesus says, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” We have a God who is willing to help us turn away from whatever our idols may be and toward His salvation. God can move mountains for us, He can make camels go through the eye of a needle, and He can love His people even though they have fallen into sin. There is nothing I am more thankful of, because otherwise, I’ll have to start looking for a very large needle.

Jack Gang is currently working as an algorithmic trader at a proprietary trading firm in Chicago, IL.

Academics Need Grace Too

“Great is God our Lord, great is His power and there is no end to His wisdom. Praise Him you heavens, glorify Him, sun and moon and you planets. For out of Him and through Him, and in Him are all things….. We know, oh, so little. To Him be the praise, the honor and the glory from eternity
to eternity.”

― Johannes Kepler

“God, what does it look like to be an academic for you?”

A few weeks ago, God gave me a a very real, tangible picture of what the Christian academic life could be. Dr. Francis Su, a professor of mathematics at Harvey Mudd college and president-elect of the Mathematics Association of America, was presented with a distinguished teaching award at one of this nation’s largest mathematical conferences. His acceptance speech, was, as he put it, an attempt ‘to explain the gospel of grace in a language academics could understand’.

He later posted the text of the talk on his blog under a post entitled The Lesson of Grace in Teaching, and shared an audio file of the talk . If you only have time to read one blog post today, I would highly encourage you to read his post. It is truly inspiring. 

I came away from the article refreshed and inspired, filled with great hope in the ability of the gospel to transform the academy. It reminded me of two motivations for my vocation that I had previously theoretically subscribed to, but perhaps dismissed as being unsustainable in the increasingly meritocratic and cutthroat ranks of the academy. They were:

  1. To be an academic for the joy of academia; and
  2. To treat others in the academy with grace because of the immeasurable grace we have been shown.

Much of this blog post will be centered around my reflections on Dr. Francis Su’s speech, and how these principles might play out in my own life.

1. Being an academic for the joy of academia

What does it look like to do research for God? For a long time, I let myself be content with some vague notion of academia as a quest for God’s truth. Academia was that pure and perfect path to a fuller enjoyment of His beautiful creation and to a deeper awe at His unfathomable understanding. The more nebulous and indistinct this picture of academic motivation was, the more I could convince myself that it was the driving force in my academic pursuits.

During the first semester of my Ph.D. there came a point when I finally stopped and admitted that I could almost not remember what it felt like to be God-serving, and not self-serving, in my research. But doing so filled me with a great sense of shame. I became paralyzed by a fear that even seeking God through research was at heart a self-serving act, centered on maximizing my personal experience and enjoyment of God. Everything I did became in protest against the selfishness I saw in myself. I was trying to empty myself of the desires of the flesh without filling myself with the goodness of God. And it was a tiring and futile process.

In his book Culture Making, Andy Crouch describes three prototypical Ivy League students. There are the ‘legacy students’, those born into privilege and entitlement. There are the ‘strivers’, those who grit their teeth and climb the rungs of the meritocratic ladder. And then there are the ‘children of grace’, those who intentionally assume a daily posture of gratitude and grace. I have always been a little uncomfortable with this classification, because there was always a little niggling voice in the back of my head, wondering whether I was truly a daughter of grace, or an imposter, a striver, striving to no longer strive.

The Lesson of Grace in Teaching reminded me once more that grace is precisely something that does not need to be earned or striven for. Indeed, Romans 5 says that ‘Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more’. God’s grace is more than sufficient for all our trespasses and selfish desires. To be fearful of our inability to earn God’s grace, and by extension to implicitly consider it possible to earn God’s grace, is to think too little of it.

But let us go back to the question of whether searching for encounters with God through academic pursuits is ultimately a selfish endeavor. I realized that perhaps I had been approaching the notion of selfishness from the wrong direction. To be selfless is not to be empty of self, but to be filled with someone else. And if I could experience the fullness of God through my research, if I could be consumed by His being and awed at His glory through my academic pursuits, if I could be filled with the joy of the Creator through my intellectual realizations, then what more worthy pursuit could there be for me? As Jesus told Martha when she worried about all the things she needed to do to truly be serving Him, we need only one thing. To sit at the feet of Jesus and listen to what he says.

This is not to say that every time I sit down to think about my research problems, I am consciously seeking God and filled with joy and awe and ‘holy’ thoughts. I will be the first to admit that I am probably stuck in a weekly cycle of trying to prove something worthy of being shown to my advisor. I also do not mean to dismiss the reality that the modern day American academy thrives on meritocracy, on the notion that you can only increase your value in the eyes of society by demonstrating either your perseverance and effort, or your innate ability. But I know that even if my version of the academic life is not perfect, an ideal exists, and God in his immeasurable grace is drawing me closer to it every day.

2. Treating others with grace because of the immeasurable grace that we have been shown

One of my issues with the academic profession is how systemically self-serving it is. It is hard not to feel indignant or wronged when someone we view as less deserving or less capable receives the very thing we had been striving to achieve. At bible study the other week, our pastor, Charlie Drew, challenged us to consider whether we were really seeking God and truth through research, or seeking our own glory. How would we feel if someone else proved the theorem we’d been working so hard to prove? How would we feel if someone else gained the academic recognition that we felt we had either earned or deserved?

This issue is perhaps best encapsulated by the tenure system. Most budding academics have a love-hate relationship with tenure. It promises a lifetime of security and comfort, freedom to live the cushy life and do whatever you want, so to speak. But the road to tenure is long and arduous. You spend five to six years grinding out paper after paper, trying to prove that you are of value to the university, either because you consistently produce good work, or because you are moving towards some great result in the future. But you are not guaranteed to get tenure. There is the very real possibility that after those six years of toil, you will be hovering just on the wrong side of the line, classified as ‘not quite valuable enough’ and dismissed.

In fact, most of higher education is based on the premise that you must earn and be worthy of everything that you get, because there is just not enough recognition to go around for everyone who deserves it. Most people in the higher education system learn this early on, and so spend a lot of time and energy separating their self-worth from their achievements in academic circles. I definitely believed, almost with a perverse pride, that I was able to separate my own identity from my achievements. My mother raised me to believe that my abilities were a gift from God. never praising me for my achievements,or berating me for (what I perceived to be) my failures, but instead always rejoicing with me in God’s continued goodness to me. I was a child of grace. I was grounded in my personal identity as a child of God, given many good gifts in His grace.

But meritocracy was still a fundamental part of my worldview. Although my personal achievements did not heavily influence my self-worth, I started measuring the value of my classmates and peers in terms of what I perceived to be their intelligence and work ethic. That guy who always asked questions during class? They’re usually not very good questions, so he’s probably not the best mathematician in this class. That guy who always makes comments? They’re always insightful and highlight the fundamental structure of the mathematics we’re looking at, so he will probably go far. Almost all of my human interactions in the mathematical sphere reflected these value judgments to some degree.

Contrast this with God’s judgment of our value and worth:

He will tend his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms;
he will carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead those that are with young. …

Lift up your eyes on high and see:
who created these?
He who brings out their host by number,
calling them all by name,
by the greatness of his might,
and because he is strong in power
not one is missing.

Isaiah 40:11, 26

Reading The Lesson of Grace in Teaching, I realized that I had been so busy learning to accept grace for myself, that I had forgotten to extend it to others. By not giving grace to others, I was helping to perpetuate the view that in the academic system, a person’s value was measured by their academic achievements. I was complicit in enslaving others to the very same measure of self-worth that I fought so hard to free myself from.

The irony is that the world of academia does not need to be self-focused. The university was designed to be a place of collaboration and community, of collective learning and discovery. Professorships have two main components, research and teaching, one of which encourages collaboration within the established academic community, and another which aims to build up the future academic community. But somewhere along the line, man had perverted this system and made it about the self and the individual.

Francis Su demonstrates that we can live out the gospel of grace by treating students as worthy because they are human beings. Students do not need to be the most hard working, the most intelligent, the quickest on the uptake, the most receptive of our material, to be worthy of our time and attention. And for me, maybe I can live out the gospel of grace by treating my classmates and peers as worthy because they are human beings. They do not need to be more hardworking than me, smarter than me, quicker than me, with deeper academic understanding than me, in order to be worthy of my respect and attention.

I am still slowly working through what a gospel of overflowing grace may look like in my day to day life. The Lesson of Grace in Teaching brought home to me that there are many parts of the gospel worldview that I have become good at articulating on an intellectual level, but don’t believe to be fully realizable in our broken world. I hope that you will be able to join with me in further exploring what the gospel looks like in the academic life through this and my future blog posts.

Irene graduated from Princeton in 2013 with an A.B. in mathematics. She is currently in the first year of her Ph.D. in IEOR (equivalent to ORFE) at Columbia University, where she spends her time pondering how to serve God in the academy and pretending that she knows how to be an engineer.  

Why This Blog is Ultimately About Grace

I used to be shy. I saw little reason for talking when I didn’t believe in the interestingness of my own story. What had I to offer that the world had not already seen, or heard?

I grew up in the suburbs of San Diego, where buildings all took on a stucco-ed squareness, the most interesting foliage was desert brush, and even the weather, though nice, seemed drab in its consistent niceness. I had a vague idea of what I wanted to be in the future, but that dream seemed so damningly stereotypical: Korean guy with glasses pursues MD, wants to save lives.

Every now and then when I’m bored, I re-read my college application essays and laugh mockingly at my former self.  A sense of bemusement sets in – how did I get into Princeton? How did these jumble of letters and lackluster narrative get me into one of the most prestigious institutions in the country? I honestly don’t know.

College was somewhat of a personal crisis, simply because I was forced to confront my shyness with unexpected intimacy. My roommates freshman year included a former president of the National Junior Classical League (who had his own Facebook fan page), a gifted musician who learned to play the piano by ear and had more neckties in his closet than I had clothes, and an Indian guy who, I’m still convinced, was using his goofiness to hide his true identity as Indian royalty. I had friends who studied abroad in Oxford and walked its storied, Gothic halls. Then there was always that senior in precept who knew everything about everything. In retrospect, many of my pursuits in college was nothing but a relentless game of catch-up to an imaginary, better man. I learned Swahili, traveled to Kenya and Tanzania, took on the only competitive major at Princeton to study public policy, and wrote a thesis on HIV/AIDS, partly out of genuine interest for those things, but also partly, I confess, out of a subconscious desire to have better stories to tell.

This, of course, was a remarkably tiring way to go about life – and a lonely one, too. The problem was not that my story seemed uninteresting or typical, and needed some embellishment through the pursuit of some crazy vision or ideal. The real, deeper problem, the pig beneath the lipstick, was that my story is all I saw.

I first heard about Lawndale Christian Health Center around the beginning of my senior year, and it waved like a checkered flag ushering the end of this futile race. I was in the midst of the run-of-the-mill Princeton senior activities then, applying for jobs and academic scholarships.  I can’t quite explain it, much as a moth can’t explain why it is so persistently drawn to a source of light. When I found out about Lawndale, I rescinded my outstanding applications that would have led me elsewhere. I left my nets.

In retrospect, I think it was how miraculous the Lawndale story seemed. Wayne Gordon, a graduate of Wheaton college, leaves his suburban Iowa home to become a high school wrestling and football coach in a marginalized neighborhood in Chicago. His students ask him to join, then lead, a Bible study. That Bible study snowballs into a church, and that church, driven by the students’ desire to love and serve their neighbors, begins a health center providing access to care for the poor and the uninsured. That was 1984 – when the health center was no more than a couple of idealistic doctors practicing in three decrepit exam rooms fashioned out of an abandoned car lot. Now, the health center has four sites on the West Side, and serves over 200,000 patients a year. It even has a state-of-the-art fitness center (for $15 a month!) and a cozy cafe.

Wayne Gordon (or, “Coach”) is still around, and I have the blessing of being a part of his weekly men’s Bible study. Some of the men there are students he used to coach nearly 40 years ago. Others are health center workers, like me. A majority of them are graduates of Lawndale Community Church’s Hope House, a rehabilitation center for formerly addicted or incarcerated men, and have persevered through unspeakable sorrow.

Here at Lawndale, I have had my most formative year to date. Much of what I learned here – about life, about justice, about healthcare, about God – I hope to share in my coming posts on this blog. For now, I want only to make this one point.

Lawndale was here long before I arrived, and it will continue to thrive long after I leave, this coming June. It is refreshing to feel small – to be part of a story I neither wrote nor foresaw. People here do not care what is on my resume. Now, after some months, I don’t either. Only love remains.

Of course, what I experience here at Lawndale is a microcosm of what is happening at large – that of which we get a glimpse in moments of intense joy and intense suffering. We inherited this world, this life, our stories – we do not control or deserve this. In an era where our Babels of social policy, medicine, and technology inch enticingly close to the heavens, we will do well to remember that the made is but a shadow of the given.

This blog, at its best, will be a collective of people trying to recover a vision of grace. Not much of what we say here will be new, but novelty is not the goal. It is remembrance. Blogging will become for us, I hope, a liturgy that brings us to the precipice – into a fuller view of His vast kingdom, and, consequently, a diminished view of our own selves. I understand more than ever before that grace is not only sufficient, it is inescapable. We pray only that He peel back the scales and let us see it anew.

Daniel works as an intern at a primary care center in the inner city, and plans to attend medical school this coming fall.

A Postscript

I wanted to say a few things about the blog itself that I couldn’t fit in the actual piece. Consider this post as an introduction to the blog for the first-time reader.

1) The idea for this blog began with a simple chat that Enoch and I had and we quickly realized we needed reinforcements. In the coming weeks, you will get to meet our regular contributors, discussing anything and everything in their respective fields. It is, simply put, an ongoing attempt to articulate and revise a Gospel Worldview as it applies to each field. New feature posts will appear every Monday and Wednesday. Unfortunately, a contributor’s name will not appear on the Contributors page until he or she has made his or her first post. We expect to have gone through the entire rotation in early March. As a sneak peak, we have Alice Su, the fierce freelance journalist (already published in multiple reputable publications!) writing about media and politics of the Middle East; Ed Zheng, a culinary mastermind trapped in a consultant’s body, speaking about food; and Jinju Pottenger, who famously traveled to North Korea, talking  about law and justice. Others, who I will not mention here solely for brevity’s sake, are just as amazing and I am honestly more excited about reading their posts than writing mine.  So stick with us.

2) You will notice the link to what we’re calling The Reading List. That is a list that our contributors will help us put together for anybody who is interested in how the Gospel Worldview applies to a particular topic/field. 1-2 works will compose the “Canon” for each category, and 5-10 works will compose the “Highly Recommended” section. As we put those up, please feel free to comment on the selection and give us input!

3) Please make sure to like our Facebook Page for updates and posts with interesting/relevant articles!