Unwritten and Unthunk

I was just asked the vox pop question, 'what is my aim in life?'

i find that a really hard question to answer.

Upon reflection, I know why.

There's things I want in life. I want to be happy. I want to see my children grow up, grow well, and grow to know Jesus. I want to be comfortable. I want deep and meaningful friendships. I want to have lots of time to play. I want to bring honour to Jesus, and not be disgraced on the last day by my actions, or my inaction.

But I don't have an 'aim', I don't have a thing I strive for. I will serve faithfully, and keep doing the next thing that the Lord requires.

I guess my aim has been subsumed; I'm happy to let God's aim take precedence; I'm happy to see his will done.

I guess this is surrender; and I've always found it easiest to surrender myself to God's will.

[Hi Blog, remember me?]

This week, we're saying goodbye to SMBC. It's nice that it doesn't drag on too long: a week of hectic project-work, a week of exams, and now a week of saying goodbye. We had the project fair on Tuesday, our Graduates Retreat yesterday (Wednesday), the End of Year Dinner on Friday, and Graduation on Saturday.

Don Carson made the remark that what we call Graduation (the end of an era), Americans would call Commencement--i.e. that this is the beginning of the rest of our lives.

So this is a chance to pause and reflect. To think about what has happened.

A big part of the feedback yesterday was the awesome-ness of community. SMBC prides itself on this, and this is especially true of the residential students. Living with other Christians 24/7 is, and would be an amazing experience, intense for both emotions and growth.

Every now and again (and 'now' really means 'now'), I wonder with regret what might have been. Sarah and I were supposed to be in college accommodation, but due to a clerical error, our application was lost, and we were never contacted. So we ended up in our house in Dunmore Street. And although part of me wants to dwell in what might have been, I need to remind myself how good it has been: we've loved this house. This house is where we brought our children home to, and its the only home they've ever known. It's been good to us and good for us. I wouldn't trade this special time with our family for anything. We haven't been as immersed in the college community, but we've thrown ourselves into Soma, and that will be our home for years to come, God willing.


So, changes?

SMBC has changed me in crazy, immense, ways, that I'm only starting to figure out, and come to terms with.

I came to college thinking I'd only do a year full-time, and then go to part-time whilst pursuing other ministry. I was really excited about all the practical subjects: church planting, evangelism, preaching, missions. I never intended to learn Hebrew. I didn't plan on doing a project.

Instead, here I am. It's been three awesome full-time years. I did almost none of the practical subjects (that weren't compulsory)--rather I chose more Bible and theology subjects. I did a project... on Jeremiah, of all things. And I did Hebrew, and loved it.

But its been more than that. Don Carson talked the other day about the difference between reading and study, and the difference between study and research. I definitely feel that between first-year and now, I've learned how to do research. In fact, I get excited about it, and the possibility of doing post-graduate study is very attractive. Somewhere along the line, we got taught it--how to read and think intelligently, academically, critically, insightfully. How to critique with insight and discernment, but with balance, humility, gentleness and respect.

Before I went to college, someone once said that SMBC was a Bible college, not a theological college, and that was a significant difference. I'm now somewhat dubious of that distinction, if indeed it exists. We've learnt a lot about the Bible, but there's been a great deal of theology too. I'm not sure if the two are ever really separated, in truth. Except artificially, between the different faculties of the academy.

I've also been granted a bigger view of God, and a more balanced view of life, and living in God's creation, whilst waiting for the end. Undeniably, the ministry of people like Stuart Coulton and Kirk Patston have left and irrevocable mark on my soul; and there's an attractiveness about being able to combine academic rigour with gentleness and balance, dogmatism about the Bible and the word of God, without being combative about subjects that can be disagreed about. I think I've really started to understand the Old Testament, and I love embracing the ambiguity of the Old Testament; and it makes a helpful counterpoint to the propositions and the sharp lines of the New Testament that I've grown up with (Christian-ly speaking).

In part, I think I'll only start to miss SMBC when I'm gone.

Something strange that occurs to me about Hebrew culture--at least as preserved in the Bible.

Hebrew culture is really not interested in heroes going out in a blaze of glory. There is no celebration of a noble death at a young age--no King Arthur. No Ned Kelly. No Horatius, single-handedly warding off an army on a bridge. No Custer's last stand. No Charge of the Light Brigade, or the wasteful slaughter of Anzacs. No noble sacrifices.

It is not as if such characters do not exist. King Josiah's attempt to halt the Egyptian armies was vainglorious and fatal (2 Kings 23:29-30). Nevertheless, some scholars suggest that this delay of the Egyptian army contributed to the Egyptian defeat at the hands of Babylon.

And yet this episode isn't celebrated, merely noted as a footnote in the decaying Davidic monarchy.

It is only when we get to Jesus that, perhaps, we celebrate a tragic death at a young age, the victim of political intrigue and religious persecution. After Jesus do we start to get martyrs (which would lead, in due course, to hagiographical treatment of martyrs.)

Watching your children grow up teaches you something about moments. They fly by so quickly; and your kids are crawling, then walking, eating solids then self feeding, gooing then talking. I think you can ruin the experience by wishing they were something different to what they are---older, younger, lighter or heavier. Don't wish for tomorrow or yesterday--just accept that time passes, and enjoy every minute for what it is--a precious gift.

I think I've just become a dispensationalist! First dispensation: No meat. (Creation). Second dispensation: Certain kinds of meat--i.e. no pigs (old Covenant) Third dispensation: All kinds of meat (new covenant) Fourth dispensation: Endless supplies of meat (new Creation)

Adam lived for 930 years. The vast majority of that was after the fall, where through his actions (or perhaps, his inaction) he condemned the rest of humanity to a lifetime out of relationship with God, and the hope of death, in his own pattern.

Did he spend those years pining for the relationship he had had with God in the beginning? One wonders if Cain or Abel was more like Adam. Did he offer genuine sacrifices in worship to God? Did he try to buy back a relationship with God through his offerings?

Did he spend it guilt-stricken, raising he had condemned all of humanity to his own death?

Were the arms of his wife warm comfort, or bitter reminder of his inadequacy? Did Eve end up being a good helper, or was God's label ultimately ironic?

All we have is silence. But we remember that God is good, and he gives common grace abundantly. We consider the decent from Adam to Cain to Lamech onwards to be a downward descent... So perhaps Lord Adam still had royalty imprinted on his brow, and had God-given--albeit sweat-earned--produce to enjoy.

Strangely, there are tones I feel uncomfortable in my own house. I've been wondering why that's the case. I think that's because the way I think about houses is conditioned somewhat by tradition, rather than function. For instance, I have a study. That's a pretty traditional sort of room to have; a place to hide with your books, to work on sermons and do the accounting. It's also become the modern den (not that we really have dens much in Australia), with boys toys.a far computer to play computer games and hide from your family.

But I like being around my family. I'll spend as much time on Sarah's computer in the family room as mine in the study. But we have laptops now. So computers don't need to be confined to a particular room. I can take my laptop somewhere quiet when I need to work and surf the net in everyone else's company the test of the time. So I wonder of or houses need to be broken up by utility. A quiet room for kids and adults to read and work, and a loud room,a rumpus room for TV and running around and rumbles.

An enormously insightful throwaway comment by our OT lecturer today: "Ezekiel, like the other exilic prophets, is attacking Israel's presumption.

The context: Part of the pervasive "orthodoxy" in Jerusalem, prior to its fall in the 6th century BC, was that as the city of God, in which Yahweh himself dwelt with his temple, Jerusalem was inviolable and impregnable, regardless of the moral laxity within the city.

The exilic prophets act as a corrective: that the people are in fact presuming on God's grace, taking him for granted, and thinking that he will approve of their behaviour, no matter how ungodly it is.

Considering the wider canonical context, presumption is a far greater sin than we appreciate, I think.

Yahweh strikes people dead for lifting the lid of the ark. Yahweh is furious at David lackadaisically bringing the ark up the hill of Jerusalem, without proper pomp and ceremony.

One might phrase the desire for the knowledge of good and evil as presumption: Adam and Eve were refusing to believe that Yahweh had their best interests at heart. The knowledge of good and evil, which would make humanity like God, would allow them to judge. There is no reason to judge good from evil, if you trust your sovereign creator God who has made all things good for you. It's like wanting to check his work. Presumptuous.

The warnings in Hebrews take on a similar effect. We get hung up on assurance and salvation by faith alone; but fail to see that sin matters. We have come to a heavenly Jerusalem. We have entered into the most holy place, by virtue of Jesus' blood, shed to pay for our sins. To think that our actions do not matter, when the precious blood of Jesus was spilled precisely for our sins, is a presumption from which we do not deserve forgiveness. We crucify the Lord of glory again, to our shame. It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of a living God, and we need to guard ourselves from such a sin, from such a travesty.

You'd think that by this stage in my college career, I'd have it all figured out. Essay-writing is tricky business, fraught with procrastination, and I wonder if the Carsons of the world, the paper-publishing professors of academia continue to struggle and play minesweeper instead of writing their papers.

My big problem is that fear no longer motivates me. I know that I'm perfectly competent enough to write a good essay. I can probably even write it at the last minute and get away with it. This brings no self-satisfaction; rather a deepening guilt that I really ought to have knocked it out of the park a few days ago, so that I can move on to other, more important things.

Instead, I've been finding addictive games to play on my phone, on my computer. Regular doses of coffee mean that I'm producing... something.

I don't write much any more.

I feel like that ought to be infused with a gratuitous amount of poignancy. Something like: I don't even notice she's gone... most of the time. [note! gratuitous Bob Dylan reference.]

Like lots of thing in my life, it's something that I love doing--I loved doing--which I don't get a chance to do very much anymore.

If I was a truly creative person, I feel like I'd be crushed by this turn of events. A writer who no longer writes, like a musician who cannot play music, is someone who fails to exist! I am no longer who I am.

But in reality, it reflects the choices I've made.

I'm at Bible College now. I've made the choice to spend these last three years, and the next six months, immersed in God's word. I'm going to spend six months immersed in Ezekiel and Jeremiah, gleaning what I can from these majestic books of prophecy and creating something which will provide fertile ground for future ministry.

I'm a father now. I've made the choice to have children, and I have two beautiful children. They are laughter and joy and smiles. They're worth all the weariness and vomit and poo and nappies. They consume my time, and my mind, and my heart. I'm responsible not to leave their upbringing solely to my wife; I'm responsible to set them an example, and to make a house that they can live in. I don't precisely provide for them, but more than providing for their material needs, I like to think I'm creating a spiritual foundation through which I can raise them as God-fearing, Jesus-following children.

I'm a husband now. I can't waste reams of time playing computer games, when I have a beautiful wife to love and support and cherish.

At the end of the day, the things I have traded are worth every penny. The question is not whether I am all I could be; but rather, am I happy now? Am I content?

I am. More than I could imagine. God has blessed me immeasurably, and rather than discontent at some other Haoran that I could be, I can delight in all that he has put on my plate, realising that what I have is all I need, and more than that.

I don't write much any more. I'm okay with that.

Leah Joy En-Lai Un was born today.

11:30am, 28th May, 2011. 3.32kg, 50cm. A posterior water-birth, complete unassisted by drugs.

Haoran Un is thankful for: midnight babysitters, providential parents, competent midwifery, Sarah Un's awesomeness (entirely drug-free posterior birth, peoples!), Leah Joy En-Lai* Un, Campos coffee, undisturbed family time, Micah's lack of jealousy, cheerful visitors, food, a quiet night to reflect, nightcaps, and sleep.

* which means: Grace has come

⁴ The LORD spoke to you face to face out of the fire on the mountain.
⁵ (At that time I stood between the LORD and you to declare to you the word of the LORD, because you were afraid of the fire and did not go up the mountain.)
- Deuteronomy 5:4-5


Problem: Did Yahweh actually speak to the Israelites face-to-face? In what way can he have been said to speak to them face-to-face, when Moses was acting as a mediator the entire time, going up the mountain and returning with the words of Yahweh. (Indeed, Moses didn't really speak to Yahweh face-to-face. Moses was not permitted to see his face (Ex 33:20); but then Exodus depicts their relationship thus: "The LORD would speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his friend." (Exo 33:11))

Of course, 'face-to-face' could be a figure of speech.

But maybe, there is a theology of the Word, and preaching here.

When Israel hears Yahweh's words, from Moses' mouth, it is as if they are meeting Yahweh face to face. So much so that they actually did encounter Yahweh.

I'm also mindful of of Exodus 7:1:
"Then the LORD said to Moses, "See, I have made you like God to Pharaoh, and your brother Aaron will be your prophet." (Exo 7:1 NIV)

• God speaks to Pharaoh via Moses (his prophet). (e.g. Ex 8:1)


• Moses (like God) speaks to Pharaoh via Aaron (Moses' prophet).(Ex 7:1)

That is, the Word of God can be transitive. The Word of God to Moses is the word of God. The Word of God, via Moses, via Aaron, to Pharaoh, is still God's word. The Word of God to me, via the Hebrew text, via the NIV translators, is still the word of God. The Word of God to Paul, via the Hebrew text, via the LXX translators, is still the word of God.

The other observation is that Deuteronomy is a sermon. Moses is effectively preaching throughout these pages. What we observe is that Moses is preaching, and perhaps in the 38 years between Exodus 20, and Deuteronomy 6, he has had time to think about the law God has given him, and how it will apply in the Israelites' context. The commandments are more-or-less the same, but minor variations (c.f. laws on Sabbath and coveting) imply a contextualisation for people about to enter the Land.

That is, the preached Word of God, is the Word of God, and, 'if anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God.' (1 Peter 4:11)


That is, one encounters Yahweh by listening, hearing, obeying his Word.

Tags: God, love, Fatherhood, Micah

I know that, as the father, I'm supposed to be the role model for Micah, and the one from whom he's supposed to learn lots about the world.

But at various times, I've been struck by the realisation that I too need to learn from Micah. I guess I should make some pithy statement about us all being pilgrims through life.

I guess I'm not particularly good at loving people. None of my grandparents were particularly close to me; so when I grew up, I loved mum, and dad, and my brother, and that was it. I liked my other relatives, but I was never really close enough to them to love them. The relationship I have with my family is not especially tight. There is affection, but not a tight affiliation.

And even now, as an adult, I love infrequently. I love Sarah, my wife, and I love Micah, my son, and there is not much else in the same realm of affection. So I get jealous easily, even though I know the extent and the genuineness of my wife's love. That she talks weekly with her mum is something I struggle to understand, and I can be jealous of that time.

As I watch Micah, however, I realise that, untainted by my own brokenness, he loves openly, and with abandon. He loves the company of my parents, and my parents-in-law. Indeed, he probably loves them, inasmuch as a 2-year-old can love.

At first that sort of reaction generated some form of jealousy to me: after all he is MY son, and I still want him to love me best.

But Micah doesn't have a limited supply of love. He is able to love his grandparents, and his uncles and aunts, and still have more than enough love left over for his mother and father.

I start to catch a glimpse, then, of the height and breadth and width of God's love, that can extend to all of humanity, and yet still love me especially, and individually and personally.

When you're leading a group, it starts to be really obvious who isn't turning up. Especially when you have a small group, and the dynamics can teeter from week to week, you notice that so-and-so hasn't turned up for 3 weeks, or that whats-his-face is always absent when there's an assignment due.

The day before can be a nervous one, as you wait for the apologies to flood in via SMS.

I found, when I was leading a group, I spent far more time obsessing about the people who weren't turning up, who I needed to chase, and who all need a big dose of stick-ability and a lesson in faithfulness; than in worrying about the faithful few who did turn up, week in and week out. At times, it would be me and the co-leaders, and we would look at each other, and grumble.

It only occurred to me in retrospect, that instead of worrying about the people who weren't there, I should worry about the people who were there.

Even though it might only have been me and the co-leaders, we could have had a good time of fellowshipping and sharing and learning God's word together.

So, worry about the people who turn up, not the people who aren't there.

This article has been causing a vertiable storm in the online community: Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.

Amy Chua draws a big distinction between a stereotypical Western parenting style with an archetype of Chinese parenting.

Points of difference highlighted in the article:
* Chinese correlate academic achievement with successful parenting.
* Westerners thing that learning needs to be fun.
* Westerners: its about participation.
* Chinese, it's about excellence.
* Westerners: an emphasis on self-esteem, and protecting their children's psyche.
* Chinese: assume strength and resilience from their children.
* Chinese have high standards because they believe their children are capable of high standards.
* Westerners: feel they owe "it" to their children
* Chinese: feel their children owe 'it' to their parents.
* Chinese invest a lot more energy and emotion and time in propelling their children.
* Westerners encourage individuality and personal choices.
* Chinese parents make educated choices for their children and prepare them for the future.