Author: Sunroot Liu

creep

from love is a watched pot that never boils

creep
in a shadowy
dorm room

my lips meet teeth
because she smiles
when I kiss her

or, at least,
that’s how I picture it

her, smiling
with her hand on my chest
as I press

the skin of her palm
casts soft ripples
of lightning through my skin

then I find myself swimming
again
and again
in the rhythm of her hips and I
feel as though I’ve drowned,

but I’ve drowned
in solid air,
there is life in the sound of her footsteps,
little pockets of air,
found in the violence
of her swaying hair

the weight
of her shoulder
on my chest, the scent
on her nape would’ve be enough
without diamond eyes
cutting me to ribbons

but now, those eyes are gaping open.
mine are still closed,

when she pushes me back,
her smiling mouth is gone
and she’s
speaking,
shouting,
protesting,

my hands are stretched out,
not holding her,
not helping,
not calming her down.

Simon Peter and My Mom Would Get Along: The Christian Duty of Nagging

Usually, I’m ashamed to tell people that I still live with my mom. There’s something infantilizing about living in the house you grew up in, where your baby pictures still hang in dusty frames on the wall. I could excuse myself with lots of reasons why I’m still on 59th ave., but let’s be honest, if I were making more money or if I stopped going to so many fights (Golovkin v. Lemieux is going to be great), I probably would have made the move already. I like living by myself. I miss it.

Anyhow, despite living with Mama Liu (sharing a wall with her, in fact), I don’t see her all that much. In a given week, I might sit down with her for one or two meals. During this meal, mom gets the chance to exercise her favorite activity with me: telling me stuff I already know. Boy, does my mom love telling me stuff that I already know. It’s gotta be one of her favorite things in the world. It’s right up there with seafood and complaining about my dad. Some may call it parenting, I’m going to call it 罗嗦.

Mama Liu has a couple of common reminders for me too. Save your money. Go earn some more money. Don’t come home so late. Stop wasting your time . Do well in school (seminary, now). Don’t break ladies’ hearts. Don’t let ladies break your heart. Use an umbrella. Wear a coat. Stop cutting your own hair. Eat more fruit. Also, vitamins.

In 2 Peter (or Segundo Pedro, as I call it), the apostle/badass Pedro does the same. He is explicit about his nagging “So I will always remind you of these things, even though you know them and are firmly established in the truth you now have” (2 Peter 1:12). Segundo Pedro is all about reminding the church in Asia Minor of the fundamental tenets of the faith. Jesus Christ died for the salvation of sinners, in accordance with prophecy, as confirmed by eyewitnesses. And, He’s coming back. Apparently, in Peter’s day, there were lots of people saying other things, teaching other doctrines, and taking advantage of vulnerable church-goers. Peter is reminding everyone of the truth, so that when non-truths present themselves, people can defend themselves.

To this end, Peter beats a dead horse. He essentially tells his audience that he will remind them of these same things until he dies. The more I study this letter, the more I see that he is not concerned with the presentation of this gospel, but the reinforcement of a truth that should already be known. Peter, like my mommy, is trying to drill home simple truths. False teachers may conjure some “cleverly devised myths” and have sexy new spins that appeal to the people of the time, but the truth cannot be shaken by a trifling fad. Peter remains diligent to his message. It’s not new, and it shouldn’t have to be.

Every week, I try to drive the same message home. Jesus comes alongside us, pays for our debts. Jesus is a god worth following. I’m tempted to come up with fun new ways to say it, or give in the positivity of the prosperity gospel, or entice my friends with a sexy socially conscious gospel, or assuage the binary nature of the kingdom with a calming pluralism. Peter reminds me to keep it honest, keep it simple. Much like a good story, a good truth deserves to be told. Even when it isn’t the first time.

TBE: Will Floyd’s Retirement Save Boxing and Doom Boxers?

May 2nd

Do you remember where you were on May 2nd? I was in Philadelphia, standing awkwardly in the apartment of an MMA trainer and his friends, of whom I was not one. After running around the city desperately, attempting to bribe waitresses and altogether failing miserably, we finally found a place to watch the fight. Five years too late, Floyd Mayweather Jr. fought Manny Pacquiao in front of a sold-out MGM Grand arena and a record shattering millions of viewers on Pay-Per-View.

To the general public, this fight was a colossal flop. It seemed like the public paid Floyd over a quarter-billion dollars to make fools out of them and a certain Filipino south-paw. But that may be because for most of the world, it was their first time watching Floyd. For those familiar, we saw Floyd do what he always did; box We saw a defensive genius put on a clinic for one of the highest-paced, creative punchers in history.

Had to resist posting memes about Floyd running away.

The only problem, this wasn’t the fight people wanted to see. People want to see hard punching blood-baths, like they see in Rocky movies. Floyd was instantly villified as a coward. Defense and winning on the scorecards isn’t the way boxing should be. America punished him by not watching his last fight against Andre Berto, restricting his purse to a lowly eight figures and keeping his career earnings short of the billion dollar mark. Womp Womp.

In one year, the world saw two of Floyd’s biggest criticisms, his style and his choice in opponents. Now that boxing is heading into a post-Floyd era, how will it respond?

Boxing Without Floyd

Style

Floyd’s departure creates a vacuum and the question rises, who will be the next big fighter? Will Manny make a return to the top after rehabbing his “injured” shoulder? What about Danny ‘Swift’ Garcia, undefeated six-toed welterweight from Philly? Adrien Broner, successor to Floyd’s most-hated-boxer title? What about Deontay Wilder, the first American heavy weight in a long time? (The answer to all of those is no. Danny cherry picks opponents. AB isn’t actually good enough. Deontay will never beat Klitschko).

Those gloves and shorts were white when the fight began.

The darling of the boxing world is the same fighter I’m going to watch this weekend: Gennady Gennadyevich Golovkin. Triple G is a hard punching Kazakh middleweight with the disposition that the public is looking for, he’s a fighter. He’s here to put on a “big drama show,” and he continually reminds us that he is not here to dance, he is not here to play a game, but he’s here to fight. And the stats back it up. He has a knockout percentage of 90.9%, the highest in the history of his weight division, KO-ing 30 of his 33 professional opponents.

This weekend GGG fights David Lemieux, another hard puncher with a KO percentage of 89%. The fight is sure to be an exciting one and universally predicted to be a short one, ending with one of these men on the floor.

Parity

Premier Boxing Championship is promoter Al Haymon’s Quixotic attempt to bring boxing back into the forefront of network television and the public eye. PBC is trying to circumvent the political nature of setting up fights by having a stronger political party internally. Having enough good fighters under Haymon and PBC means that the world gets a steady stream of quality competition and good fights.

In addition, one of Floyd’s old nemeses, Oscar De la Hoya, founder of Golden Boy promotions, has also taken on a policy of putting together the best fights with the best fighters. De la Hoya believes that taking on the most exciting fight should also be the most professionally beneficial. His idea is simple: the best fighters should fight the best fighters.

I’ve been the beneficiary of many such great fights this year. Not the least of which was Matthysse v. Provodnikov, a veritable war between two warriors. So what’s the problem with that? What’s wrong with more exciting fight styles? What’s wrong with more exciting match-ups? Well, nothing… if you’re the fan, or the press, or the promoters.

So what?

It does, however, take it’s toll on the fighters. In a way, this attitude preys on the inherent machismo of fighters and uses them to create the most glorious spectacles. After his loss to Matthysse, Provodnikov instagrammed a photo of his urine, which was almost black with blood. In Matthysse’s most recent loss to Viktor Postol, he quit after being temporarily blinded. Gabriel Rosado, pictured above with GGG lost that fight due to a broken orbital bone and a lacerated pupil. All three of the fighters mentioned above (Matthysse, Provodnikov, Rosado) entered into great fights and fought with great courage, but their health is jeopardized with injuries and their careers will suffer due to the losses.

That’s not Coca Cola in that cup.

Fighting is dangerous, and there is something glorious about marching into war without consideration of the consequences. It’s glorious to wage war, to stand and to fight, to exchange fists until one man’s will bends. This is the nature of fighting; as well it should be. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and yet Floyd showed us that it could be done differently.

You may call him selfish, vain, arrogant or a number of things, but by fighting his defensive style, by building his undefeated win streak, he drew record purses and amassed one of the greatest fortunes that an athlete has ever seen. Floyd did what was best for himself, and in doing so, he protected his face, his mind, and his wallet. He also inadvertently paved the way for other fighters to try to do the same. Why should a fighter have to retire in poverty, or live the rest of his life with debilitating injuries? Why should a fighter have to be pummeled in order to prove himself? Is there still honor in being used by unappreciative masses for a short time then tossed aside?

Concluding Thoughts

I think that boxing’s attitude’s will shift; they always have. And these questions are not unique to combat sports. You could easily ask these questions about football players, who get even less recognition and compensation. How much can we ask for from our gladiators? And what can we give them to make it worth their sacrifice?

My gut instincts are no good. I want it all from our warriors. I want them to lay it all out, on the field or in the ring. I want them to fight through injuries and absorb great costs for honor and competition. I want these things because they move me, inspire me, humble me.

I love Floyd Mayweather Jr. as a boxer, but I’m also glad that boxing is moving in a different direction. Democratization with PBC fights. Better competition with guys like Oscar De la Hoya leading the charge. Champions like Golovkin that kill or be killed. I don’t want them to hold back and I can’t make it up to them for what they give to us fans. What I will do is watch. Maybe the best I can do to honor them is bear witness to them, share those brief fleeting moments where they do what makes them great.

newton

from love is a watched pot that never boils

newton

I know this may never find it’s way to you,
whatever this is.
a letter,
a poem,
a half dream made in a delirium.

however improbable–
I hope it does.
pray that some august evening
finds you with this,
whatever this is

it’s words will reveal my sigh
how you strike me mute
and how my brow softens,
my hands,
resigned,
throw themselves with sudden gravity
down to my side, and I look your way
with all the fondness
my frail heart can forage.

my eyes,
they struggle in vain
toward you.
and yearn
to tell you of how,
I want badly to kiss you.
my thumb’s palm to stroke
the milky smooth film
of your cheek,
and your skin that looks
to feel like
what skin feels like
after being caught in a sunny rainstorm,
midday in june.

I want to hold you by the small of your back
in a silhouette
with williamsburg behind us
and void alone ahead.

your coat envelops your supple frame
and beneath a sleeve your slender hands hide.
cloth stretches down to the creases
of long fingers and you lay them,
onto the skin of my forearm,
my hand placed on your waist and
my lips below your earlobe.

but you’re no longer
looking at me
and the hollows of your eyes
cast shadows ad infinitum
your face is turned from mine

there in my arms,
on rain drenched streets in brooklyn
you are with me,
but alone.
and I,
I’m the same as the others.

08.07 I am the boatman

from on stage, the plague

08.07 I am the boatman
I will get you across
this cold accursed river

I will row
and you can rest
you’ve paid your toll
you done your best

close your eyes
and lie down in this old wooden boat
let the waves rock you to sleep
and allow the moans
of dead
to serenade your eyelids
down into a deep
deep slumber

let your tears fall
to the river of tears
and let your sorrows
drown in the murky liquid
beneath our feet
never to return

on the other side,
it is greener,
I promise,
I’ve seen it

it’s full of lights
and the lights never dim,
waver,
or break
the warmth will fill you
even before you reach the shore,
but you must endure this
boat,
and this boatman

Traveling Notes

The sun also rises in Madrid

I’m sitting in the cafe of the communal area at the Generator Hostel in Dublin. It is trendy and loud here, with many excitable young people. Since it is raining outside, I decided to get some work done, including this post, which will serve as a journal of sorts. I’m typing up some notes that I have been taking during my trip, or as I call it, SR’s Tour Through Three Neutral States and An Axis Power.

Don’t get too excited, there is only about a page and a half of notes in my pocket moleskine and the photos that you see on my IG/FB are pretty much the only ones I have taken. If you are expecting a voluminous photo album and a mountain of poems about Milanese supermodels, you will be disappointed (like I was). If you’re curious about stories, I have some, but not many. I’d love to share, although I don’t know how interesting they will be. Most of this journey has been a personal one. In fact, I have barely read or written during my time abroad. I spend my days walking through the cities, reading signs to myself in a stereotyped accent of whatever country I happen to be in (with the exception of Italy, where I drove around, hyperventilating and swearing at truck drivers). Altogether, this trip has been restful and nice.

Madrid, Spain
Of all of the cities I stayed in, I felt most comfortable in Madrid. This is probably because out of the three countries where I didn’t speak the language, I understood the most Spanish. The Metro system was clean and new and easy to use. The food was excellent. The graffiti game in Madrid is nothing to mess with–the strongest I’ve seen during the trip. I walked the streets thinking about Hemingway. Madrid is also the city I’m most likely to come back to. Between bullfights and tomato-wars, me and Spain have a lot of unfinished business.

Como, Italy
This town is all villa-lined cliffs and breath-taking views of the lake. I spent a good amount of my visit screaming in my Fiat-500 on their narrow, break-neck roads, climbing hills and apologizing to faster Audis. But, when I wasn’t doing that, I was enjoying the natural beauty of this lake-bound town. Beautiful place, terrifying to drive in.

Locarno, Switzerland
Deciding to drive instead of taking the train both blew up and paid off on the way to Locarno. For the second time on my trip, I was stopped and inspected by border officials. This time, they examined everything in my car and in my bags. They even swabbed my hands and had a dog sniff me out for drugs and paraphernalia. They were very confused, as people often are, when they found a copy of my itinerary.

On the other hand, having a car meant that I had the great pleasure of driving in the Alps, including slaloming through a series of switchbacks so fast, my brother would blush. Locarno itself was quaint and charming, albeit pricey. I had the benefit of the Locarno International Film Festival taking place in my backyard and watching a movie outside with thousands of movie fans was surreal. Lake Maggiore is fantastic. Go to there if you get a chance.

Venice, Italy
Venice is a strange, mysterious place, so obviously, I loved it. Despite the droves of turisticos, there are empty alleyways and side streets to get lost in as well as many spots for you to dip your tired feet in the canals. I chanced upon a small paperie on a random corner that was only open for a half hour window before the old Italian shop-owner kicked me out. I had no idea where I was at any and all given times in that city, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Milan, Italy
My first interaction with Milan was the metro, which reminded me of 90’s era NYC with loud, screeching, metal, deathtrap train-cars. Nevertheless, the city was beautiful, with no shortage of fashionable people and expensive stores. Along with Madrid, the architecture in Milan really forced me to look at it. The Duomo wass imposing and majestic. The fact that it was a magnet for tourists made it the only time during the trip I consistently saw people with my skin color.

Dublin, Ireland
The city feels homey and familiar. Between the weather and the old buildings, I have the sense that I’m in New England in the fall. There’s a palpable sense of history in the streets and a great many of my favorite authors have their roots on this island. I’m back to speaking the king’s so everything is easy and comfortable. I’m embarrassed by sobriety and I should like to have another go at this town with some unscrupulous company.

If it seems like I haven’t visited or done the right things in these cities, you’re probably right. If you want the details on all the good stuff, you can come visit yourself. I was on a mission, I was looking for an answer. During a nap in Spain, I find out what my question was and on my drive to Locarno, I found the answer. Well, it was more of a non-answer, but I had a feeling God was going to give me one of those. In any case, I feel like I accomplished what I came out here to do.

Now, if you don’t mind me, I’m going to go and blow the rest of my euro’s. I’m looking forward to seeing the folks in LA (for about 12 hours), watching Ted at his new gig and helping Greg on a mission of some kind. It will be nice to be back stateside (in a proper Allied power), enjoying freedom and drinking drip coffee.

in dreams begin responsibilities

“in dreams begins responsibility” – W.B. Yeats (it was Delmore Shwartz that later re-worded it.)

Next week, I’m going traveling through Europe. My usual travel plans usually around driving across America, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I will be backpacking through Madrid, Milan, Locarno and Dublin. It’s essentially because of a Murakami book that misquotes a century old Irishman.

“in dreams begin responsibilities”

I write this on all of my notebooks. There’s a good chance I’m going to tattoo it on my chest. You see, I believe that we have a responsibility to our imaginations, particularly our dreams. Two weeks ago, I dreamt that I was crossing on a bridge in the clouds from Italy into Switzerland. On this bridge in the clouds, I was told the answers to my questions. What are these questions? I don’t know right now.

The trip will take me into three countries where I don’t know the language. It will cost me over $2,000, eat up what little vacation I have and I’ll be traveling alone and abroad when I could be spending time with my family. I had two weeks notice to plan to this trip and since my job situation is in flux and my church stuff is in transition, this trip is imprudent, untimely and unwise.

Nevertheless, it is important for me to go. I was scared. I felt like the stakes were high this time and I was at a crossroads about the kind of person I would become. I want to believe in license—in our ability to shape our destinies with sheer volition. I don’t know if I’ll find what I’m looking for. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but as long as the dreams keep coming, I’m going to keep looking.

Rainbow Note

No one asked me for my opinion on the matter, but like many people who have no business speaking publicly, I am now going to share it.

I have a lot of impressions about this week’s ruling to legalize same-sex marriage, and you can feel free to ask me about them, but I wanted to share something with my Christian brothers and sisters out there.

For a lot of people, this decision is joyous and validating. It can be an affirmation for someone who has been marginalized, oppressed and discriminated against for their entire life. I don’t know if I can begin to appreciate what this week has meant for people who have been made to feel like second-class citizens in this country. For the relief, acceptance and affirmation that people I love have finally experienced this week, I am thankful. I don’t endorse or support the decision because I have a responsibility to uphold the standards that my God has called me to, but I can appreciate what it means for some people I care for very much.

That being said, I do agree with some panicked Christians who say that the persecution will increase for us when we speak up for what we believe in. It will be harder and harder to have a biblical perspective, not only on this issue, but many moral issues. A shift is coming. Slowly, or quickly, Christians will become the ones who are marginalized, muted and mistreated. The hard times are coming our way, and it’s going to be a rough ride.

My thought is this: Good. Maybe it’s weird that I think it’s good that the stones will be cast in the opposite direction now, but I’d rather that we, as Christians, take the heat. Let the trials come our way. We can take it.

I’m not saying that I’m trying to protect anyone, or save anyone. I’m not saying that anyone needed protecting or saving. I’m just saying that even though my stance on the matter doesn’t change, it doesn’t mean that I can’t be gracious. Make no mistake, this decision will come at great cost to the religious in this country. I just think that maybe we should be happy and willing to pay it.

Our hope is in a good God, one that I believe will give us the poise, grace and strength to endure the fire. If it means that a group of people don’t have to endure the vitriol of the general public, then let the first stones be cast upon us. Let us lay down some of our own rights and take the lumps. It just feels like something our boss would do.

Notes From the Cutting Room Floor: Nehemiah, Artaxerxes and Aristotelian Persuasion

In preparing this past week’s sermon, I got lost in a rabbit-hole. For a variety of reasons, it didn’t make it’s way to the pulpit. This happens often, so I hope to take advantage of my blog as an outlet for my other thoughts.

Faith By Any Other Name…
Between Nehemiah 1 and 2, a great deal transpires without us noticing. Approximately four months pass by without any apparent action or fanfare. However, when Nehemiah is questioned by King Artaxerxes concerning his request, we see that Nehemiah had not only been praying for the restoration of Jerusalem, he had been preparing. We discover that the quality of Nehemiah’s faith in God could be measuring the preparation he made in anticipation of God’s provision.

This made me want to research Faith and how it manifests. When you look in Hebrews 11, the Faith Hall of Fame, you see all of the men who trusted God, and acted as if God would make good His divine promises (Spoiler Alert: He does.). The word for Faith in Hebrews 11 is the greek word Pistis (πίστις). While we understand faith to be a warm, fuzzy feeling of belief and comfort, the classically trained Greek reader would have understood it differently. Pistis could also be called proofs.

One of my favorite songs is Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus. The chorus goes “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him, How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er.” It is true that the men (and Rahab) in Hebrews 11 have faith in the sense that they trusted in God. They also showed faith by putting themselves in a position for God to prove Himself. Pistis becomes a mechanism to convince an audience of the veracity of an argument. Aristotle calls the evidential Pistis atechnic persuasion, or inartistic persuasion. It is one of two forms of persuasion. The other is entechnic persuasion, which many might have learned in school as the Rhetorical Pyramid.

Nehemiah: The Smooth Talking Judean
The three forms of entechnic persuasion are Ethos (character), Pathos (emotion), Logos (logic). We see Nehemiah employ all three forms when speaking to Artaxerxes. Aristotle doesn’t even exist when Nehemiah is making his pleas, but maybe Calvin was onto something when he talks about Common Grace.

Ethos -ἦθος – Character
Ethos is to persuade through the character of the speaker or author. We already know that Nehemiah is a trustworthy servant of Artaxerxes, but we see the quality of his character when it’s revealed to us that Nehemiah has never been sad in the king’s presence before (v.1). Nehemiah also continues to reaffirm his loyalty to the king (v.3). His character gives him a platform to speak to the king.

Pathos -πάθος – Emotion
Nehemiah speaks through his emotion (vv.1-2). His “sadness of heart” gave the king reason to believe that the plight of Jerusalem was a personal one to Nehemiah. A result of the King’s favor on Nehemiah (v.5) is his willingness to aid Nehemiah to restore the walls of his hometown.

Logos -λόγος – Logic
Nehemiah’s internal preparation has supplied all of the the necessary logistics for his request (vv.7-8). He is able to provide the king with a precise list of his requirements as well a time frame for the mission. You could also argue that having a stronger Israel could also provide a military buffer between the Persian capital and the rising threat of Egypt. (Howard Vos. Bible Study Commentary: Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther)

In Any Case
Nehemiah’s plea, fueled and empowered by his prayer, is enough to turn Artaxerxes from his aversion to rebuilding Jerusalem (see: Ezra 4). What is most amazing about this exchange is Nehemiah’s ability to use the entechnic forms of persuasion to inspire faith in Artaxerxes. In some ways, Nehemiah is able to share his faith, and in a way, he instills pistis, faith, in a pagan Persian king too.

Chicken Run

Today, I had some time to walk around my old old stomping grounds. I went for a brief stroll around my old home on Fort Greene Place. That’s right, Brooklyn Tech, home of the Engineers (and Enginettes, yes, Enginettes) located in the heart of Downtown Brooklyn. I was intrigued to see all of the different businesses that have sprung up on that long walk from DeKalb station. There are trendy new stores, gourmet burger joints, and fancy places for my alma mater to blow their disposable income. Even the corner bodegas were shiny and new.

I was on my lunch break, and I went looking for my old favorite haunt. You Techies know what I’m talking about. Kennedy Fried Chicken, a.k.a Crown Fried Chicken, a.k.a. cute-brunch-place-for-middle-class-white-people?!

That’s right, everyone. A moment of silence for the establishment formerly known as Kennedy’s.

I remember discovering my love for cheap vinegar based hot sauce in that place. We would get 4 wings, or sometimes 10, then would douse them with that sweet biting hot sauce (usually 1 packet per wing). We’d shake the box up and eat for the whole train ride. It was our go-to and now it’s another victim to the rebirth of Brooklyn.

R.I.P. Kennedy Fried Chicken. Long live Gentri-fried Chicken.

I get distracted. This isn’t a rant about gentrification (besides, I’m not sure how much I mind a brunch place if it means that less Techies witness/receive beatings, robbings, or stabbings). This is a reflection on home. You see, I walked those Brooklyn Tech hallways and climbed those stairs (oh lawd, the stairs) almost ten years ago. This is my first time back since then and so many things have changed that I hardly recognize it anymore.

Long before those awkward high school days, I started going to my church on 165th st., on the outskirts of Flushing. This year is our 30 year anniversary and I realize that I have been with this church for almost 20 of those years. After all these year, the QTEC of today is the healthiest I’ve ever seen it, and it’s more exciting than I can ever remember it being. People are growing in their faith, learning to trust the God that I love. The church was in a bad way when I started coming at the start of this year, but the people are perseverant and their God is faithful.

If you’ve been around me lately, you know that this time of peace has got me a little bit restless. I’ve been wondering a lot about my future. After taking some steps to pursue my God, even down the rabbithole of seminary and full-time ministry, I’m curious about where to go next. With the hiring of a new full-time pastor at QTEC, I’m forced to think about if or how I fit into the future of this church. Will I end up serving here in my hometown, or will I go off elsewhere?

These thoughts swirl through my head as I walk through Brooklyn in search of dirty fried chicken.

Later, I walked past a couple of guys without shoes, sitting on the floor on the corner of Fulton and Flatbush. I kept going like I always do. Then, like I always do, I stopped to think for a moment. Then I turned around and approach the guys. The interaction kind of went like this.

Me: “Hey guys, you guys eat lunch yet?”
Guy 2: “No”
Me: “Can I buy you guys lunch?”
Guy 2: “Yea, of course. We’ll take it.”
Guy 1: “We’re here on a mission for Christ.”
Me: “Oh dude! I’m buying you guys lunch on behalf of Jesus!”
Guy 1: “Praise God!”
Me: “What’s up, brothers!”

I went around giving handshakes and dap, and I realized they’re all holding bibles open as they sit on the pavement. Before I head to a restaurant around the corner to pick up some lunch, they insisted that I sit with them for a little bit, and I told them that I was about to ask them the same thing!

When I brought the food back, Guy 1 introduced himself as “I Cry.” He said he is a prophet from God and the two other guys with him are his disciples. I told him my name and he stumbled with it a bit before he got it. Then he extended his hand and held mine as he prayed for the food and prayed for me. I was blessed by his prayer, I still am. It was a good one.

I Cry told me that he knew that I’m used to sharing the Word, but he’s going to try to bless me today, so I can just eat and listen. I’m stoked at this point, and I shut my trap and complied. I Cry began to take me on a journey through the first five Psalms as I sat on the concrete sidewalk on in Downtown Brooklyn with my bible open. The fried chicken I got wasn’t any good, but my brother I Cry is feeding me with some good old fashioned Word.

He might have started in Psalms but he kept going back to 1 Corinthians 3. In fact, the first thing he asked me when I sat down was “Do you not know that you are a temple for the Lord?” I nodded, and I didn’t talk about being made in God’s image–a topic I’ve been reading up on for the past few days.

1 Corinthians was the focus when I asked him about his mission–about why he’s out here. He talked about the church being beyond a building. People need the physical church building when they start out, but when they are ready for the solid food, they go out on a pilgrimage. Too many people rely on the comfort and protection of a physical building. They don’t know what it’s like to venture out. I Cry has been out on the streets for five years now, experiencing the provision and blessings of God beyond convention and safety.

In my mind, I was processing. I filtered out some of the random crazy talk, listened to him with an open mind, and focused when he quoted the Word. The Word is good, whoever the vessel and I’m catching a hint from God. Ministry isn’t about serving at a certain building, it’s about serving at the footstool of God. Obey Him, even if it takes you on a pilgrimage, even if you have to leave everything behind. I Cry quotes the parable of the rich young ruler, and I think I’m catching the hint.

As I sat, I thought of yesterday, when I was driving home with a seminary classmate and we were talking about a decision he made. In order to focus on seminary full-time, he had recently quit his day job. He is a good student and a diligent seminarian so it wasn’t a shock but I was curious about this step, given his circumstances.

He’s taking a step of faith, trusting God to provide for him, whether for this ATS tuition or his upcoming wedding. I appreciate and admire the courage it takes for him to do this, and I’m proud to know him and have him as a friend. I’m also encouraged to know that our God is faithful to my brother, even now, giving him a chance to leave his old company on good terms and share his testimony.

Eventually, I have to go (lunch breaks don’t last forever). I shook the hands of I Cry and his disciples and left with his blessing. I was mulling this conversation over in my head and wondering what God was getting at when I check my phone. I saw that I’ve been CC’ed in an email. A friend of mine has sent my resume to her pastor in regards to a Youth Pastor position.

Maybe these are coincidences and I shouldn’t be guessing at God’s plans. Or maybe God is beating me over the head with evidence.