Dear Eugene

Dear Eugene, The Bible...like, how do we even read this thing? How I wish the church would be honest enough to ask this question out loud, because then at least there is an awareness to seek a way out. A river brings joy to the city of our God,      the sacred home of the Most High. 5  God dwells in that city; it cannot be destroyed.         From the very break of day, God will protect it. From the very break of day , our life tells of a story unbiblical, often anti-Gospel, frequently downright Jesus-hating.  River, joy , city , home , none of these word resonates in our head, for our heart is full of a gigantic Nothing and all day long we struggle to find a way to do Something to and about this Nothing.  Sometimes we would throw out-of-context Bible verses into the gigantic Nothing and wish the wishing-well won't eat our coin and leave us a penny less. I've never led worship at church, and if I ever get a ch...

Dear Eugene, Last night I took the ferry and then hopped on a bus that I knew only the general direction it was going.  I heard street name being called out one stop after another, none of them I knew, going through deep darkness, living fully at the mercy of others. Streaks of rain rolled down the window, further marring my haze-glazed view.  I saw a church and liked how it looked, even if only a fine distortion.  There's a quaint street-side café that I promised myself I will visit one day (though forgot its name right away).  I changed seat half-way to get a different perspective, one at a darker back corner; artificial light tends to dispel mystery. After about an hour of persistent reminder of the stranger that I was, I finally couldn't resist and used Google map to locate myself.  Maybe this time I have gone too far... Yesterday morning a lady told me about her experience serving the poor: We learned how to depend on each others--we need t...

Everybody I talk to is ready to leave  With the light of the morning  They've seen the end coming down  Long enough to believe  That they've heard their last warning  Standing alone  Each has his own ticket in his hand  And as the evening descends  I sit thinking 'bout Everyman   Dear Eugene, Last night I had a long and beautiful talk with a friend about poverty, the poverty of everyman. How our heart are ultimately barren, always thirsty.  Eat but not be satisfied --is there a picture sadder than this? "The Gospel of Jesus Christ tells us that in God's economy, the overflow of riches happens where the need is greatest; where human dignity is most obscured, grace blazes out in excessive and extravagant ways to remedy the balance." We sat there talking about ourselves, thinking about Everyman. Yours, Alex