Cleanin' House

I cringe at who I am. Or, rather, who I was.

Sometimes. Okay, more than sometimes. But not all the time.

If someone were to ask me, "David, how have you seen God at work in your life?" Knowing me, I might fumble in my thoughts for a few seconds to try to come up with some deep, theological 'Look-at-me-I'm-holy' answer. But really, what would be the best answer? I mean, how have I seen God working in my life? Because, really, if I'm pretty much at the same place I was nine years ago or, maybe, even worse off than I was nine years ago as a person, you gotta start questioning whether there's really anything to all this, or if it's really, to borrow from the IU Secular Alliance's terminology, 'Wishful thinking.'

That really burns me, by the way.

So, what would be the best answer to all this? How has God been working in my life?

Back up. Has God been working in my life?

Yes.

Okay. How?

I guess this is one of those of those rare moments when it might be helpful to be a reality TV star. Because my answer would simply be, "Look at who I was, and look at who I'm becoming."

NOT, "Look at who I am." I mean, the way I've really looked at it, and it's really helped my understanding of my sanctification, which really, is just another Christian-y term for growing closer to Christ's character. The way I look at it is kind of like a monkey in a house.

What?

Yeah, a monkey in a house. Let's say you have a chimpanzee, and he's let loose in your house. He's left alone to his own devices for, let's say a month. If you were to come into the house and look around after a month, what would you find? Well, a mess. Shattered mirrors, overturned furniture, feces everywhere, it would be a pit. Well, say you kick the chimp out and the master of the house returns. Does that fix all the problems? Not at all. Everything's still in shambles. But little by little, bit by bit, the house is restored to the way it was supposed to be. It's a mess, still, but at least the monkey's not in control anymore. Sometimes you'll open a door and find that the mess goes far deeper and is spread much further than you thought. But the house is never going to be dirtier than the first moment after the monkey's been ditched.

Replace monkey with Satan. Replace the house with yourself. Or your life.

And the master of the house?

He's God.

So what about me? What about David Hsieh? Well, I'm still very much a wrecked home. A wrecked home with a nicely mowed yard and some pretty trees out front, I suppose. I grew up in a pretty wealthy socioeconomic background. I've never had any material needs unmet. I don't have any sort of criminal history, not even so much as a speeding ticket. I had the chance to attend one of the best K-12 education programs in the country, and now I'm at college. I'm a Christian. I have been for 9 years, goin' on 10, as of December 17th of this year. I have tremendous community in my life, people who support me and encourage me, who are ready to call me out when I need to be called out. I'm a Bible study leader, and oftentimes my favorite day of the week is Tuesdays when we get to mutually encourage and challenge each other toward a greater understanding and reflection of God. I'm heading up Men's Ministry with Cru at IU, a position I certainly didn't expect at the beginning of the year, and I'm excited about the plans we have for the guys here. I think we're going to do a lot of new things, ambitious things, but if God enters into with us, I think some real good happen here. I've been given the chance to disciple two solid, Christ-centered guys with a real passion for growth, accountability, and evangelism. A pretty nicely mowed yard. A front porch with a swing. A two-car garage with a red bike hanging out on the driveway.

But open the front door, step through the threshold and what do you see? Maybe some semblance of order, but certainly not what should be expected from all outside appearances. Muddy shoes, perhaps, lying on the carpet, a few lightbulbs burnt out. The fire in the hearth isn't really a fire, but one of those fake TV screen fires that you see. The dog hasn't been washed in a while. My problems with discipline are well-documented. Any given afternoon, you might find me on facebook or watching TV. Maybe playing video games. Any given night at 12:30am, you'll find doing homework. Studying. I'm a man with problems in consistency. One week, God is the center. I'm finding time for him before all other things, seeking his will in my life and my day-to-day interactions. The next, I'm so bogged down in homework that I hardly a give a thought to him, except the time I spend preparing for Bible study. I miss classes for no good reason. (I slept too late is not a good reason when your first class of the day begins at 11:15am). I divide people into categories of "Worth my time," "not worth my time," and "definitely worth my time, but conversation would be awkward." Because of my lack of discipline, I wonder why I have no time to take of care of my body. There are cobwebs in the corners. The carpet is noticeably threadbare. The couches are missing their springs. More than a few lightbulbs are burnt out.

A few more steps and you realize the problems run deeper than you thought. The sink is full of dirty dishes. The toilet's stopped up (and has been for some time). Cockroaches and rats have established free reign over their dominion, while spiders keep the peace. The smell is almost overpowering. Sexual impurity is a constant problem. Some days it's worse than others, but it's never lurking far away. And despite my best efforts to stay alert, it's an opportunistic predator, always pouncing when I least expect it, savaging my heart with twin fangs of Shame and Disgrace. Sloth is its hunting partner, Boredom its faithful hound. I find myself righteous based on the works I do and the religious titles I can place on myself. "Bible Study Leader" tells me that men look up to me and hang on the words I speak. "Discipler" tells me that my lifestyle will make others admire me. "Went on Project" says that I have an undergone an experience that makes me holier than others and, therefore, my vision is clearer than theirs. "Christian" tells me that, on my own strength, I refuse to bow to the pressures of this world. My works make me holy. "Humble" says that I need not pay attention to pride. And pride whispers that I need not pay attention to sin. The ceiling is leaking. Pipes have burst. Though the refrigerator is tied shut, a pungent and none-too-pleasant odor has managed to escape, not so strong as to send you running from the house, but just insidious enough to make the visit extremely uncomfortable.

Only when you arrive in the basement does it become apparent how bad the problems are. termites have whittled the foundations to nothing. I don't trust God. I don't rest in his promises. I don't believe that he wants the best for me. I refuse to give up to him my classes, my career, my friends, my resentment, my future wife, my ministry.

My sin.

When he chooses to show me how in control he is (and how I am not), instead of standing in awe of his sovereignty, I pout and curse him. I sulk in self-gratifying self-pity. I shout and stomp and cry and shake my fist at the the Lord of the Universe, because I believe myself entitled. Because I find myself worthy.

The water is higher now. It's hard to breathe. The power has finally failed, the lightbulbs not even flickering anymore, as if the effort required to do even that was too painful to bear. The house is listing heavily to one side, tired of trying to stand up straight for the neighbors to see. The smudged windows burst like rotting fruit, and the house collapses in on itself, seemingly imploding from all directions.

And then stops. And there are sounds. Sounds of life.

In the basement. A single man is braced against the wall. As he strains against the weight, it looks like he's winning. The timbers, weakened and full of termites, have found new purpose. He pushes and the rough wood obeys.

In the basement. The man makes the trek from flooded cellar to the front yard, carrying buckets in each callused hand. Two at a time. Two at a time. Two at a time. Slowly the waters recede.

In the basement. The man lays thick beams of cedar on the drying floor. The crossbeams are fresh, still full of life. His carpenter's muscles pound thick iron nails into the wood and then move deftly to tie it together with thick, handwoven rope. The beams are raised into place against the water-stained concrete and the house groans in approval. They look strangely familiar.

He moves from room to room, his eyes measuring the most minute of details. Nothing escapes his steady gaze. A shattered window. A broken toilet. A cracked cabinet. A smudged table. A spilled drink. A threadbare carpet. Some doors are still closed. Behind some of them, a fairly clean room curiously untouched. Others, breeding grounds for pestilence. Over long years, he restores it to its intended glory. In some places, he scrapes away the grime and mold. In others, he applies a fresh coat of paint. In others, he tears down and rebuilds, tediously perfecting each wall, each door, each pillar, and every corner.

You see, he's not just repairing a house. He's restoring his home. And for this carpenter-king, the work won't be finished until this rotting shack is transformed into the temple-palace it was meant to be, with every surface and detail shining reverent praise to its maker. There may be many rooms yet unpure, and the work may yet continue for years (and most certainly will), the Master's craftsmanship and persevering spirit are unmistakable. This work will not go unfinished.

And that is the Gospel to me. That the rotting shack of my life quite fit for the demons and shames of my sinful nature would be restored to a palace fit for the King. That an object of wrath could be brought to a place of mercy. That a slave might become a son. There may yet be much work to do, and it seems every new day opens a new door of my life painfully needy for its restorer, but the work he started will not go unfinished.

Philippians 3:12-14, "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

Jesus, the Baby Commander-In-Chief

If you’re like me, sometimes you catch yourself rolling your eyes at the traditional Nativity scene, or the Christmas season in general. To me, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas right now. I remember when I was a little kid, I’d be bouncing off the walls with anticipation, and that year when my brother opened up the package to reveal the black box that would contain our purple-and-grey Super Nintendo was probably one of the happiest days of my life. No joke.

But today? Not feeling it. For whatever reason, whether it’s what you might call growing up, or if it’s because I’m still in finals mode and haven’t fully recovered yet, or if it’s the overwhelming disgustedness at the commercialization and materialism-ization of Christmas, or if it’s because our family didn’t even have our Christmas decorations up until yesterday–when I realized that nothing was up and put up our Christmas tree on my own…

…for whatever reason, I’m not feeling it this year. And this is usually my favorite time of year.

So I stopped.

And thought about what Christmas was really about.

Yes, it’s about treating one another well and cherishing time with family. Yes, it’s about reconnecting with old friends you haven’t seen in months (years, even). Yes, it’s about reminiscing, sharing food and drink, and laughing about things that happened years ago, as if they happened yesterday. And yes, it’s about Jesus. It’s about His birth and coming into this world that He made for us, and the salvation that He would buy for us 33 years later with His own body and blood.

But what else?

More than Jesus, you might ask? Preposterous!

No, Christmas isn’t about more than Jesus, but there definitely is more to Jesus. Anyone whose conception of the Christ-child is shaped solely by the plastic Caucasian, smiling babe marketed so effectively to families across America has such an unfortunately skewed (and small) view of Jesus.

Sometimes, I wish I could see the supernatural spiritual world around us, a world where angels and demons fight for the attention of mortal men, where the “Sword of the Spirit” is not just a conceptual, metaphorical thing, and where the houses of Middle America that we see around us are pitted with craters and holes, not from shells and bullets, but from the attacks of the Devil and his host. “Surely,” I think, “If I could see that, then it would lend an urgency to my spiritual life that is often missing.” But then I’m glad that I can’t see these things. Demons and the Devil are hard enough to fight, without having to look at them, too.

So why all this talk about spiritual warfare, demons, battlefields, and Satan himself? It’s Christmas, for goodness sake! Lighten up a little. Why? Let me tell you why. Because if you ever forget the reason for the season, just remember this:

Never in history has so much hung in the balance as that fateful night 2000 years ago (well, and the 33 years following). I would like to have seen the battle fought (and won) that night. Not even the mass murder of all the young boys born in the area could prevent Christ’s coming, and I would have like to have seen Satan’s face when every futile attempt and every concocted plan of his fell powerless before… an infant child.

Not any infant child, of course, but God Incarnate, the Commander of the Heavenly Armies (wow, that’s a cool title), and the Judge of the Living and the Dead. Not any infant child, but the One to whom all authority on Earth and Heaven has been given.

Because of Satan’s failure that night, and because of Christ’s overwhelming victory (both that night, and every night to follow,) in the face of constant and unflagging opposition, THAT baby, now a man, had rendered the Kingdom of Lies and Deceit to ruin. In 33 years, one fell swoop by eternity’s standards, the seemingly impervious cord known as sin that had so securely bound humanity and death together was severed.

2000 years ago, God began the final push towards victory. A victory that trumps all homework and exams, all finals, all materialism all lust, all sin, all broken relationships, and all the failures and disappoints of the past year. A victory that is now ours as well, and that, my friends, has gotten me into the Christmas spirit.

The Battle of Hastings. The Battle of Stirling Bridge. The Crossing of the Delaware. The Battle of Gettysburg. The Hundred Days’ Offensive. D-Day.

Christmas.

In Christ,
David