Independence from Collectivism and Collective Selfishness

Galatians 5:13 — “You have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.”

July 4, 1776, is one of the most beloved and honored dates in American history. For 250 years, this day has reminded Americans of the great values of independence, freedom, and self-government. These values have also reminded people around the world of the preciousness of liberty.

George Washington, who helped preserve and carry forward the meaning of independence, became the first president of the United States in 1789. But the meaning of Independence Day is greater than one person or one historical moment. It is more than a declaration of separation from British rule. It reminds us of a deeper truth: freedom is a gift, but it is also a responsibility.

American independence was not simply a rejection of Britain. The Founders inherited many ideas from British law, Christian moral teaching, and European political thought. But they also believed that King George III had violated the rights and dignity of the colonies. In the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson wrote these famous words: “We hold these truths to be self-evident.” He then declared that all people are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, and that government exists to secure those rights.

This vision became one of the cornerstones of American identity. The Declaration was not only about resistance. It was also about human dignity, God-given rights, equal opportunity, and responsible self-government.

The idea of equal opportunity challenged social structures based on bloodline, class, privilege, and inherited status. It created a new imagination in which people could work hard, develop their abilities, and use their gifts. This vision helped shape the American spirit and proclaimed to the world the importance of freedom and democracy.

But freedom can be misunderstood. Freedom is not simply the right to do whatever we want. Freedom is not selfish individualism. It is also not collective selfishness, where one group protects only its own power, privilege, or interest. True freedom requires moral responsibility.

The Bible teaches this clearly. Galatians 5:13 says, “For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another.”

This verse reminds us that freedom is not given for selfishness. Freedom is given for love. Freedom is given so that we may serve one another, protect the dignity of every person, and build a community shaped by justice, mercy, and humility.

Therefore, independence is not only freedom from external oppression. It is also freedom from prejudice, tribal thinking, ethnic selfishness, and collective self-interest. When people use politics, religion, race, class, or power to diminish the dignity of others, they damage the very meaning of freedom.

As history has shown, when a nation loses its understanding of human dignity, freedom, and responsibility, its moral foundation begins to weaken. A nation may become powerful outwardly, but inwardly it begins to decline.

As we commemorate the 250th anniversary of American independence, may we remember the values our ancestors planted and preserved. May we remember that all people are created in the image of God. May we use our freedom not for selfish ambition, but for loving service. And may we build a society marked by justice, opportunity, and a generous spirit of embrace.

True independence is not only freedom from tyranny.

True independence is freedom from selfishness, so that we may serve one another in love.

The Evidence That We Are God’s Children

Luke 15:21 “The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

Ephesians 5:1 “Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children.”

One day, I injured both of my thumbs and had to keep them wrapped in bandages for several days. It was difficult to study in my office or type on the computer. However, what troubled me most was getting dressed.

In particular, I could not wear a button-down shirt because I could not use either thumb. When I looked for a shirt without buttons, I realized that I owned almost none. I had only a few casual shirts that I could wear comfortably at home. I did not have a single buttonless shirt that I could wear when going out.

Then I began to wonder, “Why do I own so many button-down shirts?”

Suddenly, I remembered that my father always wore shirts with buttons. Whether it was winter or summer, he ironed a button-down shirt and wore it every day. When I mentioned this during a phone conversation with my sister, she laughed and said, “You are just like Dad. You do exactly what he used to do.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I do many things my father used to do.

My father always woke up early in the morning and exercised. How do I know? Because he often woke me up and took me with him. He also cleaned the house himself. He did not like the smell of food lingering inside, so after each meal, he would light an herbal-scented candle and open all the windows for a while.

He never forced me to do these things. He did not sit me down and teach me to live this way. Yet somehow, without even realizing it, I began to repeat many of his daily habits.

Is this what it means to resemble one’s father? Is it because his DNA is flowing within me, causing me to follow his ways without even knowing it?

Perhaps you have your mother’s voice. Maybe your hands are beginning to look more like hers. You may have inherited her cooking skills, her smile, or even the sound of her laughter. Your mother’s DNA is within you.

In the same way, there are moments when we recognize something of our heavenly Father within us.

All these desires come from the spiritual nature God has placed within us. They reflect our longing to resemble Christ.

As people chosen to be God’s children, we carry deep within our hearts a desire to follow Him. That is why we struggle when our lives do not reflect His will. We feel conflict, sorrow, and conviction because something within us knows that we belong to Him.

That inner struggle may itself be evidence that you are a child of God.

The prodigal son wasted his father’s entire inheritance and ruined his life. Yet when he reached the lowest point of his life, the final choice he made was to return to his father’s house. He wanted his father’s forgiveness. He longed to receive his father’s love again. At the end of everything, his deepest desire was to return home. That desire was evidence that he was still his father’s son.

In the same way, one of the clearest signs that we are God’s children is that we desire to resemble Him and follow Him. We may wander. We may fail. We may sometimes take another path. Yet deep in our hearts, we continue to long for our Father and find ourselves returning to Him.

Do you see this evidence in your own heart?

Do you desire to resemble your heavenly Father and follow His ways?

That desire may be the evidence that you truly are a child of God.

The Real Name Behind the Famous Face

Jeremiah 23:27 “They think to make my people forget my name by their dreams that they tell one another, just as their ancestors forgot my name for Baal.”

The face in this photograph was captured in 1984 by photographer Steve McCurry at a refugee camp in Pakistan. When it appeared on the cover of National Geographic, the girl’s piercing eyes, solemn expression, and red headscarf immediately captured the attention of the world. Her portrait became one of the most recognizable images in the history of magazine photography.

Yet the young woman in the photograph was known only as the “Afghan Girl.”

Her face brought worldwide attention to the suffering of Afghan refugees. It stirred compassion, inspired financial support, and helped draw attention to the needs of displaced families and children. Schools and medical programs were established, humanitarian organizations expanded their work, and many volunteers traveled to the region to serve those who had been forgotten by much of the world.

The photograph had enormous influence.

Ironically, however, no one knew the name of the person whose face had created that influence. The people who printed her image did not know who she was. Even Steve McCurry, the photographer who had taken the picture, did not know her name or where she had gone.

Her face had become famous throughout the world, but her identity remained unknown.

Nearly eighteen years later, McCurry and a team from National Geographic began searching for her. In 2002, they finally found her. Her name was Sharbat Gula.

She had been born in Afghanistan but fled with her family to Pakistan during the Soviet-Afghan War. She was living in the Nasir Bagh refugee camp near Peshawar when McCurry photographed her in 1984.

For almost eighteen years, the world recognized her face without knowing her name. Her image awakened compassion for countless refugees and children, yet she herself continued to live a harsh and lonely life marked by poverty, illness, displacement, and loss. While her photograph became an international symbol, the woman behind the photograph remained largely forgotten.

There is something deeply troubling about this contrast. The world admired the image, but it knew very little about the person. People remembered the beauty and intensity of her eyes, yet they did not know the suffering those eyes had witnessed. Her face became famous, while her real life remained hidden.

More than two thousand years have passed since Jesus came into the world. Since then, His name has become one of the most widely known names in human history. Churches have been built in His name. Schools and seminaries have been established in His name. Denominations have formed around His teaching. Books have been published, music has been composed, and great works of literature and art have been created because of Him.

At times, nations have even gone to war while claiming His name. Once a year, much of the world celebrates Christmas, even when many no longer remember the One whose birth the celebration is meant to honor.

This leads us to an uncomfortable question: Do all these things truly reveal the name of Jesus and fulfill the purpose for which He came?

Before Jesus came, the people of Israel had also built a strong religious and cultural identity around the name of God. Yet over time, many had forgotten the heart of the God whose name they claimed. Their faith had become closely tied to national pride, social identity, tradition, and religious status. They spoke of God, defended their institutions, and preserved their customs, but often failed to reveal God’s mercy, justice, holiness, and compassion.

The name of God remained visible, but the character of God had become hidden.

Jesus came to reveal that character again. He came to show the world the heart of the Father. He came near to the lonely, the poor, the sick, the rejected, and the sinful. His life revealed mercy. His words offered forgiveness. His hands touched those whom society avoided. His death revealed sacrificial love, and His resurrection opened the way to hope.

This is the true identity carried in the name of Jesus.

Yet we must ask whether the church has always revealed that name faithfully. We have beautiful sanctuaries, trained musicians, refined liturgies, impressive programs, advanced technology, and great works of art. These things can enrich worship and serve the people of God. But they can also become so prominent that the One they are meant to honor is pushed quietly to the side.

It is possible for the name of Jesus to appear everywhere while the heart of Jesus remains difficult to find. If the poor remain unseen, the lonely remain ignored, the sinner remains condemned, and the suffering remain forgotten, then perhaps we have preserved the image of Christianity while losing sight of Christ Himself.

Jesus may be the most famous name in the world, yet the true meaning of His name can still be lost behind the institutions, traditions, celebrations, and culture that have grown around Him.

The real name behind the famous name of Jesus is mercy.

It is sacrifice.

It is forgiveness.

It is grace.

It is the cross.

While I Did Not Know…

Luke 24:15–16 “While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

There is something intriguing about the name “Mystery Cruise.” Even the title carries a sense of wonder. It is exactly what the name suggests—a journey into the unknown.

On a mystery cruise, passengers do not know exactly where they are going. They are told only that the ship will stop at several destinations, somewhere around Europe and Spain. The exact ports are revealed only a few hours before arrival.

Surprisingly, these cruises are very popular. Reservations can be difficult to get.

A friend of mine who took one of these cruises once told me, “There is something exciting about traveling toward a place you do not know.”

Of course, there is excitement when we know our destination. We look forward to what we will see, what we will eat, and what new experiences may be waiting for us.

But according to my friend, traveling toward an unknown destination created an even greater sense of anticipation. He knew the cruise company would take him somewhere worth visiting. Because he trusted that the destination would be good, not knowing made the journey even more exciting.

The story of the two disciples walking to Emmaus carries something of this mystery. They were traveling toward Emmaus when Jesus joined them on the road.

But they did not know it was Jesus. In fact, when Jesus asked them what they were discussing, they replied,

“Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” —Luke 24:18

There is almost a touch of irony in their words. They thought Jesus was the stranger. But who was really unaware of what was happening? Jesus knew everything. The disciples were the ones who did not understand.

Yet something mysterious happened during that walk.

Without recognizing Jesus, they listened as He opened the Scriptures to them. Later they said to one another,

“Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road?”

Before their eyes recognized Jesus, their hearts were already experiencing His presence. All of this happened while they did not know.Perhaps, if they had recognized Jesus from the beginning, they would have been overwhelmed with excitement. They might have asked Him hundreds of questions. But Jesus allowed them to walk for a while without knowing. And during that time, He worked quietly within their hearts.

In a strange way, not knowing was good for them.

I often think about my own spiritual journey. There are so many things I want to know.  I want God to tell me what will happen next.  Sometimes I wish He would show me even a small part of His plan for my future. I imagine that if God would simply tell me what is coming, I could endure the difficulties of today more patiently.

But would it?

Would knowing everything really give me peace?

If God explained every detail of our lives in advance, would we really follow Him with greater joy, patience, and confidence? Would knowing everything truly make life easier?

In Paulo Coelho’s novel The Alchemist, the main character, Santiago, leaves home in search of treasure. He does not know everything that will happen along the way. He encounters hardship, disappointment, danger, and unexpected turns. Yet eventually he discovers that the difficult journey itself has become part of the treasure.

Perhaps this is also true of our journey of faith.

What makes the life of faith meaningful is not that we know everything that is going to happen. It is that we face the unknown by faith. We walk one step at a time into a future we cannot yet see. And perhaps we can learn to approach that unknown future not only with fear, but also with a sense of holy mystery and anticipation.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus did not know that Jesus was walking beside them. But He was.

They did not know that He was already working in their hearts. But He was.

They did not understand where that conversation was leading. But Jesus knew.

And perhaps one day, when we arrive at another destination in our own journey, we too will look back and realize: Christ was walking with me all along. Through those roads I did not understand, my faith was becoming stronger. Through those seasons when I could not see what God was doing, my heart was being changed. And perhaps I will discover that the place where God has finally brought me is exactly where I needed to be.

Sometimes we want God to reveal the destination. But perhaps God simply asks us to keep walking. Because even while we do not know where the road is leading, Jesus already knows. And even while we do not recognize Him, He is already walking beside us.

What Does It Mean When I Say, “I Can Do It”?

Psalm 121:1–2 “I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where does my help come?

My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

I first began exercising when I was in college. At that time, I knew almost nothing about working out. A friend named Brian taught me how to exercise. We worked together on campus during the summer, and after work one day, he told me that I needed to get my body moving and suggested that we go for a run together.

Brian was an experienced marathon runner who had competed in major races, including the Boston Marathon. That day, we ran only one mile. He slowed down to match my pace, but even then, I nearly passed out in the middle of the run. He had to stop several times so that I could rest.

After that, I began exercising with him twice a week. I simply followed whatever training he gave me. Then one day, he told me that we were going to run seven miles.

I told him, “There is no way I can run that far.”

But he told me that I could do it and said, “Let’s try.”

So we ran.

I followed his instructions and adjusted my pace according to what he told me. When he told me to go faster, I ran faster. When he told me to slow down, I slowed down. He decided how fast I should run. He decided the pace.

And for the first time in my life, I ran seven miles without pushing my body beyond what it could handle. I had simply followed his instructions, and I finished the run.

This experience helps me understand what it means to say that my help and strength come from the Lord, the One who made heaven and earth.

It does not mean that when we decide to do something on our own, God simply comes alongside us and helps us accomplish it. We need to remove the words “on our own.”

Why? Because the Lord is the One who determines what we are called to do. He is the One who gives direction. Whether I can or cannot do something is ultimately determined by Him. He decides where I should go, how far I should go, how fast I should move, and even when I need to stop and rest.

Our responsibility is to follow His direction.

There may be moments when I look at myself and say, “I cannot do this.” But the Lord may say, “You can.”

My strength does not come from trusting in my own ability. My strength comes when I follow the direction of the Lord.

Is there a new road before you that God is calling you to walk? Are you looking at yourself and becoming afraid because you do not believe you are capable?

Then remove the words “on my own.”

You are not going on your own. If the Lord has chosen this path for you, then He already knows that you can walk it. Your responsibility is simply to follow His direction.

When He says move, move.

When He says slow down, slow down.

When He says rest, rest.

When He says keep going, keep going.

It is Christ’s decision.

When Our Pain Becomes Another's Comfort

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

Missionary Sunhan Park was preparing to return to Korea after ending an eleven-year ministry in Kyrgyzstan. After many years of serving in a foreign land, what remained with him seemed to be only two suitcases and a diagnosis of cancer. He began to question his calling and years of service.

“Is this how my service to God ends—with two suitcases, cancer, and no visible fruit?”

After returning to Korea, he began treatment at Sarang(Love) Hospital. During about a year of hospitalization, he happened to meet and talk with other cancer patients. He shared his own pain and despair with them, and he also listened to their struggles, tears, and painful stories. He ended up comforting them.

Soon, the story of his life and ministry became known among the patients. Every day, people began coming to him, asking for counseling and prayer. The hospital recognized this as something precious and eventually allowed him to begin a small Sunday worship service for the patients.

A missionary who was also a patient became a “patient chaplain,” praying for other patients and sharing God’s Word with them.

Later, this news reached the people he had served in Kyrgyzstan. In appreciation for his years of ministry, the Kyrgyzstan government sent a donation to the hospital in Korea. After he was healed from cancer, he continued to serve there as a chaplain. For the past five years, he has been ministering to patients in that hospital.

What remained with him was not merely two suitcases and cancer. Those things were only a preparation for a new beginning. The fact that he was a patient himself made his words of comfort and the message he preached even more meaningful and sincere to other suffering patients. His pain became a comfort for the pain of others.

In 1 Corinthians 2:3, the apostle Paul confesses the weakness and pain he experienced in his ministry. His suffering was not simply the result of human mistakes or personal failure. Rather, it became part of his union with those to whom he was called to preach the gospel. His weakness allowed him to stand with the weak, and his suffering became part of the process of sharing the gospel more deeply.

Christ’s incarnation also sheds light on this truth. Jesus did not remain far from human suffering. He came to us as a human being, lived a humble life, and stood with the poor, the weak, and the suffering in order to bring them the good news.

This does not mean that all of us must become poor or suffer illness. Rather, it means that God shapes our circumstances so that we may fulfill the mission He gives us. Pain can be part of that mission, but so can joy.

God does not waste our lives.

A One-Person Kayak—Who Is Paddling?

Isaiah 30:21 “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”

Not long ago, I went kayaking on a nearby river with a church member and his daughter’s boyfriend, Brian. Since it was my first time kayaking, I felt a little nervous.

Brian had worked for several years as a professional whitewater rafting guide in Colorado. He had led rafting groups and navigated rafts through strong currents. Before we began, he taught me how to paddle, how to read the current, and how to follow the safest path down the river.

During our two-and-a-half-hour trip, we encountered several areas of fast-moving water. However, Brian showed me how to ride the current and which direction to paddle. Because of his guidance, I was able to pass through the rapids safely and enjoy the thrill of the experience. In fact, the nervousness made it even more exciting and enjoyable.

Afterward, I began to think that the Christian life may be like riding in a one-person kayak.

We live our lives of faith together with many brothers and sisters in Christ. Yet, in the end, each of us must take responsibility for our own spiritual life and learn how to live faithfully in this world.

In the kayak of life, we must paddle for ourselves.

Moving through the waves of life and faith can be stressful and difficult. Sometimes we want to stop and rest. When we see strong currents ahead, we become afraid and want to avoid them.

But can I avoid the current simply because I am afraid?

Can I stop in the middle of a fast-moving river simply because I am tired?

Can someone suddenly appear and paddle the kayak of my life for me?

The Lord does not suddenly appear, remove us from our kayak, and take over completely. Instead, He remains beside us as our faithful Guide. Moment by moment, He teaches us how to ride the current and shows us the direction we should go.

Sometimes we wish the Lord would sit in front of us and do everything for us. But the kayak of our life is made for only one person. We must paddle it ourselves. When danger comes and exhaustion overwhelms us, He shows us how to avoid what is harmful and where we can find calm waters in which to rest.

Because of His guidance, fear can become excitement. The tension and uncertainty of faith can become joy.

When we finally arrive at the place we were meant to reach, we are thankful to the Lord who guided us.

We are also grateful that we did not give up. We can take humble satisfaction in knowing that we continued to trust the Lord and follow His direction.

We are the ones who paddle the kayaks of our lives.

But we are never alone.

The Lord is always beside us, reading the current and showing us the way.

Our Ride with Christ

Psalm 16:11 “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”

On a YouTube channel, a YouTuber decided to try a new ride at an amusement park. It was a newly invented, state-of-the-art attraction designed to thrill—and terrify—its riders.

It was a hot July day in California, and the line was long. Unless you had a Fast Lane pass, you had to wait at least an hour and a half. After a long wait, the YouTuber finally took his seat. Fear and nervousness were written all over his face. He almost wanted to get off.

Then he noticed a boy sitting next to him. The boy looked young, perhaps a middle school student. The YouTuber asked him, “Are you here by yourself? Aren’t you afraid?”

“Yes, I am,” the boy replied. “But I think it will also be fun. That is what I am going to think about. When the ride is over, I believe I will remember only how exciting and enjoyable it was.”

The boy’s words suddenly touched my heart. The ride would spin, twist, turn its riders upside down, and make their heads dizzy. Yet even in the middle of all that fear, the boy chose to think about the joy. He believed that when it was all over, what would remain would be the exciting memory of the ride.

Many years have passed since I first set foot in America. Looking back, I realize that there was hardly a moment when I did not feel nervous.

Every season seemed to bring another fear.

Yet when I look back, I can also see moments of joy and wonder woven through all that anxiety and uncertainty.

At the time, I felt as though I were traveling down an uncertain road with little hope. But through every moment, an unseen hand was carrying me toward a destination that had already been prepared. Along the way, that same hand continually showed me grace and gave me unexpected moments of joy.

I call this hand “unseen” only to make room for your own story. In my life, however, I know whose hand it is. It is the hand of Jesus Christ—the One who chose me, guided me, and carried me.

Christ knows the destination of our lives. According to His perfect timing and gracious will, He carries us forward. Along the way, life may twist and turn. We may feel as though we are hanging upside down, plunging down a steep hill, or struggling up a long slope. But fear is not our final destination. God is leading us toward joy. God takes us along the track of fear and uncertainty, not to destroy us, but to teach us to trust Him and to let us experience His grace more deeply.

Where are you on the ride today? Are you climbing a steep hill? Are you rushing downward? Or do you feel as though you are hanging upside down and moving backward?

Hold tightly to the Lord and entrust yourself to His guidance. The ride may sometimes be frightening, but when you look back, you will see that His faithful hand was holding you through it all. And when the journey is complete, fear will not have the final word. What will remain is the joy of having traveled every mile with Christ.

For Those Seeking True Stillness….

Matthew 13:13 (NIV) "Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand."

The beach is very close to our home in Los Angeles, so Susan and I sometimes take walks along the shore as evening begins to fall. The blazing sun seems to hang right before our eyes. As it slowly sinks beneath the horizon, I imagine sending down with it the pain of the day and the memories I would rather forget. Everything feels quiet and peaceful.

But one evening, a middle-aged man who had been walking alone came near the place where Susan and I were sitting on the sand. At first, I thought he had come, like us, simply to sit quietly and enjoy the moment. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small portable speaker. He connected it to his phone and began playing fast-tempo Hispanic music. The volume was so loud that it seemed as though people a mile away could hear it.

I wondered, Why would anyone want to play music that loudly in such a quiet place at a time like this? And why such fast music? It was the kind of music he could easily have listened to at home. Why come to the beach at sunset to listen to it here? We were a little annoyed, so we got up and began walking toward our car.

Then I noticed something. Most of the people sitting on the beach and watching the sunset were wearing headphones or earphones. Because their music was not coming through speakers, I had assumed they were simply sitting quietly, meditating on the peaceful atmosphere of the late afternoon.

But in reality, they too were watching the sunset while living inside their own private worlds of sound.

A Nobel Prize-winning author once said that human anxiety often emerges in moments of silence. He suggested that music itself arose, in part, from humanity’s desire to fill that silence with sound.

I want to reflect more deeply on what that thought might mean. By nature, we human beings long for stillness and peace. Yet very often, the stillness we seek is a stillness shaped by our own preferences. We feel peaceful when we can see what we want to see and hear what we want to hear in the places where we want to be. But when an unwanted sound fills the air, or something we do not wish to see appears before us, we quickly call it noise or an intrusion. In other words, almost any sound or image can become part of our peace when it fits the world we have chosen for ourselves.

When Jesus spoke of those who were “seeing but not seeing, and hearing but not hearing,” He was describing a troubled spiritual condition. Their hearts and spirits were unsettled. When they heard something they did not want to hear or saw something they did not want to see, they distorted it and called it blasphemy, the voice of a sinner, or the sound of the secular world.

The truth Jesus spoke did not sound like truth to them. It sounded like noise. The signs of truth that Jesus placed before their eyes did not bring them peace; they disturbed them. Even while standing face to face with Jesus, who is truth and peace, they heard Him as nothing more than the sound of a clanging gong.

We say that we want to see Jesus. We say that we want to hear His voice. We want to find peace and stillness in Him. And He does come to us, bringing His stillness and speaking His words of peace.

But do we truly recognize the truth and peace that stand before us? Or do we sometimes look to Jesus because we are actually searching for something else—something we already want Him to say, show, or give us?

Let us learn to delight not merely in what we want, but in what Jesus chooses to speak to us and what He chooses to show us. True stillness and true peace may already be standing right before our eyes.

When I Empty Myself, I Begin to See

Mark 10:21 “Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, ‘You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.’”

Some time ago, I wrote an essay about travel. I wrote that perhaps one purpose of traveling is to empty what has accumulated within us.

The thought came from a couple I happened to meet on an airplane. As they spoke about their journeys, they told me that whenever they visited a new place, they tried to leave something behind—not their belongings, but the burdens they had been carrying within themselves; Anxiety. Worry. Selfishness. The restless thoughts that had quietly filled their hearts. At each destination, they emptied themselves a little more. And by the time they returned home, they said, their hearts somehow felt lighter and quieter.

Not long after I wrote that essay, I received a message from someone I did not know. He told me that he traveled not only to empty his heart, but also to rediscover something he had forgotten: that he was still a good person.

In everyday life, surrounded by the difficulties of his workplace, church, and relationships, he sometimes lost sight of himself. But when he traveled away from those familiar places and familiar problems, he began to see himself again—not through the eyes of an organization, not through his responsibilities, not through his successes or failures, but simply as himself.

He ended his message with one sentence:

“When I empty myself, I can finally see myself.”

We spend much of our lives belonging to something. We belong to a workplace, a church, a family, a team, a circle of friends, or a community. We enter these places because we desire to be there or because we have gifts that allow us to contribute. And gradually, almost without realizing it, we begin to identify ourselves with them.

When they rejoice, we rejoice.

When they hurt, we hurt.

When they succeed, we feel proud.

And when something goes wrong, we carry that burden as though it were our own.

There is something beautiful about such belonging. Identification creates commitment. It gives us passion. It allows us to give ourselves wholeheartedly to something larger than ourselves.

Yet there is also a danger.

Sometimes a mistake within the group becomes my mistake. A conflict becomes my failure. Someone’s criticism becomes a judgment upon my worth. Before long, I attach myself so closely to what has happened around me that I begin to believe that one event, one failure, one opinion, or one difficult season tells the whole truth about who I am.

It does not.

Whatever happens in the places to which I belong, there is still a person beneath all those roles.

I am still a friend.

I am still a father or a mother.

I am still a husband or a wife.

I am still a child of God.

Sometimes we must step outside our titles before we can see the person hidden beneath them.

Pastor.

Director.

Teacher.

Employee.

Leader.

When the titles fall away, perhaps we begin to encounter the deeper self—the person God sees before the world gives us a name.

Jesus said to the rich man, “Sell what you have … and come, follow me.”

To understand these words only as a command concerning material possessions may be to stop too soon. Certainly Jesus spoke about the man’s possessions, because those possessions had taken hold of his heart. Yet the deeper invitation reaches beyond possessions alone.

Christ continually calls us to release whatever has come to possess us.

For one person, it may be wealth.

For another, status.

For another, success.

For another, resentment, fear, disappointment, or the need to be recognized.

For still another, it may be the identity we have built around a position, an institution, or the judgment of others.

The call to follow Christ therefore asks a deeper question:

What must I let go of in order to become free enough to follow Him?

To become a disciple of Christ is to allow our identity to become joined to His.

We learn His humility and patience.

We receive His confidence in the work of God.

We share His passion for the kingdom.

We learn His devotion to others.

And above all, we begin to discover that the goodness of Christ is already at work within us.

The troubles of the past, the anxieties of the present, the tangled judgments of the world—all these can distort the way we see ourselves. Sometimes they make us think too little of ourselves. Sometimes they make us think too highly of ourselves. Either way, we lose sight of who we truly are.

Christ invites us to lay these things down.

Not because He wants us to disappear, but because He wants us to live again.

There is a strange grace in this: when I let go of myself, I discover another self waiting beneath the one I have constructed.

I begin to see the person being renewed by Christ. And perhaps this is one of the mysteries of the Christian life:

We receive by letting go.

We find ourselves by surrendering ourselves.

We begin to live when we stop clinging to the life we have created.

When I empty myself, I see myself again, the person I am becoming in Christ.

Be Still

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

I have a habit of washing the dishes before I eat. It began during a difficult time with my health.

Not long after I came to the United States to study, I began to experience frequent indigestion. About once a week, it became so severe that I could not go to class. I could not eat, and as I missed more classes, I grew weary in both body and mind. I tried all kinds of medicine, but nothing seemed to help. This went on for two years.

One day, I met the mother of a classmate at school. She was an obstetrician who also counseled mothers experiencing postpartum depression. When she heard how often I suffered from indigestion, she offered me some advice: wash the dishes, tidy the area around you, and then sit down to eat slowly.

I asked why washing the dishes would matter. She explained that a clean, peaceful space could help me feel calm and slow down. It was like eating at a lovely restaurant, she said. Whatever is on the plate, you tend to take your time.

I followed her advice that very day. I washed the dishes, cleared the table, and ate without rushing. To my surprise, I rarely suffered from indigestion after that. Taking time to settle my mind and eat slowly made the difference.

Life can be like that. When we pause and set things down for a while, we can discover a renewed spiritual awareness that helps restore our lives. We may begin to see a way forward into a future that once seemed unclear. In that stillness, we can recognize where our pain began and how it affects our faith and emotions. We may even discover that the pain we carry is not as overwhelming as it once seemed.

God says, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

What does it mean to be still? What does it mean to stop?

It begins with pausing long enough to turn our attention to God.

When we stop for a moment, we make room;

to listen instead of always speaking,

to trust instead of trying to control everything,

and to notice others instead of focusing only on ourselves.

Jesus also said to his disciples, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31). His invitation reminds us that we, too, need time to step away and rest.

I hope your home will be a place of rest. I hope our church will be a place where people can come and find peace. Take a moment to stop and rest. May you find God’s peace there.