The evil we do...and the love that conquers all.

A community is in mourning. A community led by Father Anthony Dang Hui Nam cries and prays for the lost and possibly dead. It is a small and remote community of Yen Thanh, in northern-central Vietnam.

Father Anthony said: “The whole district is covered in sorrow. I’m still collecting contact details for all the victims’ families, and will hold a ceremony to pray for them tonight. This is a catastrophe for our community.”

On Wednesday, 39 bodies (31 men and 8 women) were discovered in a truck container at an industrial site in Grays, about 32 km east of central London. It is believed that the dead are largely Chinese from China and Vietnamese. 

It reports: “The Chinese have a history of emigration in search of a better life. Seeking their fortunes abroad, they established communities around the world. This type of migration was known to the Chinese as “tao sheng huo”, which roughly translates to seeking a life.”"

And stripped of all euphemisms, this is called modern slavery. It is rampant because it is an extremely profitable trade. It is in fact a win-win for the traffickers, but deadly for the ones being traded like chattels. 

How it works is that the victims’ loved ones - mostly parents - would pay upfront, some even pay a hefty fee of US$40,000, to the traffickers to get their child aboard illegally. 

They are enticed to pay because the traffickers visit their homes and promise them, or their children, a better life aboard. To these desperate parents, this shadowy route is the only hope for their kid to have a good life. 

But sadly, what they may not know is that their sons may end up being sold to hard labour and their daughters to massage parlours and prostitution rings. And to compound matters for them, the debt they owe would usually take a lifetime to pay off. 

Imagine that, you pay for a better life for your child and you end up not only with a debt you can’t pay off, but the one you love either go through untold sufferings as a result or die along the inhumane journey. This is what happened in a recent investigation that led to the  arrest of a 25-year old driver named Mo Robinson. He was charged with 39 counts of manslaughter. 

The papers today went further to report about a father, Mr Nguyen Ding Gia, who told the papers that his son, 20 years old, told him two weeks ago that he is planning to go to Britain “where he hoped to work in a nail salon.” At that time, his son was living in France. 

But a few days later, Mr Gia received a call telling him that his son was amongst those who died in the truck container. 

“I fell to the ground when I heard that,” Mr Gia said. “It seemed that he was in the truck with...all them dead.”

The second victim was 26-year-old Pham Thi Tra My. Her parents make US$400 a month and paid the smugglers around US$40,000 for their daughter to travel to Britain for a better life.

Ms Pham Thi Tra sent a text to her mother saying “she loved her and that she could not breathe at about the time the truck container was en route from Belgium to Britain. 

This was her last message to her parents: -

“I’m sorry Dad and Mom. The way I went overseas was not successful. Mom, I loved Dad and you so much. I’m dying because I can’t breathe.”

Alas, God have mercy. 

Let me just vent to say that if love could save, it would have saved every child from the clutches of evil, and from the hands that deserve to suffer the evil they have inflicted. 

And if love could save, it would have saved the desperate plea of a girl who has to service more than fifty strangers in a day as she cries out within the small pen she is chained to in the basement, indefinitely.

Sometimes, the problem with this world is not that we can’t do better, but it is how much worse we can do to others whom we treat only as a profitable means to our selfish ends. Mind you, for that extra dollar, all of a sudden, at some threshold crossed, human lives, however young and innocent, become a bargain, a transaction, or a mere digit in one column of the balance sheet. 

It’s just never enough. And where there is a will to kill, steal and destroy, or to heal, feel and self-sacrifice, the choice for some are just too easy because every dollar into their coffers adds more satisfaction in their pocket than afflictions in their conscience. 

And if they could feel but a fraction of the agony a parent feels for their beloved child placed under such endless torment, will they ever stop and turn back from their wicked ways? 

Alas, I doubt so, because to them, as long as it is not their own flesh and blood, it is really all in a day’s work, and nothing more. This reminds me of the Nazi guards who throw jewish children into the gas chambers and furnaces as part of their work duty and then return home to their wives and kids to say grace over the dinner they are about to partake together as a family.

In fact, if money, and the empty boastings that come with it, could be exchanged for a clean conscience in the marketplace, these people would have a conscience so "pure" that their deeds could be easily laundered into something highly coveted by many who want the exact prosperity they are reaping in for themselves. That is how deep the rabbit hole of human perversions goes.  

But let me just say that I write this morning to deliberately end with this thought for what it’s worth: Love may not be able to save a child from certain end, but without it, that is, without a love that never gives up, a love that is unconditional, these traders, these profiteers of evil, will flourish in a world of perpetual darkness. 

In the end, I always want to believe that it is still love that makes the difference. Call me old fashioned. For what hate and greed rob, love gradually and patiently restores and transforms. 

Hate and greed work like a storm, they come just as fast as they go. They are blind forces that seek only to create chaos. But love works before, in the middle and after. It stays until the broken heart is able to stand on her feet again. It is tireless. It is faithful to the end. It is the only force that keeps the good in us going and the evil in us redeemable, at least for most of us. 

So, rest in peace, and I earnestly pray for love to do her work for those left behind, for loved ones and for all who courageously stand in the gap after the storm to heal wounds and to restore shattered hearts.  

Young Adult Retreat - The Five Tears of God.

Journal of a young adult retreat - the five tears of God.

This weekend I attended a young adult retreat. It was a four-day camp at Johor, Malaysia. I was there to minister and to receive ministry. 

Although the theme of the retreat was plugged-in, that is, connecting to the source of life and empowerment, I felt there was another message running in parallel and it was this: -

“Lord, let me be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” 

And the guiding verse for that message was Isaiah 42:3: “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice.”

Let me share why I felt that way.

As I went around and sat with the different groups to listen to their sharing, I realised that there was indeed a common thread that ran through the retreat, and it was a cry of the heart to be understood, to be authentic, to be restored and to overcome.

Most of those who attended the retreat are in their twenties, some are still studying, making their way to tertiary education, and others have just entered the workforce. 

These are people who candidly shared their struggles with faith in a world that challenges and tempts them in every way conceivable. There is no doubt that many have stumbled in their walk as they grapple to understand how to keep their faith intact and the hope alive. 

This led me to imagine the things that broke God’s heart and the yearning to know intimately the reality of this brokenness within my own life. And I can best describe it metaphorically as the five tears of God.

1st tear - The struggle is about the one I have mentioned above. It is the struggle to make sense of the world as they experience it for the first time. 

I can imagine that God saw their heart and understood how they felt too. It was not a world so different from the time he sent his Son to live in and die for. In fact, the heart of men has not changed since then. And that breaks the heart of God. I call this struggle the struggle with the world.

2nd tear - This is the struggle of the faith. It is where the faith (that they know so well in the church their parents grow up in) meets the world that seeks to change them. 

In essence, it is a fight to resist conformity with the things and standards of the world. This can be quite a cultural shock for them when their carefully nurtured ideals confront raw reality. 

The widening gap for them is how to reconcile their faith with the world, how to remain set apart for God as they carry out their duties in the roles they play as students, employees, office colleagues and even bosses as they start their own businesses. 

I believe God hears their cry as the flickering candle of their faith tries their darnest to find the light at the end of the tunnel. Their struggles are not unfamiliar to God and that too breaks the heart of God.

3rd tear - This is the struggle of the heart as it battles to remain pure. I have spoken to a few of the young adults in the retreat and their struggles went to the root of their faith. 

They struggle to live an upright life, yet there are urges within them that they could not understand. They want to do right with God, to overcome the siren calls of the flesh, but every time the resolve is built up, the carnal tide raises another standard of novelty and self-indulgence that they find almost impossible to overcome.

Their failure led them to a place of resignation and disappointments. Their cries at most times fell on deaf ears. This reality breaks their heart and it breaks the Father’s heart too. 

4th tear - This struggle is the struggle to find meaning and purpose. This is where the disillusionment is the strongest. Their moral compass points to everything but the Cross that they so desire to draw near to. The things of the world do not go strangely dim for them. In fact, it insidiously illuminates to lure them in like a mirage in the desert calling to their unrooted soul. 

Alas, the pursuit of success is a success of the world, the happiness they seek is to never be content with what they have, and the only goal that settles them strangely is the one that comes with a heart that strives endlessly for more and more, because no one wants to be left behind. And the online acronym “FOMO” was how one of them described it to me. 

This is a heart that is lost in the midst of the chaos, and in their anguish, they chased in vain for the things that can never satisfy or fill their hearts. This is the things that break the heart of God. 

And...

5th tear - For the final tear, let me just say that the retreat did not end there. 

In the nights of sharing about the brokenness experienced in relationships, the last tear was reserved to that of our Saviour‘s. It was a human tear for the same suffering that we all go through or will go through. 

It was the cry of the heart when he was left to die on the Cross. It was also a cry to draw all men and women unto him, because there is a better way amidst our disappointment and disillusionment. 

The Cross is to me never an abstract, or merely a philosophical argument. It is historical and messanic. It is redemptive and restorative. Most of all, it is a life exemplified by perseverance and love. 

The hope of the Cross is about the hope of a journey of high discipline and of the narrow road which eventually translates into a life of overcoming. 

Our Saviour’s tear therefore supersedes all. It transcends the lures and seduction of this world. It satisfies the vacantness of our heart. And it nourishes the spirit for a purpose beyond the glitters of this world and the appetites of the flesh. 

As the retreat ends today, I leave the place with this hope for the young adults who participated in the retreat with utmost sincerity. 

This hope is anchored in the assurance that there is a valley - that though can’t be avoided - but more so, there is also a way out of our valley. And this way is led by a love unconditional, bought for with a sacrifice unwavering, and is made complete when the last human tear trickled down with this cry: “It is finished”. 

And it is finished because He has turned our mourning into dancing, our sadness into joy and our endless striving into a peace unsurpassed, unhurried.

For this is the same joy from the tear shed by a human two thousand years ago that has and will transform our hardscrabble journey into one of ultimate victory. Amen

Why morality matters?

Why morality matters? Why do I even bother?

Why can't a married man cheat and keep a mistress on the side? Why can't a woman lie to get her way? Why can't I enrich myself financially without worrying about how my actions may hurt others? 

Why is a stranger who needs help a brother or sister of mine? Why should I be an honest loser when it would clearly be more rewarding to be a dishonest winner? 

If everybody is doing it and getting away with it, why can't I do the same and get away with it? 

Why morality matters? Why do I even bother?

Well, if anything, morality matters. I say this not because Big Daddy up there is watching. I say this not because it feels just right. And I say this not because vices always pay homage to virtues. 

Morality matters because it is personal to me. I am married with three young kids. I have a career of helping people with their legal issues. I am a friend to a handful of them. I am a colleague and an employee. I am a husband to my wife and a father to my children. I am a son, a brother and a citizen of a state. I am accountable to all of them. 

That accountability compels me to act within boundaries defined by time-and-tested moral values. 

No doubt, I can perform those roles just as well even if I only pay lip service to these values, and live my life as if they do not apply to me. Or maybe be selective about them whenever it is convenient? Let me stretch this further. 

I can be furtive about my transgressions. I can be discreet about my indiscretions. No one will ever find out. I can outdo, outplay and outwit the whistle blowers (that is, for as long as the credulous allow me to, as many rich and corrupt people have gone to their graves with personal welfare unscathed and reputation intact). 

Well, I can always be a step ahead of the rules, the law and even my conscience. By then, wouldn’t my conscience be my most abiding partner in the most unvirtuous? 

I can live a double life, upholding a double standard, keeping a deft balance of my double minds. In short, I can still be accountable to all of them even if I am not accountable to myself. 

The temptation is no doubt irresistible; some may even say that I am beyond foolish to reject the blue pill (a life of unimaginable bliss and fortune) instead of biting the red pill (knowing the harsh reality of life). 

But herein lies a danger when morality turns over. It is a very thin red line and once I cross it, I will lose myself. I will enter a world whereby I am no longer the master of my fate. 

In fact, I have to share it with something unwittingly groomed within me. Something that demands its fair share from me. Something that grows bigger each passing day. 

But this partnership plays an insidious game on me. And it remains gentlemanly about it. 

It will make me feel as if I am in control. It will give me this illusion of power. It will make all I want readily within my reach and it will ensure that my lust for them grows far beyond my understanding of it. 

This game that this partnership has to offer will not cease until it elevates me to a point where I am empowered by this impervious sense of invincibility, even to a point when I feel I am god. 

Of course, this enthronement will not be announced publicly, and will even be denied openly. But it will no doubt be relished and nursed quietly within. 

At this point, at this switch of the bait, the gentleman becomes the rogue and the puppet becomes the puppet master. And I, once the hunter, will become the hunted in the same way that the stalker becomes the prey. 

Once I lose my conscience or sell it away to the highest bidder, I will lose what it means to live without envy, what it means to love without conditions, what it means to tell the truth at all costs without shame, and what it means to give without expectation. 

Alas, by then, my hope will be in how to make more, much more. My integrity will be in keeping promises that I will benefit most at the expense of others. And my gratitude will be reserved only for myself, for living a life I am proud of, that is, a life played by my own rules with no or little regards for family, friends and community. 

My humanity will progressively be indistinguishable from my inhumanity. I will live with the orgy of conflicts and the demons in my mind will make my pillow hard, my dreams desperate and my sleep restless. 

I can imagine my conscience as the canary of the coalmine in my spirit. Once the canary dies, my inner world will collapse without any warning. And I will never know about it because a dead canary makes no noise. 

I will be lost yet never knowing why. I will be broken yet thinking that all‘s well. I will be tormented yet unable to relieve the pain. I will be constantly shifting in the shadows of deceit, avoiding the light of truth that shines through the cracks of my many varied and confounding personas. 

So, why morality matters? Why do I even bother? It matters because I cannot be perfect and the next best thing to perfection is to live a life that pays tribute to timeless moral values. 

For this reason, my moral boundary ought to always be a progress towards something good and worthy and not a constant escape from something dark and unwieldy, thereby never finding rest, contentment and peace. 

I believe that living with a moral conscience and applying it when duty calls will not guarantee me riches; neither gold nor silver. It will not bestow unto me worldly power nor elevate me to fame at the finest hour. 

I may even live an ordinary life by jealously guarding my integrity, and even be mocked and dismissed for being a loser, a prude, a coward or an underachiever. 

But still, I strive for the road less travelled. It is a road that avoids the many things that this world has to offer. It is a road that refuses to bargain off what truly matters in this life at a price I cannot afford or bear to pay if I earnestly treasure the things that money cannot buy.

There will therefore be many moral pitfalls on the road that challenges and tempts me to choose between two opposing values. And when the time comes for me to choose, I shall consciously choose what is right and live with its consequences regardless because choosing otherwise will only mean that my humanity is for sale. 

No doubt, if I had been less inflexible and more compromising, I may be enriched at the appropriate juncture. I may even live an easy and charmed life thereafter. 

But then, I will forever be a slave to riches, fame and power. I will never know what it means to be free. And never knowing freedom is never knowing what it means to be me. 

And if character is what I do when I think no one is looking, then let me always be reminded to do right with my loved ones, my friends my community and my conscience, so that whether in the light or in darkness, they will know that I am largely one and the same. 

(Photo credit to dirty duck restaurant in Bali, Ubud, and to also remind me that taking life less seriously matters too).

Charity Reimagined: Ken & Addy, The Last Resort.

They are soft spoken, most times, whispering. I had to strain a little to string the sentences together. They share freely, at times, laying bare their soul to my wife and I. 

I came to know Kenneth and Adeline last year, 27 August, when we shared a cake together. It was my birthday, my 48th. We have been friends since then. Before that, we were perfect strangers. 

I write about them this morning because they have written about us this morning. It is in the papers. Their article is called “Charity reimagined: The gift of imagination”.

At one part of their article, they wrote about “One People, One Nation, One Singapore”. But, what does that mean? What truly binds us together? What are we moving towards? One Singapore no doubt, yet, going where? Those questions become clearer as you read their article. But first, let me share my thoughts about the couple.

Ken and Addy taught me a lot of things. Not just in words spoken, but in the life they have lived. 

If you're wondering, what do they do? Well, they care for people by inviting them into their home. They open their home to share with  troubled youth what little they have.

The Last Resort is a refuge for young people who have run out of options for themselves. It is a community for those who seek a roof over their heads. Some stay for a night, just to ride out the storm, and others, for as long as they need to get back on their feet.  

Recently, we had a chat, and Addy reminded me that we are all looking for human connection - something that is far deeper than the creature comforts we seek from our material possessions. She shared that a simple meal together in a family setting can bring tears to a soul who has never experienced such community of acceptance and love before. And the Last Resort seeks to serve that simple mission, that is, to be the family to those who are struggling to understand theirs. 

Over the months, I have seen many lives restored in that community. Some are doing well in schools. Some have returned to their own family with much gratitude for the hospitality showered. They often returned to share their testimonies to encourage others. 

But, as Ken once admitted to me, there are those who have arrived so broken, they left the Last Resort still trying to put the pieces of their life together. Although they are never forgotten, Ken and Addy sometimes wished with inexplicable remorse that they could do more. Inexplicable to me at least, because as a couple, I wonder, what more can they do when they have shared practically everything they have with those who come knocking at their door? 

That is why these words ring so true when you put them together alongside the life that Ken and Addy have lived out. 

“The mindset of a community that shares is not dependent on how much we have. When we have more, we have more to share. When we have little, we can still share what little we have. The interpersonal interactions are not dependent on gain, upward mobility or affluence. Sharing builds empathy and restores dignity to those in need: Those who offer help in one area are likely to need it in another. We are both ready givers and equal recipients.”

Ken always invites me to imagine a world where no one is holding back. Everyone gives what they can, of their talents, of their time, of their testimonies, of their home and of their lives. Each person gives what he is comfortable with, at a season or seasons he is ready, and with the faith that a life can be nudged to change by their simple generosity.  

In the article, he calls it a charity reimagined. 

He encourages us to reimagine it because the drive to do charity may have taken a twist of meaning for many in a world of material affluence. In the same way that Jesus had observed the rich giving out of their abundance, we risk offering (to society) more of our things, our leftovers, than our lives and time. 

As such, the ironic effect is that we end up donating more, thereby desirous of looking and feeling more charitable, but giving less, thereby withholding that which makes a lasting difference in the lives of the giver and the recipient. This may explain why many of us are enriched in many ways, and we often boast about it, but our souls still struggle with the poverty of meaning within. 

This has led Ken to ask: “But I wonder, could the increase in community donating be happening at the expense of decreased community sharing?”

If there is a need to reimagine charity, the life of Ken and Addy exemplifies it best. They take things as they come, shouldering what they can, letting go of that which is beyond them, and never ceasing to do what they have been called to do since ten years ago. Amidst the trials, they kept hope afloat, faith undivided, and love unconditional. 

Have they experienced grief? My god, yes. I heard their many stories and grief spills over in many of them. Have they experienced hurts and pain? Yes. And have they as a couple or individually broken down at times, crying for strength and holding on to hope? I believe so, yes. 

To me, they are no super-humans. And I can imagine them laughing at that suggestion. In any event, that would be scary. I have seen and read about many self-styled super-humans, but they are no more than broken individuals trying in vain to cling on to that image in order to make up for what they are too afraid to stand up for. Alas, we often crave for a cape and a mask to bridge the imagined gap when we already have it within us to take that leap (or flight) of faith. 

Let me tell you that I have seen Ken shed tears before. He struggled to fight back the eye-faucet when he had to let a child he loved dearly go. Addy too was devastated. But in those tears, in their brokenness, I nevertheless saw an unyielding spirit that was ready to pick up where they have left off and move forward with even greater resolve. That day, I learned from them that it is never the brokenness that breaks us, it is the refusal to allow our brokenness to humanise and empower us that eventually breaks us.

Let me end with their own words. This old fashioned couple still believe in miracles. In the article, they call it the miracle of community sharing and describe it simply as such: -

“Like-minded people interested in what we do are welcomed into our lives, to know us deeply as we also get to know them. Over many dinners, coffee and tea, we exchange hopes and aspirations for a common loving community.

Among this group of friends and family, everyone is free to unashamedly receive as well as joyfully give. There is no manipulation or pressure to hit numerical targets; we simply use whatever we pool together to care for as many as we can.

We go beyond sharing physical resources; emotional and mental exchanges are also freely shared. This is always something empowering: People begin to care, not because they have to, but because they belong, and want to.”

Well, I have been there myself, with my wife, and we too have experienced this miracle. It does not hit you in an instant, not like some magic carpet ride or the waving of some sorcerer's wand. Instead it changes you over time. And over time, it emerges in the same way as they had described it - "there is no pressure to hit numerical targets...we simply use whatever we pool together to care...People begin to care, not because they have to, but because they belong, and want too."