Roy's story
I celebrated my first American Christmas in Houston, Texas in the winter of 1992, mere weeks after first setting foot in this strange and seemingly unreceptive land. As a ten-year-old FOB, I would spend the next four years in what I, at the time, would best describe as a living hell. In a country whose customs were as foreign to me as its language, I had already felt excruciatingly out of my element without having to face the daily barrage of racial taunts and slurs. My clothes, backpack, haircut, and the few English words I could utter in my thick accent, all served to mark me as the prime target for elementary school kids whose capacity for cruelty continues to surpass my understanding. As I grew up with these very same people throughout my middle and high school years, my title as a social outcast only burned deeper in my heart, and against such a hostile world I spent my time developing defenses that would annihilate all those who even dared to approach me. Being a skinny Asian kid, I could not resort to physical retribution, so I strove to master English for the purpose of sharpening my tongue as a sword. Unfortunately, that sword had a tendency to cut down both the few friends I had and my throngs of indifferent enemies, but I did not care. I thought that if the world did not desire my presence, then neither did I want a part in it, but as much as I would have loved to believe that doctrine, I could not. I often lay in bed late at night crying out to a higher power I did not know for deliverance or death, whichever one was more convenient, but he never seemed to answer.
When it came time to decide on a college, I was ready to do anything to get as far away from Texas as I could. I wanted a fresh start where I can build a new image and a new life without being haunted by my past, and what better place to begin reinventing myself than Berkeley? I set out the summer before freshman year to redefine myself for social acceptance. I never did quite succeed, but little did I know then that I was about to find Someone who would love me for who I am.
I arrived at the Durant side of Unit 3 at 7:00 in the morning on move-in day for the express purpose of laying claim to that perfect corner of my triple before my two other roommates did so. While my mother searched for parking, I sat by the curb feeling exhausted, my mountain of worldly possessions next to me. Over my right shoulder, I heard a firm yet unimposing voice ask, “Hi, do you need any help?” I was too tired at the time to be sarcastic, but I could not betray my cool exterior to this friendly stranger, so I politely refused his offer of assistance, even though it was much needed. By this time my mom had returned, and after the usual pleasantries, I reassessed my hopeless situation and quickly accepted Richard's help, with the condition that I would reciprocate the favor. He told me he did not live in Unit 3. I asked him where he did live, and it soon became apparent to me that this guy was standing on the sidewalk next to me for no other reason than to help clueless freshmen like myself move in. After two trips, he proceeded to tell me, rather nonchalantly, of this organization he belonged to called ABSK. When he explained the acronym, my secular mind immediately focused on the word “Baptist.” Coming from a devoutly atheistic family, I initially wanted nothing to do with this club, no matter how much meat they might have at their free barbecue. But I also came from a thoroughly Asian family, and my attention quickly turned to the word “free” instead. I also took into account the fact that Richard wanted no compensation for his labors other than having me going to consume free food at his expense. After we exchanged contact information and parted ways, I decided to give it a shot. After all, what harm could it do?
When I went to the barbecue, I had never before in my life attended a “religious function”, so I did not know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised. The most memorable part of the barbecue was the overwhelming quantity of cow consumed that day. After the food came the “democratic” group games that even I, whose body was made for no physical activity more strenuous than sitting, enjoyed. I walked away that day surprised at having found a relatively ordinary bunch of individuals in an organization with an undercurrent of commonality that I faintly detected but could not identify. I wanted to continue my investigation of Christianity, but it was mainly out of this curiosity to discover what set this group apart from all others I had been associated with that prompted me to attend New Student Welcome Night.
I walked into 2050 VLSB with few expectations and made mental back-up plans for escape via the restroom should I be forced out of my element. Again, I was met within seconds by faces whose warm glows of friendliness were so unlike anything I had ever previously encountered that they seemed simultaneously all too suspicious yet attractive. I sat down with a friend and got comfortable knowing that we would be starting on Asian Standard Time, but what happened next I would rank as one of the most traumatic experiences in my life. We started singing. I do not sing. Period. On top of that, I could not sing, for what the rest of the group was singing about I did not understand. That was the most overwhelming display of religious devotion I had ever been exposed to, and frankly, it was freaking me out. The only thing I could do was participate in the rhythmic clapping so as to blend into the crowd, but as I looked around at the individual people who seemed to lose themselves as they clapped and sang in perfect unity, I nearly put my back-up plan into action. What kept me there, I to this day do not know, but I stayed for the rest of the night and did not leave disappointed. The hilarious NSWN video somewhat reassured me that despite the singing, these people retained some traces of normalcy. The skits provoked much the same response, and I enjoyed laughing at my human condition while reflecting on how utterly ridiculous and tragic it was. Then came the message. Pastor Ed took me and my misconceptions completely by surprise. Standing there behind a table top podium was a man of modest appearance who could lampoon with ease the most complex of issues yet state with shocking eloquence the relevant and meaningful truths. Both the things he said and how he said them became the main reasons why I continued to go to TFN that semester.
Almost every Friday night for the rest of that fall I spent at TFN, but as soon as the message was over, I would try to leave. I did not want to stay for discussions because many times Pastor Ed uncannily delivered messages that spoke directly to my life, and I couldn’t tell anyone how much I felt convicted of sin by the Genesis messages lest I be unmasked and revealed to the world as the disgusting person I was, at least not until I had a chance to struggle with it. However, struggling with my own sins was not the most pleasant of activities, and I often decided to simply push it out of my mind or to discount the truths of the Bible as just some nice but unrealistic moral stories. I knew that I could not go on forever deceiving myself, but could not bring myself to just confess the awful truth. The few times I did decide to stay and hang out with my small group, though, were characterized by that same feeling of warmth and family with people who I had met mere months ago. I could not help but feel that I had finally found a place where I could truly belong amongst people who were more than friends, but I also could not come to terms with the fact that I still have many secrets that I would rather take with me to the grave than reveal to them, one of which was that I did not deserve their affection and company. They loved me with the same mystical yet perfect love of God, but I was unable to do the same for them. As the semester ended, I went home pondering if life would have been better had I been left to carry my own burdens on that very first day.
I came back to Berkeley in the spring of 2001 relieved that the apocalypse had not occurred and that I still had a shot at this “eternal salvation” deal. To broaden my understanding of Christianity, I signed up for Course 101. The class focused much on the intellectual and historical basis for the Person of Jesus Christ that effectively convinced me that the New Testament was reliable, but I was still too arrogant to concede the truth of Jesus’ message. However, when I went to the TFN right before the winter retreat that semester, Pastor Ed delivered a deeply distressing message that really opened my eyes to the extent of man’s sinfulness and how hopeless the world would be without a Savior. I was very troubled as I sat and listened to the truth that I had tried so hard to avoid but could not escape. Through his words I saw that the injustice of a cruel world was not the main source of my misery, but it was my sinful nature that would destroy even the most perfect paradise and all the people within it. Finally, the cross began to make sense, as I began to suspect that there is something deeply wrong about not only what I’ve done, but who I am at the core, and that my guilt from all the moral laws and self-imposed standards I’ve broken do not measure up to the deep offense and hurt I’ve caused my Creator God. For my cosmic treason, a price had to be paid, and if I had to pay it, I knew I was a marked man living on borrowed time. I backed out of going to the retreat as I decided that I needed some time alone to think things through. In my mind, I was at the point of no return. I could either accept the Bible’s painfully realistic stories of humanity, recognize that Jesus has full claim over my life by creation and redemption, and lose my life to save it, or I could close my eyes to the truth and continue trying to tighten my grip on my old, self-centered reality knowing that it will only slip further out of my hands, a chasing after the wind. I finally decided to talk to my leaders about my dilemma, and the most common response I received was that God would be faithful. I can doubt God all I want, but one way or another, I will find that His Word will stand, either by obeying and allowing God to restore me and bless me with abundant life, or through living in utter rebellion against the reality of the universe and experiencing the natural consequences of opposing my created nature. I also knew that God’s offer for a new life is unconditional regardless of how infested with sin I was, but it seemed all too fantastic to be true. I felt the need for God’s love in my life, and my walls of pride and cynicism were slowly wearing away, but I found added assurance in the Exodus stories of Israel’s rebellions and figures such as Samson and Simon Peter, all of whom strayed from the LORD but was never deserted by Him. By now, I knew that the choice was pretty obvious, yet I still could not bring myself to make that commitment because although I feared God, I feared failing Him even more, something I knew would happen if I tried to follow Him.
The home stretch leading to my decision began on Easter Sunday 2001, when I attended my first Sunday worship service. The message was on Luke 24, On the Road to Emmaus. I saw myself then, making that same journey away from home, slow of heart to believe, but Someone was there with me, opening the Scriptures to my heart, Someone whom I did not know but who knew me better than myself. I looked back at my life and realized that He had been with me all that time, and that He set me up to discover the good news of great joy for all the people. The service concluded with a time for invitation, but I restrained myself from accepting because I knew that I was overwhelmed with emotion and wanted to make my decision with a clear mind and a contrite heart. I went home that day and prayed that God would help my unbelief. I was incredulous when I first found out that I could pray for such a thing, but could do little else.
The last two weeks of my old life were characterized by anxiety. I was about to cross over to a new life that seemed full of joy and pain at the same time, and I was uncertain how I would react to it. I continued to pray for faith and signed up to meet with Pastor Ed to erase my last doubts. Strangely enough, Pastor Ed canceled all of his office hours for the rest of the year, and I felt that I was now on my own. Perhaps everything I needed to know had already been revealed to me. I could do nothing but pray that the coming messages would be sufficient to help me make the biggest decision of my life. As it turned out, I got much more than I bargained for. After the message on April 27, 2001, I asked to talk privately with my small group leader. I had made a list of half a dozen questions that were holding me back. I think I knew all the answers already, though, because I did not get past the second one before I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. It was the first time I ever cried for joy.
It is always a surreal experience to read my testimony and vividly recall what happened nearly five years ago. I did not know what I was getting myself into then, and I don’t know all that much more now. God has consistently surprised me with how wide and long and high and deep is His love, as I discover over and over again that I am far more proud, lazy, stubborn, selfish, and generally sinful, than I ever really thought I could be, and yet how God, knowing all this, still wants me to be His child and heir, to bear His beautiful image into the world. It has been five years sprinkled with many painful incidences through which God showed me His great love by not letting me sweep my sins and flaws under the rug, but forcing me to confront my true self, so that my old nature can be broken before Him and that He can put me back together in just the way He meant for me to be. Far from losing myself, I experienced finding my true self as God cut away all the corruption, filth, and pretense I had thought were a part of my self and revealed my true strengths, joys, dreams, and hopes within the boundaries of the life He prescribed for me. I sincerely believe that if not for God’s patient, long-suffering love, I would actually be dead by now, my life taken by my own hands or throw away in committing some heinous crime in a world I saw without transcendent meaning or moral boundaries. But now God, who calls things that are not as though they were, has called me to be His temple, a place where people can see that God is real and alive and makes a difference in the world, a source of refuge and blessing and good news.