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| Latin Primer
Amor vincit omnia
Dulce et decorum est
Sic transit gloria
Post tenebras lux
I never took Latin in high school. People say it’s a dead language, which I took to mean that it was the language of zombies. And I hate zombies…and love them. But that is neither here nor there.
Over the years, these phrases stuck with me for some reason. Amor vincit omnia means “love conquers all." It was in a footnote of my ninth grade literature textbook. I always thought it was funny that vincit was pronounced “wink it.”
The second phrase is the title of a famous poem from World War I. The full saying from Horace is dulce et decorum est pro patria mori—it is sweet and right to die for your country. I read this poem in AP English during my senior year in high school.
Sic transit gloria comes from the Wes Anderson film “Rushmore.” The protagonist, Max Fischer translates it as “glory fades.” It’s often used in reference to characters who have seen their halcyon days pass them by.
The last phrase, post tenebras lux, is associated with John Calvin and Reformation era Geneva. It means “after darkness light.” It’s something I picked up in seminary.
I feel like this is where my life has been and where it is right now. The how and the why I am want to say. “The purpose in a man’s heart is like deep water…” Indeed, but am I a man of understanding able to draw it out?
How cryptic and inscrutable we are today.
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| Words of Wisdom
You won't find any here. Words of wisdom, that is.
I've found that the more I write, the more I end up sticking my foot in my mouth. The world doesn't need another person peddling their opinions and diatribes for all to see. Consider it my act of community service, my New Year's resolution for perpetuity.
Even here, there was much that was better left unsaid or said more charitably. Now that I've dusted off this much neglected space, I can see myself getting back into it...
But I do not like the taste of my own feet. | | |
| Sympathy for the Devil
edited on April 18, 2007 at 5:34 PM
People are trying to find answers and meaning behind the worst mass shooting in US history. Details are scarce about the “eccentric loner” that murdered 32 people before taking his own life. The note that Seung-Hui Cho left behind in his dorm was a laundry list of grievances, with rich kids and religion topping that list. Much of what’s on the news has been speculation or fragments of truth.
We all want details. We all want to know why.
The usual suspects are being cited: violent video games, troubled domestic life, and depression. Perhaps by pinpointing an outside cause, we can satisfy our desire to quantify our problems and eliminate the attending sources. The other option is to demonize a figure, emphasizing any aberrations and anomalies in an effort to distance ourselves as far as possible from such a monster.
This was no crime of passion, judging by the staggering human toll. The emerging details point to someone that was unflinching and remorseless. By all appearances, this was mechanical extermination, not an emotionally fueled act of anger. What kind of person would be capable of this?
I’ve been trying to piece together an explanation based on anything I could gather from the news. There are facsimiles of the bizarre and violent plays Seung-Hui Cho wrote in college, which peers and former teachers cited as warning signs. There are anecdotal accounts from high-school friends, saying Seung-Hui Cho was an avid Counterstrike player.
Based on family and life details, one could conclude that maybe Seung-Hui Cho suffered from feelings of inadequacy and failure. He had an older sister that attended Princeton. He was 23 years old and still an undergrad. For those of us that are Korean, issues of cultural expectation come to mind. Can the question of motive really be answered by adding variables like this together? Can a sympathetic face ever be put on a person who so methodically and efficiently destroyed 33 human lives?
There are no cut-and-dry answers, but the observation I found most striking was that it could have been anyone.
It could have been me.
I was 12 years old. My parents had gone through a long, bitter, and violent period of separation and divorce. Everything I had known and taken for granted was tossed to the wind as my dad, my brother, and I loaded up everything we had into a van and lived as homeless nomads until settling in Atlanta.
I was not the picture of well-adjustment.
School was an ordeal of self-imposed isolation and alienation. There were a few friends made, to be fair, but only skin deep, to be honest. I rarely spoke and shunned social interaction religiously. I never ate lunch all throughout high school, preferring the quiet confines of the library and my mind rather than the bustling scene of a cafeteria.
My artistic and literary output at the time would have been a case study in juvenile pathology. I wrote a novella when I was 15 called “Shard of Glass.” The story followed a troubled young man who killed his abusive father and proceeded to exact bloody, methodical revenge on those whom he hated at school. The story ended with a climactic and suicidal plunge from a bridge, the young man shot to death by law enforcement officers, with the titular weapon in his hand. It was illustrated, too.
To be objective, it made “Richard McBeef” and “Mr. Brownstone” look innocuous by comparison.
One incident prompted my 9th grade science teacher to lecture on the importance of believing in Jesus as Lord and Savior—in a classroom, no less. We had created a timeline of the Earth’s geological and evolutionary development. Mine started with a giant pentagram with letters written in vivid red, “Satan created the Earth 4600 million years BC.” Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to hear my science teacher’s undoubtedly unconstitutional plea—I had already moved to another school.
Contemplating suicide was a common pasttime. Do I jump out the picture window during dinner in the hope that I would sever a major artery and be killed by the fall? Would ingesting a bottle of shampoo be enough? Would anyone even care?
Those that knew me can attest to expressing a great deal of concern about my well-being. There have been teachers and professors who’ve shown various levels of alarm and compassion for that reclusive young man. Friends from college have told their mothers that they’re afraid of a boy who might shoot the whole class. I’m sure many of them are secretly relieved now.
It could have been me. But it wasn’t.
If you search through sites like Facebook, numerous groups have been created with names like: Cho Seung-Hui does not represent Koreans, Cho Seung-Hui is pure evil, and Cho Seung-Hui is a coward and will rot in hell!
There’s a lot of anger and grief and bewilderment over what happened. People cannot fathom how a person could commit such a profound act of destruction. I don’t have any more answers than the next person, but instead of confusion and anger I’m left with an uncomfortable feeling of familiarity. More than being too close to home, it feels too close to my own face, like looking in a mirror.
News sources have cited that Seung-Hui Cho mentioned the failings of religion as to blame for what he did. I can’t help but think if he only knew what I know. My 9th grade science teacher would have been happy to know I came to believe in Jesus.
It’s no trite or cliché thing for me to say that knowing Jesus as Lord and Savior was what rescued me from death. It could have made a difference in Seung-Hui Cho’s life, too, if he believed. I wish to God someone like me could have told someone like him about the Gospel.
Thirty-two innocent people died in a senseless and terrible way. One other person died in a similar and senseless and terrible way. And hundreds more will suffer in the aftermath of what that one person did on April 16, 2007. I don’t think anyone can say what is the greater tragedy.
I can say that there was a young man that had a profound emptiness and hopelessness in his life. And I know he wasn’t alone, and that there will be no shortage of those like him. I was one of them. What can we do for those that remain ignored and unreached?
The cure for this suffering isn’t political action, changes in legislation, improved response time by law enforcement, public apologies, psychological screening, or anything else we can come up with as a society.
The only cure for this suffering is a result of what someone else did 2,000 years ago, something that was beyond our reach but was made known to us through grace and mercy and love.
Some may object and ask, “Where was God when all this happened?” If there is no God, then what happened was truly senseless and meaningless and nothing can ever stop it from happening again. We would be a people without hope, relegated to despair and death without any purpose. It would be a world where April 16, 2007 makes perfect sense.
If there is a God, but he couldn’t stop what happened, the end is the same. How could we be certain that a God that has no control over human events can do anything at all? For all we know, God couldn’t do anything about his son being murdered on the cross except put a positive spin on the story. There would be no lasting hope, only the unrelenting grip of despair.
But there is a God whose power can overcome even the most horrific and senseless of human tragedies, even using them for his purposes for the good of those that love him. Jeremiah 28:11 says, “‘For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”
God has not abandoned those promises but keeps them even today. And it is a God that has remained true to those promises that saved me from destruction.
There’s been much backlash about people using the Virginia Tech shootings as a hobby-horse for a political agenda. This isn’t a political statement. Lasting peace, restoration, and healing can only come through the Gospel. People are open to disagree, but I stake my life as testimony to the truth and power of what God has done.
If there ever was a time when people needed prayer, it’s now. If there was ever a time that people needed the good news of Jesus the Christ, it’s now.
Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. - Jeremiah 28:12-13
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| Another Year, Another Yeti
I got married. And now I'm back. End of story.
Yes, I am pulling the "marriage" card to explain my long hiatus. But to say that marriage has changed me is a myth on the order of the fabled Four-Legged Horse. It just ain't true.
The fact that I am married has only recently struck me. And it happened like this: Christina got a new box of checks in the mail. Her name is printed as Christina Jeong on them. It was then that I realized I had hit the jackpot.
But now with the irrevocable fact of marriage firmly planted in my head, it's time to dust off this keyboard and update. So here are a few pictures.
Here we are, celebrating our first Christmas. Oh, olive oil dispenser,
how I've longed for thee...
Here is the reason for our happy, smiling faces: a totally sweet A/V setup.
The rectilinear perfection of our couch.
This is where I spend most of my time. You think I'm kidding,
but you'd only be half right.
Our office. Yes, I picked the colors. Laugh all you want, but the room requires
no electrical lighting, saving us 42% on our energy costs each year.
I had this fish tank installed in the master bath. I raised the whale shark
from birth. People come from all over to take pictures in our can.
I'm just kidding. The fishtank is in our basement.
I'm sure this has been an illuminating look into the most beloved and cherished of institutions--capitalism. Looking at these pictures, though, you can see what I've been up to. Painting. That is the mystery of marriage. But now that I'm done painting, I can move on to my other marital duties, like vacuuming and dusting.
Hey, allowance doesn't grow on trees. And apparently, neither does coherent thought. Good night, my fair Sasquatch.
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| A Series of Unfortunate Events
The dutiful police officer last night gave me a citation as a wedding gift around 4:00 AM this morning. To be fair, though, it looked like he was really choked up about giving me the ticket. I imagine things would have been better for me if I told him that I was getting married that day, but I think the guilt would have driven him over the edge.
I had just dropped off one of my groomsmen at his apartment. We had spent the previous four hours trying to decorate the sanctuary for the wedding. In the process, we nearly suffered decapitation, dismemberment, blunt trauma, and vertigo. Tim and I nearly killed ourselves, wrestling with a 20 foot extension ladder. As tired and sick we both were, we could barely lift the ladder or maneuver it into position. Several times we almost dropped the ladder on ourselves or toppled over into who knows what kind of horrible demise.
Tim's the best friend a guy could have, but he let me climb the ladder, which wobbled and shook unnervingly as I went up to try and hang the banners. And when we finally hung one up, we understood completely the concept of diminishing returns. Christina would kill me if she saw what I was trying to do and the lengths we were going through. But by the grace of God, we realized that maybe it was time to call it a night.
For most of the week, I had been struggling with a cold, that just got worse and worse as the week went on. At the rehearsal, I hacked and coughed through the vows. But as I woke up this morning, the sun was out, and my illness was greatly diminished. Now I'm holding out for the chance that the police officer will show up at the wedding and tear up my ticket.
Things were getting a little hairy towards the end, but it was a reminder that despite all my best efforts and preparation, we are continually sustained through God's provision. And here I am now, carried by God's grace, humbled by my foolishness, and anticipating the joy that is to come.
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