Welcome home

It was the tsunami of warm and fresh Saipan air that came as a welcome assault on my lungs descending from one of Korea’s airlines. This was in stark contrast to what has become a daily condition in the northeast of China. Shenyang in Dung Bei (old Manchuria to the elders) where I scribble my pedagogical pencils has the infamous reputation of being like smoggy Beijing.

The coal-fired (misnamed mei since that also means “pretty girl”) power plants that dot the landscape emits all the carbon laced particles that hover up to10,000 feet above the ground before hitting the blue skies, so it was a delight to finally get out of the haze and smog and see the uncluttered portion of our biosphere.

Psychologists say that the weather often determines an individual’s outlook. It seems true of social creatures’ behavior as well. It is no surprise that in tropical weather, folks tend to be “happy go-lucky” ones, while in Winnipeg’s streets on cold days, the common rush hour look is dour-and-sour. I say the same of any cold city in any part of the world.

But the cold and the heat are not really what determine the feeling and reality of being “welcomed home.” My enlightened theologically-inclined friends say that the word “god” is really just a pious term for “reality” and living the way life is makes one godly. While I do not use the same metaphor, I share the same sentiment. Being welcomed home is reality saying that I can trust what I have on my hands and decide to live it without fear.

Deciding to give your whole to the reality you have, of full self-expenditure even unto death on behalf of the other, is what the “Christ” role is all about and the holy spirit is sheer freedom to celebrate and intentionally own up to that expenditure, in the full ambiguity of its mystery and depth as one’s own. No mumbo-jumbo here. Just plain reality.

The image of the earthrise in 1968 welcomed me home to Earth. Deciding on the corporate vision and mission of a group of intentional folks in the State of Maharashtra in India in 1978 made me understand that “doing it” is not subject to the psychological ennui of achievement and result. “Just do it” is more than a popular footwear brand’s slogan. My “it” was expenditure as the way life is, but deciding to do so on behalf of all is the free choice I added to reality!

So, being welcomed home in the Marianas was not just the pleasant surroundings of the lagoon, or the nice walk up and down the pathway at sunset, the stroll along Paseo de Marianas when it is empty at noon, or when the tourists in droves elbow it with the locals at night. Being welcomed into anything is really a matter of choice, not dependent on externals.

I must concede that the externals this week aligned to the best formation of my stars. Running into Uncle Dave outside a favored buffet at Fiesta where the late JP of ST used to meet for lunch was a pleasant surprise. He did not immediately recognize who I was since we had limited contact so I reminded him that I wrote a column for his company’s paper. Then his face beamed with the light of recognition and he was gracious and diplomatic enough to say that he read some of my writings. Later at his office, he autographed a copy of his book.

Then I ran into the brother of a former SVES student. He serves tables at a tourist joint in Garapan. He brought over to our table his younger brother who I recognized immediately by name and looks. My SVES student will make it past NMC academic requirements this semester to head out to US’ Washington State for further schooling. Nothing beats that kind of news from a former student to a former teacher, especially since he was polite enough to mention that, on occasion, he read my column as well.

It was not, of course, all hunky dory. A familiar face smiled at me with a “long time no see” handshake at Fiesta’s beach. I knew him well previously but my bewildered look made him mention his SpEd teacher wife Anna to jog my memory and the puzzle pieces fell into place.

With a tooth bridge broken I had to wait for one of Seventh-day Adventist’s dental chairs. Then I remembered Ryan Bell, an ex-Seventh-day Adventist pastor who went godless a year, found called “god” no longer necessary in his life, nor as a viable explanation of the way life is. “I’d just say that the existence of God seems like an extra layer of complexity that isn’t necessary,” he was quoted. There are many of us who grew up with the god-metaphor who do not forsake the category of “spirit” but are sympathetic to Bell’s decision that the “world makes more sense as it is without postulating a divine being who is somehow in charge of things.”

So, where do I get off feeling that I am welcomed home, without postulating a providential power that bestows me and everyone else the power to operate in it? Sans theist metaphor, the breeze by the lagoon is a profound welcome, and to battered Earth that claimed my loyalty since the ‘68 earthrise image, I am very grateful.