As we gather this year, I’m hopeful not just for what’s ahead but for who is being raised up. I anticipate seeing even more allyship rise—not performative, but deeply rooted in love for LGBTQ+ people and a desire to see the whole Church flourish.

And I’m also expectant—so expectant—for how LGBTQ+/SSA people will continue to rise up and bless the Church and its communities. Not just on stages or podcasts or in overseas ministry (though those are beautiful), but in the ordinary rhythm of everyday life. You are building, encouraging, praying, cultivating. You are creating spaces where God’s Kingdom can be known on earth—a Kingdom rooted in truth, in love for all people, in a love for yourself, and in a love for God that echoes in eternity.

John's account of this story tells us that Jesus made a whip of cords, drove out the animals from the temple courts, scattered the coins of the money changers, and overturned their tables. "Get these out of here! Stop turning my Father's house into a market!" (John 2:16 NIV). You can feel his indignation at the injustice toward the poor pilgrims seeking to offer sacrifice and the Gentile believers whose one designated place of worship in the temple was crowded out by commerce.

What a relief that our High Priest can empathize with our weaknesses, as Hebrews reminds us, including our propensity toward anger! In his anger, his actions at the temple were not reactionary but deliberate, not driven by selfish motivations but rather by grief at the way the poor were being exploited, and the outcasts were being further excluded from God's presence. His anger also never turned violent toward others. In this story, we have a model from Jesus of how to "be angry and sin not."

I anointed him with a spirit of peace and prayed blessings upon his life from Exodus 33:12–23 and Psalm 33:4–5. It was a treasured moment, between both queer biological siblings and siblings in Christ. It was a moment of encouragement and a reminder that the Lord uses us to bless one another. A reminder that we need one another.

See, for years, I saw myself in my faith walk as a solo traveler going from place to place (on a canoe, for whatever reason). While I saw other boats in the water with me, few were going in the same general direction, and fewer still knew how to help in emergencies, in heartbreaks, in moments of deep, heart-wrenching struggle. To be clear, I had (and still have) some very dear friends who have been absolutely loving and gracious – and present – but there were elements of my life that they could not fully understand. I was "Side B" before "Side B" was a term since I grew up in a Korean Canadian immigrant church that lacked understanding, education, and experience with the LGBTQ+/SSA community (although, to be clear, they did their best to support and love me). For almost two decades, I was resigned to the apparent fact that this would be a very lonely walk… but I also saw it as worth it. Now, here I was, meeting all these people at once, sharing our life histories, our coming-out stories, and our first crushes… and I felt understood and seen in ways that I hadn't been before. There was no need to explain how I, a Korean pastor's kid, could be gay from a young age (I came out to myself when I was 12). There was no need to clarify how often I ate kimchi or if my smaller eyes meant that I had a smaller field of vision. There was no need to dampen my "gayness" to be less…colorful.

Most of us have been in straight male Christian spaces and know what it’s like to feel unseen and left out. If this blog post were a Men’s Breakfast at church, we’d start with a few NFL references, lead into something self-depricating about our much-smarter wives (but it would still make us look good), and then move into porn accountability groups and bacon. 

God is always in remembering-time. And when we remember–whether a Scripture or a moment of beauty, or an act of grace–we mirror His nature.

As I memorize the Beatitudes, I skip over or misremember words. Still, phrases come back to me, grounding me in the truth: God remembers me–my worries, needs, and hopes.

This month is Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month. As a 3rd generation Chinese American, I think of my parents in Southern California, my silly biracial nephews and niece, and both of my grandmothers in Los Angeles. The shared meals and the stories–all part of remembering-time that shapes identity and belonging.

I anointed him with a spirit of peace and prayed blessings upon his life from Exodus 33:12–23 and Psalm 33:4–5. It was a treasured moment, between both queer biological siblings and siblings in Christ. It was a moment of encouragement and a reminder that the Lord uses us to bless one another. A reminder that we need one another.

Because, in my fiery soul, I have a hope that burns brightly. It is a hope that, like Jesus approaching Samaria, we look toward the dim corners of our table and know that we have to go there. Not to dominate with our own fire but to see and tend to the flames that have been neglected, both by society and by our own community… Because the thriving of this table is not someone else’s responsibility. It belongs to each of us.