There is Room

Room

I asked God—
what about my fingernail-biting habit
or the way I leave all the cabinets open in the kitchen?

What about the way I can be dramatic,
drumming up a fight, only to
hand out apologies like souvenirs?

What about the way I second-guess myself,
let shame drive, or stay quiet when I
have something to say?

What about the way I chase accomplishments
like a dog with a bone?

What about the doubt, or the fact
that I’m terrible at prayer and
cannot help but yawn during church?

What about
What about
What about?

My baggage might be too big for the van.

But then
God called me by my first and middle name,
which always means business,
and said:
Who told you that you were too much?
Sugar, there is so much room for you here.

So that’s when I grabbed a seat
and we hit the road
and I knew right then
that the rumors were true.

There is room.
There is room.
There is room.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed, A Sanctified Art

Read Matthew 1:1-17

Reflection By Dr. Christine J. Hong

Just as Christ’s genealogy reveals the relationships across time and space in his life, many of our names also tie us to the generations who come before us and those who will come after us. Matthew lists the names of Jesus’ forebearers as a marker of hope finally realized. Even today, names are the seeded hope of one generation planted in another. They are the thread that connects our histories, stories, and futures. We are the hopes of those who’ve come before, and we live in hope for those who will come after us.

In the Korean tradition, male babies are named by the oldest patriarch on the father’s side of a family. My paternal grandfather died before I was born, so it was my maternal grandfather who built my name. Even before I was born, he declared he would build a meaningful name for me (even though I was not a boy). I would receive a name with intention from the oldest living generation to the newest. He gave me the name Jin, which when paired with my surname, becomes Hong Jin, meaning “something precious in the wide expanse.” When I was born, he was not sure when he would get to meet his granddaughter with the vast ocean separating South Korea from California. In those days, it was not so easy or affordable to fly internationally. The name represented the connection he felt to me and my parents, despite what felt like an insurmountable distance between us. What is the Spirit of God if not the hope against hope in our lives?

My grandfather knew about hope against hope; he died at 101 years old, a survivor of war and displacement, excruciating trauma and loss. Yet, I knew him as a loving human with a joyful disposition, a spiritual and humble man, my biggest fan, the person who left me the gift of my name—connecting me through that name to the hope he bore through so much tragedy. Three years ago, I passed the gift of the name Jin to my daughter, Tae-Jin, giving her the part of the name my grandfather built for me.Her name means “precious light.”Through her name, she is connected to her great-grandfather, to his stories, his hopes, his spiritual presence. As she grows, she will become part of a larger story by weaving in her own stories as seeds of hope against hope for someone new.

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