When I think about all the arguments over the years with my parents and how I behaved or responded, I’m not proud. My parents and I shared the same blood, but we grew up in very different cultures and generations, leading to sometimes overlapping but often conflicting frameworks of values, beliefs, and understandings of the world.
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Some people joke and call seminary a cemetery, a place where enthusiast followers of Jesus become dull and headstrong. But what if seminary can be a cemetery for something good?
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Every Sunday as I was growing up, my family would go through our weekly ritual of going to our Sunday service at the Korean United Methodist Church (KUMC). We’d pile into the minivan, wearing our Sunday best – usually sitting in the car for a few minutes while we waited for my mom to grab something she’d forgotten from the house
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It didn’t take long for me to learn that I was different. I was waiting in line for my school lunch, standing in front of the counter, my six-year-old self just tall enough to see the cafeteria moms doling out our food, when a classmate came up to me.
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