The essay I submitted for this year’s EMERGE essay writing preliminaries.

The Church has no doubt left an indelible mark in the history of human society. The tentacles of Christian influence can be seen reaching out everywhere. From the ancient cathedrals in Rome to the cross on the necks of people everywhere and the massive sales of Bibles the world over, Christianity has indeed become a fixture in the backdrop of culture in the Western world and beyond.

Having played such a major role in shaping our past, does the Church still have a role to play in molding our future? The Church has been a very resilient creature. Built on thousands of years of history and heritage, it is unlikely that the Church will fade away anytime soon. But more than that, the Church is built on Christ the Rock, and the role He plays in every believer’s life is more than that of a prophet or simply a moral teacher, but an interactive God that taps into our emotions, our hopes and dreams, and some dare say, our intellect. Quite simply, He has changed His follower’s lives, and in deeply profound ways.

It is amazing Jesus Christ’s death on the cross could have such deep repercussions for today. It is quite unfathomable and heart-rending to think that so many martyrs had died for this one man, had endured torture and mistreatment, in the end still refusing to give up their beliefs. What could he have done to impact the apostle’s lives so greatly that they would so willingly die for Him? Surely there must be substantial to be found in His death on the cross!

One word stands out more than others to explain this profound phenomenon: love. It is for love that Jesus Christ died on the cross. It is for love that so many willingly endured the cross, confronting the shame and threats of death and persecution that often accompany a profession of their beloved faith. And even as society progresses at lightning speed, as technology develops by leaps and bounds, there still one pressing need in society that is still begging to be met: the love of Christ and the restoration power it brings.

There is a fresh generation that cries out to experience love. This is the generation that is overwhelmed by all that is happening in the world. In the every increasing pace of modern society and the multiplying complexities of life, it is so easy to become lost and drown in. Hopelessness abounds, people get increasingly weary of life and all it has to offer. Surely there must be more to living?

In Singapore today, we do not see people starving in the streets, we do not see warlords dominating the neighborhoods. We have an effective government, a tolerant society, and a thriving economy. But there are still broken homes to fix, hope to give, and mediocrity to escape. There is still a God-shaped vacuum in all of us.

The issue here is not whether the Church is relevant to society. This is a non-issue. People will forever need the gospel. The issue here is how we can make the gospel relatable to the people around us and how do we present it to the people with such presence and the power of God that they will be converted. We do not need to worry about the contents in the parcel, because it has already been provided for and taken care of by God. What we need work on is the delivery.

Death is painless when viewed from the outside, but a tormenting experience when personal. For Suresh’s death, I was the outsider. I looked upon it with detached eyes, wasn’t prepared to feel for it. I saw everything from afar. From the shocking call from a friend to the endless class discussions to the funeral itself (which I did not attend), I had failed to be a presence where I was required. Sure I felt guilty, but I brushed it aside with convenient reasoning. I had failed as a human being.

I was a religious bigot. I paraded a big invisible cross behind my back, ready to thump it upon people whom I felt were potential and susceptible. I was a salesman knocking on the doors of people’s hearts, trumpeting my wares without tact or restraint. And I wasn’t even a good salesman. It isn’t surprising that I find doors shutting me out all the time. Instead of enlightenment, all I caused was misunderstanding. In hoping to sow seeds of love, all I reaped was hatred.

In trying to be sincere, I ended up being sincerely wrong. As a result I became somewhat of a fake in the eyes of the masses, when all I wanted to do was spread goodness. I became somewhat of a double-agent, all smiles and nice words on the outside, but motivated inside by malicious intent.

This is not the first time I’ve written about Suresh. But it will certainly be my last. I am seeking closure. I’ve tried to express regret in my previous attempts, but I felt that this time I want to do it well, and do it right.

I apologize for all the hurts I’ve caused and the misunderstandings resulted.

To those who I have been downright insensitive to, I’m sorry.

To God, I’m sorry for not being a good representation of Your goodness and mercy, and I promise that this will never happen again.

To all the friendships lost and dissolved, I do not expect all to forgive me. I’m looking forward; I’ve got dreams to chase, a full life to live!

All I hope for is understanding.

Looking back, I realized that I was a sprocket in the gigantic machinery of a glossy religious conglomerate. Make no mistake about it, I have not left City Harvest Church. It is still, to me, the place to be. But now I understand.

Jesus Christ knew how Christianity ought to be. The Bible says that “now you are the body of Christ, and members individually.” We are a body, made of flesh and blood. As a church, we need to be a collective of compassionate, full-blooded human beings, understanding the plight of others and actively seeking to address their needs.

The sad thing is, that even as I write, there will still be thousands of others who have not learnt the same lesson as I have, that will still continue to force their faith down people’s throats. However, I believe that every ray of light counts, no matter how dim it is. Insignificant as it may appear to be, I will make that stand.

I still remember the time I was in secondary four… I’ve graduated from school and everything… church was fine for me… not a place I’d go to often, in fact I find it a drag sometimes… I was shy and didn’t want to open myself to anybody there… felt out-of-place and distant… like I don’t belong there or something… then one day after a prayer meeting a desire came up in me… a desire swelling… heating up on the inside… I actually wanted to be spiritual… I felt God calling out to me… a voice within… reaching out towards me… Terence, Terence… I heard that voice in my head… I told God I wanted to pray and seek his face, to read the Bible and know Him more… to know God as a person… It was unfamiliar and one night I remembered praying to God before I sleep and it went on for a few days but didn’t last… then one day things happened… things beyond my wildest dreams… I was starting a new life in JC… making friends and enjoying myself… I felt so free, so free… never been so outgoing… felt liberated from the shackles of my past… I’ve made a decision… to never be who I was, a shy kid who doesn’t know how to talk or make friends… even my primary school classmates were shocked… I was changed… then one day I knew a friend whom I really admired… redefined my thinking and changed my life… he brought me to CHC… he opened my eyes and let me see things I’ve never thought I’d see…my heart resisted… then soon walls began to come down… brick by brick crumbling down… until all was gone and my soul laid bare… just me and God.

It is interesting sometimes to see how far we’ve gone in our journey with God. Looking at where I was and where I am now, there is much I can thank God for. Sometimes when you think you’re not making much progress or seem to be stuck in a rut, it helps to look back on the past. It’s like you’re walking and walking and you’re either looking down—you won’t know how far you’re gone—or looking ahead—the journey seems never-ending. Instead of simply looking down or looking ahead, look back. Look back at where you’ve started and the progress you’ve made. Look back at the obstacles you’ve overcame and the peaks you’ve conquered. Look back at the memories you’ve forged with the friendships you’ve made. Look back at your triumphs and victories. You’ll be amazed by how far you’ve gone.

I have began to realize that being a writer is really not an easy job. Especially if you want to be a successful fiction writer, especially if you want to make it big-time. I have dreams. But right now I’m just taking my first baby steps in that direction, with (as of now) two short stories under my belt and a third one coming soon. Make no mistake about it, I’m really proud of what I’ve written, and I think they’re the best in the world. But the effort which is required to come out with it is laborous.

What you see is the finished product. But what you don’t see the effort behind these stories. For every word that fits are two that go down the rubbish chute. I remembered writing the stories and I kept thinking that, “Oh no, this isn’t going to work!” Writing is like a marathon, you run the race not knowing how you are going to end. You persevere on, an endless stretch of tarmac ahead of you, and you keep running and running. And when you reach the end, you feel a gigantic sense of satisfaction.

But that is not the end. Once the story is finished one goes through a process of constant refining and editing, until, at last, something that sort of resembles a cohesive story comes out. It’s kind of like polishing and shaping a diamond, from a piece of rock to precious jewelry. And I haven’t even got started on a novel yet.

I am still an aspiring writer, in a small island state where the literary scene, to be frank, leaves much to be desired. Where are the Stephen Kings, the Anne Rice and the John Grishams of Singapore? Where are the Amy Tans, the Jane Austins or for that matter, the Tom Clancys of this nation? Singapore has yet to produced somebody that can sit alongside with the literary heavy weights of the world.

I don’t want to be just a small little fiction writer sitting somewhere in a cold office in a tiny HDB flat, a bespectacled little fella typing away on a keyboard, slouching and staring at the screen, with a mug of cold coffee placed on a toaster. Anybody who aspires to be such shouldn’t even bother in the first place. The literary scene here depresses me.

Or maybe I could be wrong. Well, anyway, next year there are a lot of things I can really look forward to as a writer. There’s the Singapore Writer’s Festival, The Golden Point Awards, and of course I want to join a decent writer’s club where I can network with others who are plying the same trade. And I should be working on my first novel by then.

Well that’s life I guess, a road of hardships and failed dreams. Behind every successful writer is a successful woman, and of course a dozen other failed writers. I am very aware that many who tried to achieve their dreams never do, and they end up settling for second fiddle, for something less than what they had wanted. That is unacceptable to me. Living a life of regrets does not hold any appeal to me, and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen.

Well, achieving your dreams requires damn a lot of hard work, doesn’t it?

Gingerly I came to you, holding shards of broken glass in the palms of my trembling hands. I hesitated, stopping just out of sight, face downcast, weeping. These are my broken pieces.

How fragile the human heart, wounded by words that hurt that harm that bruise, words that cause us to withdraw and hide. How many times the human heart—that fragile object, that battered creature, has to endure the torment of malice-imbibed words? How many times the human heart, being dropped and shattered again and again, have to be pieced together, a hasty and incomplete job? The human soul is a battered one, scarred and disfigured.

Eventually you saw me. Your words were ever gentle and kind, ever-loving, life-changing. You encouraged me, gave me strength in my times of weakness, uplifted me when I’m down, gave me hope when there seemed to be none. You are my dream-giver, my healer, the light of my life.

You took the pieces from my hands, molded them, reshaped them. Gave it back to me whole. You completed my life, healed my soul. Like a wounded animal I came to you, yet you took me in and restored me.

How many times have I failed you? How many times have I said, “I don’t need you in my life?” How many times have I neglected you, ignored you, put you second fiddle? Yet whenever I come running into your arms an injured creature, you embraced me and forgave me.

You’ve given me hope and a vision for the future. Gave me a purpose to live, when so many others are so lost in life. O how I want to do you proud! How I want the world to know of your great deeds, of your love and your goodness. You are the reason why I live, why I breathe, the reason for my existence!

O God, you gave me something I’ve never thought that I could have: a restored soul, a sense of self-worth, a confidence for the future. And for everything, I thank you.

I love you, I love you, I love you…

I love you, I love you, I love you…