Radically Human

“A direct question: Why should one be a Christian? Why not be human, truly human? Why, in addition to being human, should we be Christians? Is there something more to being a Christian than to being human? Is it a superstructure? A substructure? Just what does it mean to be a Christian, what does it mean to be a Christian today?”

Hans Küng, “On Being a Christian”
Originally published in German, 1974

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Dear Alex,

Yesterday at dusk, I stopped fuming over the first 2 or 3 pages of the toughest book I have ever read and re-read - a marvel in hardbound text gifted from you and authored by Hans Küng whose no-frill, baseline questions have set your baselines in motion since you first read them in 2000. I knew I would need to crawl over these pages again to understand Küng.

Then I went out for a walk with my dog, an irregular break from my weekend routine. I saw the moon and tried to snatch its marvel on photo. But my shots were shoddy and my aim laughable. So I shall remember the moon along with the marvel of Küng on lines and bark blunt as shadows, crisp as summer eve fading.

Summer Moon

A whiff a fin an interruption in
gaping yellow of a half-turn too soon
mid-spin from frown to smile cropped thin,
you hang silly in the sky curved less than
a penny for flight a quarter too full
neither noticed nor focussed on purpose.

I wonder why you retain glow cut short
by freeways, high-risers with L E D
rays of buckteeth bull-dozing backstage court:
weeping faith encrusted on manuscript
for reason unknown unseen forgotten
past swells and shallow of tides on mileage.

The moon a wink a tease a hook for souls
beneath the baseline of being human,
loitering on perpetual banner
with a query too bright for the morning
Why believe? what how where are you being?

A skiff in summer slipping, the moon sails.

Yours, Kate

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Dear Kate,

Küng is my hero.

I searched my now decommissioned old blog and found this following piece, written--guess what!--on September 4, 2012, precisely 7 perfect years ago.

I shall share with you here and resist all temptation to self-edit.

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It's been almost 15 years since I first met my spiritual father Hans Küng in the New West library, still the most beautiful library I've ever been to, still carrying the book "On Being a Christian", which is still the book that I go back to again and again to find my balance when my footing is lost.  Back in those days the first email address I've ever set up for myself was "hans_kung@mybc.com" (now does not exist).  Sorry, Hans, I should have asked for permission.  But you know how much I was and still am looking up to you.  There is this word called anchor, which, to me, is something that gives not only intellectual but also emotional peace deep at even the darkest place of a heart.  You are one of my anchors.  (I know at this moment some Christians will correct me that Christ is our only "anchor", whatever they think I mean this word here.  I don't want to explain.  At least not in the mood now.)

I cannot quote Küng.  Because anything taken out of the context of his writing is not good enough.  The majesty of a cathedral cannot be fully experienced by a casual onlooker who wouldn't seek beyond the dimension of one brick on its wall.  I searched online and found one page with the Table of Contents of "On Being a Christian" and one big excerpt.  I will post it here (click HERE) for a taste.  But again, not enough--not even close.  What do you call this yearning, Hans?  Yes, to be radically human.  "To be a Christian is to be radically human," you said. (I can already hear the sound of mud being slung on "humanism".  But the mud-slinger knows not what he is slinging at.)

Hans, this past weekend I brought my kids and Sumi to the library and told them about you.  There is only gratefulness in my heart.  I know it was not luck, certainly not an accident, that I met you there 15 years ago.  God had led me there.  One year before that I would have been too immature to tell a diamond from a rock, one year after that too busy with something else.  The timing was precise, but I can only know at hindsight.  My head was full of disjointed ideas, and you made the connections for me.  I wasn't blind, but yet I couldn't see the big picture.  You are a beacon.  Now there is this word called beacon...

And this weekend I asked my son this question: how important is Jesus to you at this moment of your life?  He gave me an honest answer, and I promised to search with him honestly.

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You can see I've always been a conversational writer.

Yours, Alex