Jacq So, Author at YMI

Why I Watch Shows Containing Violence and Supernatural Themes

Jacq So — Thu, 20 Apr 2023 04:30:30 +0000

“You watch wrestling? Why?”

It’s a question I’ve been asked a lot, in tones ranging from confused to disdainful. And I get it—it’s so lowbrow, so unsophisticated, so. . . violent. Certainly not very appropriate media for a girl to enjoy. But it is precisely the raw nature that draws me to it.

Before we get down to the violence issue, I want to start by explaining first why professional wrestling continues to thrive across the globe: it offers a highly accessible form of visceral, aggressive escapism.

Every time we look for entertainment, we seek to escape, to vicariously live the experiences reality denies us. We want to be able to watch someone do what we can’t in real life.

What makes wrestling “appealing” is the satisfaction of seeing the bad guy getting their comeuppance in the way we want to see it. Done dirty by your boss? You can actually punch them in the face in front of your colleagues and be celebrated for it. Family feud? Lock yourself in a cage with the offending relative for a free-for-all where no one can stop you from beating each other to a pulp. Justice doesn’t have to wait for red tape.

Watching wrestling makes me feel better, even if just temporarily, because of that escapism factor. Simply put, I think, “Yay, in this fictional world, the bad guy gets beaten up. Lemme spend a few hours here instead of in reality.”

The simplicity of violence

I’m not writing all this to indiscriminately justify the shows that I watch, but mainly to reflect on what’s really fuelling my interest in them.

In real life where bad guys seem to get away with everything due to the right influence or money that allows them to circumvent the “proper channels”, violent media give us the opportunity to see a world where the wicked truly get theirs, right away. Retribution is immediate, visible, quantifiable.

One of my favourite pro wrestlers, Becky Lynch, has been touted as the first “alpha female” in the WWE, the world’s biggest pro wrestling company. For years, Becky patiently toiled in the background. Despite being beloved by the audience for her sweet, dorky personality, she was relegated to a supporting role to make others look good—particularly her best friend, who hogged the spotlight as the daughter of a “legend”.

Becky eventually reached a point where she was finally the favourite to become a champion. . . only to have her best friend snatch that opportunity from her one more time. So Becky snapped, turning on her best friend with a punch.

As she whaled on her best friend, each blow was a scream of frustration—both hers and ours. It’s that anger we feel when someone with talent keeps getting passed over and ignored. Seeing Becky finally stand up for herself and take what she felt she deserved was exhilarating—it’s something we all wish we could do.

In such cases, violent media encourages the idea that justice is in our hands—that we get what we deserve only when we decide to take action ourselves, and that we are the ones who can make the call.

I confess that I’ve often chosen Becky’s way of doing things. I’m often convinced that it’s up to me to stand up for myself and make things happen, rather than waiting for God to work in a situation. Watching evil people walk free with seemingly no consequences, I’ve often asked God why He takes so long when He could bring the hammer down now.

But the truth is, we are short-sighted and deeply flawed creatures. We cannot see all ends, and we don’t have every piece of the puzzle. Thus, the justice that we administer ends up being flawed too.

In Becky’s case, taking the step to enact her own justice eventually transformed her from the endearing personality everyone adored into a cocky champion with a massive chip on her shoulder. She completely bought into her own hype and came to see herself as above the law, which made her unable to take criticism.

When we get used to acting on our own, eventually the power of being our own judge goes to our heads, which corrupts us. We stop waiting on God and trusting His justice.

Which is why Romans 12:19 cautions us to not seek revenge ourselves when we are wronged, but to “leave room for God’s wrath”. When faced with injustice, our job is to bring it to Him, because He has promised that He will act. In Psalm 73, Asaph outlines for us the consequences in store for the wicked—they are on “slippery ground”, ruined, and their destruction comes swiftly (vv.17-19). At the end of all things, the Lord’s justice will prevail.

Even so, the Lord is also a patient God who “does not want anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). As a person who has received the mercy of Jesus Christ, I’ve come to acknowledge that if I had to deal with me, I would have destroyed myself a long time ago. And as God’s grace has saved me, so I must be willing to extend mercy to others.

When we focus on short-term vengeance, we fail to give people chances to surrender themselves to God and experience the mercy that we ourselves have received.

The power of the supernatural

As someone who grew up in a culture where women are often regarded as “less than” men, young me wanted to see a world where the power of women was recognised, respected, even revered. This was where Buffy the Vampire Slayer came in.

I understand why some see the show as demonic due to its premise of dealing with vampires and demons. But for many girls of my generation, Buffy and the other characters in the series became inspiring icons because of how they challenged cultural expectations and inequality. Buffy was a normal girl who through supernatural means became an alpha female; she subverted the “dumb blonde” trope by becoming the only person in her universe with the strength and skill to battle the forces of darkness.

In Buffy’s world, the supernatural opened up opportunities for people to be extraordinary. Where the real world would see weirdos and nerds, her universe saw fighters and survivors. That is the draw of many supernatural-themed shows—they take those who are typically disadvantaged and turn their weakness into power so they can finally be superior.

As a young girl, I wanted so badly to be strong the way Buffy and her friends were. To rise above the station that the patriarchal culture stuck me in. To be capable of, well, saving the world, using the talents and skills I have—skills that have been ignored if not belittled by people around me.

As I look deeper, the qualities that made supernatural shows like Buffy so attractive to me are present in God’s kingdom too. In the course of His ministry, Jesus called and inspired ordinary, unlearned men; with the power of the Holy Spirit, He turned them into spiritual giants who changed the world.

Long before supernatural shows were even a concept, God was already choosing “the weak things of the world to shame the strong” (1 Corinthians 1:27). Through a ragtag group of supposedly born losers, the world received the gospel message of salvation.

That said, God’s version of empowerment is also very different from the world’s. Jesus came to earth divinely empowered, with the ability to do literally anything, but He chose to not defend Himself at the critical hour as He headed to His painful death. He was ultimately defined by His humility and submission to the will of the Father (Philippians 2:5-8), rather than His miracles.

That Christlike empowerment is most clearly displayed in humility can feel like a tough pill for me to swallow, especially when being empowered as a woman continues to be a goal for me. I still find myself constantly pursuing ways to make this happen in my life, whether it’s seeking dominance in my line of work or calling the shots at home.

But as I write this, Resurrection Sunday has just passed, and I’ve been reminded of just how powerful what Christ did on the cross is. There is no greater victory than what He achieved. And so, even though it takes much dying to self, even though it feels like a thankless endeavour to be humble, there is no greater power.

The call to discernment

Ultimately, we must look at all kinds of media with careful discernment.

In keeping with the theme of female empowerment, Buffy does lean heavily into portrayals of Wicca, a belief system that has long provided a pathway to empowering women through the practice of magic and nature-centred worship. Many supernatural shows are also heavily influenced by spiritual texts that are given a “twist”. And so it’s important to approach supernatural-themed shows with great caution.

This doesn’t mean that non-violent/non-supernatural media are automatically safe—there are many movies and shows with safe “packaging” but actually hold many subtle snares. For instance, a sitcom may not necessarily be violent, but its themes may glorify selfishness and rudeness. A reality show may be about the real world, but it could be championing pride or superficiality.

If such media keeps us from appreciating God’s mercy and causes us to focus on human power instead of His power, if they make us vulnerable and cause us to stray from the Bible’s teachings, then we must be willing to humbly turn away.

Two questions we can ask ourselves are:

What does God think? Bring it to the Lord in prayer, and ask Him to search your heart for any wrong motives for watching such media.
What does it say about God? Do the movie/show’s themes help you to see God’s goodness, justice, and mercy in your own life, or do they disrespect Him?

We must also be mindful of how our choice of entertainment impacts other believers too. Even if we aren’t personally affected by a particular movie or show, we must “make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification” (Romans 14:19). Our ultimate goal is to glorify God in whatever we do (1 Corinthians 10:31), and so let it be our priority to commit even our entertainment choices to Him.

The post Why I Watch Shows Containing Violence and Supernatural Themes appeared first on YMI.

Roger Federer: Moving On with Grace

Jacq So — Thu, 29 Sep 2022 05:30:37 +0000

In the world of tennis, September 2022 will go down in history as the end of an era. First, Serena Williams closed out a standout 27-year career at the US Open—a departure shortly followed by the announcement that Roger Federer would be playing his last match at the Laver Cup.

As one of the greatest tennis players in the world, Federer shattered records throughout his 24 years in the sport. He picked up 20 Grand Slam wins, surpassing his personal hero Pete Sampras, and is currently the oldest player to become world no. 1 at the age of 36. He has been credited with revolutionising the sport, bringing it to a new level with his style of play.

Yet all the talent in the world couldn’t keep time from catching up to the Swiss legend. In his retirement letter, the 41-year-old Federer cited physical limitations as the reason why he was finally walking away—he had been battling nagging injuries for three years, and his body was sending him a clear message.

I am what I do

In 2019, Federer shared in a CNN interview that he wanted to eventually retire on his own terms, which is presumably how every athlete wants to go out. However, graceful, lasting retirements are the exception rather than the rule. The NFL’s Tom Brady has been making headlines because his inability to stay retired has been rocking his marriage. Even basketball legend Michael Jordan came out of retirement twice.

When the time comes for a professional athlete to step down, it can be hard to separate themselves from the sport. Sport careers often begin early, with promising talents devoting much of their youth to training. Once they go “pro”, their identity becomes significantly entwined with the sport, especially when they become a big name. And so, moving on can leave them feeling lost.

Athletes or not, the struggle with tying our identity to what we do is something all of us can relate to. Even for us believers, though we know our identity as the children of God (John 1:12), we repeatedly succumb to the world’s definition of and benchmark for identity, most especially in the way we introduce ourselves based on our occupations. I’ve seen how friends struggled with their self-esteem during seasons of unemployment, particularly during the height of the pandemic, because not having a job left them questioning their value in the world.

I’ve been blessed with a job that’s close enough to what I’ve always wanted to do with my life, and I’m happy to call myself a journalist/editor/writer. But linking myself to these roles also opens me up to feeling insecure, particularly when I encounter people who are doing what I do too, and are better at it. It reminds me how replaceable I am, and how temporary this status is.

Retiring with confidence

Early Saturday morning, Federer took his final bows as a competitive tennis player after taking the court side by side with arguably his greatest rival in the sport, Rafael Nadal. As singles competitors, “Fedal” gave the tennis world some of its most intense matches, and the Spaniard openly wept courtside during Federer’s highly emotional farewell as the legend spoke about how he “didn’t want it to feel lonely out there.”

“To say goodbye in a team, I always felt I was a team player at heart,” Federer said. “I’m happy, I’m not sad. It feels great to be here. I enjoyed tying my shoes one more time—and everything was the last time.”

For a man who built his name flying solo, it seems intentional for Federer to end his run with a doubles match. Certainly, his physical limitations played a role in the decision, but I think it also highlights how lonely it is when we are defined by something as self-focused as our careers. Federer’s retirement in a team ended up highlighting not just the fact that he was a legendary tennis player, but also the relationships he had cultivated along the way.

On Sunday, Federer started the first day of the rest of his life as Not a Tennis Player. Unlike Serena Williams, who has stated that she will be going on to manage a venture capitalist firm, Federer has not publicly revealed his future plans. The world will be watching closely to see what he does next—will Roger Federer actually be able to truly let go of competitive tennis?

For those of us who are “typical workers”, retirement can be something we look forward to while we’re still in the workforce. We eagerly await the day when we don’t have to get up early in the morning anymore, where we can just relax every day. So the fact that Federer had to emphasise that his retirement isn’t a sad event is interesting— after all, while he will no longer be in active competition, he will still be able to play tennis.

However, as someone with parents who are either retired or close to it, I’ve come to see how retiring from a career can be a sad thing when we’re not prepared for it. Thus, it’s so important that with the help of the Holy Spirit, we orient our minds with the truth of God’s Word so that we always remember who we really are even as we walk away from the passions and occupations that fulfilled us but are no longer right for us. We are reminded that “there is a time for everything” (3:1), including a time for building up and another for tearing down (3:3).

As we go through different seasons in life, whether by force or by choice, the only thing that can effectively ground us is being identified with the only true constant in life—He who is “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8).

When we identify ourselves with Jesus, we don’t have to worry about proving ourselves through what we do. In the book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon cautions us to remember our Creator “before the door to life’s opportunities is closed and the sound of work fades” (12:4, NLT). As we rest at His feet and listen to Him in the midst of a fast-paced world that pushes us to always be in motion to have value, we will find that we have “chosen what is better” (Luke 10:42).

The Lord will lead us through all circumstances—He not only “directs the steps of the godly”, but He “delights in every detail of their lives” (Psalm 37:20, NLT). And so we can be confident that God will guide us (Psalm 16:7, NLT) and show us the way of life (16:11, NLT) as long we keep our eyes on him always (16:8).

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Stranger Things 4 Vol. 1: When Retaliating Seems Like the Only Way

Jacq So — Fri, 17 Jun 2022 02:00:48 +0000

Screenshot taken from Netflix

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5)

I was bullied for the first time in my first year of high school. I was mocked by a group of classmates for a number of reasons—for the way I pronounced certain words, my weight, my meekness. It got to the point where even my best friend was given a cruel nickname by this group simply for associating with me.

I tried different tactics of avoiding the bullying, including laughing it off and even cheating on an exam with them just to get on their good sides. But one day, I cracked after a particularly vicious round of jeering and whacked one of the bullies across the back with one of my notebooks. The blow left a wound, and the horrified bully threatened to turn me in.

I remember responding with, “Go ahead and try. I’m an angel. Between you and me, let’s see whose story the teacher’s going to buy.” Days passed, and the bully never did report my retaliation. When the group stopped messing with me altogether, I realised that as much as the adults in my life always said violence wasn’t the answer, it was what had given me power over my bullies.

This was the memory that came to mind while I was watching Stranger Things 4 Vol. 1. The Netflix series, which first shot to popularity in 2016, covers the adventures of a group of kids in small town Hawkins, Indiana who are entangled in the world of the supernatural when the town is discovered to hold mysterious doorways to a monster-filled dimension.

In the current season, the kids are now teens entering their first year of high school, and the group has fractured due to loss, distance, and peer pressure. The powerful telekinetic Eleven, who has been the key to saving the world for the past three seasons, had lost her abilities following her battle with Big Bad the Mind Flayer. When season four begins, she is the odd girl out at a new school in a new city, having lost much of her support system after moving away from Hawkins.

We now see the once-superpowered hero mocked by classmates during a school presentation, and labelled a snitch when a teacher comes to her rescue. The situation comes to a head when Eleven’s boyfriend Mike visits her for spring break and her bullies set her up to be publicly humiliated.

Fighting fear with fear

As I watched Eleven being pushed around, I found myself hoping that the anger and helplessness would reawaken her powers and allow her to put her bullies in their place. I wanted her to make her tormentors fear her when they finally realise what she was really capable of. And even though her powers didn’t return, seeing her fight back and make her bully cry was a cathartic moment.

I’m probably not the only one who felt this way. We always want those who hurt us to get their just desserts, while we cheer the victim on, secretly hoping they’d reveal just how “powerful” they are. We see it even among Jesus’ disciples. When Samaritan villagers rejected Jesus, James and John reacted by wanting to “call down fire from heaven to destroy them” (Luke 9:53-54).

We have come to believe that power lies in being able to inspire fear in others, even though it is a mindset more typical of villains. In a perfect world, we reason, we could accept the power in meekness. But in the real world, it’s survival of the fittest.

The newest threat from the Upside Down, Vecna, lives by this philosophy as well. He was born as a human boy with telepathic and telekinetic powers similar to Eleven’s. But while Eleven used her abilities to protect others, for Vecna, true power was demonstrated in one’s ability to dominate and impose his will on others.

Bullies from the inside

It is said that many people who are bullied become bullies themselves. According to the International Bullying Prevention Association, bullying can often be learned behaviour, a response from a bullied person who refuses to be seen as weak any longer.

But even though Eleven was able to avenge herself, it was not a victory for her. In fact, her retaliation is met with shock and horror, not just by her bullies and random bystanders, but even by those who know and love her.

One of the most brutal effects of bullying is how the experience often lives rent-free within the victim’s mind for a long time. I know people who as adults still clearly remember their bullies from elementary school days, and still daydream about how they might confront these people. Bullying is an experience that can keep a person imprisoned mentally and emotionally long after the bully is gone from their lives.

When a person is bullied at a formative age, it can create core beliefs about themselves that lead to destructive behaviour. Insults like “you’re fat” can birth eating disorders; “freak” can make people believe they will never be worthy of acceptance or love, and so they isolate in dangerous ways. In this way, the bullied’s own mind carries on the bully’s work.

This is the core of Vecna’s modus operandi—he doesn’t attack his victims physically, but rather, breaks them from the inside. He uses the wounds, guilt and regrets of their past to cripple and eventually consume them. Unable to escape their own mental prisons, they are left vulnerable for Vecna to finish his terrible work.

Monsters and superheroes

“You speak of monsters, superheroes—that’s the stuff of myth and fairy tales… Only by facing all of ourselves—the good and the bad—can we become whole.” – Chapter 7

A question Eleven grapples with throughout the season is whether she is a superhero, as her friends see her, or a monster, as others view her. She finds the answer to this question as she journeys into her long-buried past in order to reclaim her powers.

Eleven is led to recall that as a young test subject in Hawkins Lab, she was considered “weak”, and the older test subjects bullied her to the extent that they threatened to kill her.

Masquerading as Eleven’s ally, Vecna encouraged her to unlock her powers through negative emotions. He tried to entice her to follow him by playing into the desire to be superior, to dominate, to be “free” of others’ control—essentially, to become a bully herself.

However, the sight of her worst bully being brutally murdered didn’t make Eleven happy; rather, she saw it for the evil that it was and resolved to oppose the villain and all he stood for. It was in that moment that she became a superhero, unleashing the full force of her powers in a bid to stop him from hurting others. The raw strength that flowed out of Eleven’s compassionate heart was what enabled her to overcome.

The power of bullying is broken when we choose to let God fight our battles for us, rejecting the belief that we need to be on top of the food chain in order to not be hurt. It is broken when we make the call to stop letting it influence what we do and who we become; when we choose to let go of hurts inflicted on us and move forward through the grace and healing of Jesus Christ. He understands the pain, rejection, and scorn of the very people He came to save (Isaiah 53:3).

We may not have superpowers to claim, but we have a Defender who has already overcome the world (John 16:33). And just as He was sustained by the Holy Spirit, we are too. As we bring our suffering to Him in prayer, we trust that He has already faced the ultimate bully—Satan—and emerged victorious. We keep our eyes on the Perfecter of our faith (Hebrews 12:2-3), who reigns over all and will protect us to the end.

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After Years of Church-hopping, I Went Back

Jacq So — Fri, 10 Jun 2022 02:00:58 +0000

I must confess: When I first became a Christian, I didn’t like my home church very much.

The church was attached to the primary and secondary school I attended, so it became my church by default. It was through a retreat held by this church that I encountered Jesus Christ and became a believer. It was here that I got plugged into my first discipleship group and youth fellowship.

In my second year of high school, I was baptised and became an official member of the church. By that point I had already been noticing things that I didn’t like. For one, I wasn’t very keen on some elements of the worship service—singing exclusively old hymns; a liturgy that was structured to a tee and created a very solemn, almost grim atmosphere; reciting prayers written centuries ago that sounded not so different from the chanting of other religions. Aside from that, I also sensed a cliquishness among some members, and I thought that the general stand/stance on pop culture was far too restricted—and at times uninformed.

Even though it was a doctrinally correct church and I essentially grew up in it, I felt like I didn’t really fit in. As a result, I mostly kept to myself, sticking with only certain close friends on Sundays.

I spent much of my university years battling a three-year bout of depression. During that period, I was essentially spiritually orphaned, without a discipleship group or leader; it didn’t seem like people had even noticed I had mostly vanished from church activity. Things improved after God lifted me out of my depression. I began attending and even serving in a fellowship for young adults. I also joined a new discipleship group.

But the wounds of the church’s neglect ran deep, and my perceptions of its style hadn’t changed. So I packed my spiritual bags and left.

Seeking greener pastures

I first tried the large evangelical church just across the street from my old church. I liked that I finally got to worship through the kind of contemporary Christian music that I used to only hear at youth fellowship, and I appreciated the looser, more casual, lighter atmosphere. However, even though it was the church attended by my best friend and the people were friendly enough, it felt too big for me and I wasn’t quite at home, so I moved on.

At the time, my parents and brother were attending a much smaller evangelical church pastored by my dad’s friend, whose sons were my brother’s closest friends. It was the kind of church where everyone knew each other and their dog. The atmosphere was very intimate, familial, and generally pleasant, and the people were passionate about the Lord. For a while, it felt like maybe this was a church I could settle down in.

But I still didn’t, and when my brother decided to move on to a well-known megachurch, I followed him. My excuse was, driving to church together would be the perfect opportunity for my brother to coach me since I was just learning how to drive at the time.

In this megachurch, it felt like the Holy Spirit was very much alive and at work—I would hear wonderful testimonies of Jesus’s work in everyday people’s lives, delivering them from alcoholism, lust, anger, materialism. The sermons were striking, and the worship powerful. Once more, I got the sense that maybe I could settle down here.

But it was, once again, too big for me. It was a wonderful church, but it didn’t have the sense of community I was looking for.

To my surprise, I found myself thinking about my original church more and more as time passed. After listening to contemporary songs for years, I now found myself appreciating the old hymns, which I came to realise were beautiful in how they were more Jesus-centred and Scripture-focused than some of the contemporary ones. I also came to see how the structured liturgy helped prepare my heart for worship, and how the solemn atmosphere reminded me of the importance of revering Christ during Sunday services.

It also hit me how my old church exemplified being “a house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:7). I saw the value of the “chant-like” prayers in bringing the congregation together, uniting them in calling out to God not just for their own problems, but for the church, the country, and those in suffering. Those prayers were also reminders of the importance of regular confession to God and of repentance. Importantly, they helped people to pray when they didn’t know what—or how—to pray.

So one Sunday, after what I knew was going to be my last regular service at the megachurch, I told my brother that I was going home.

Seeing the church as family

Coming back didn’t mean that my home church had finally become what I wanted it to be. While some things have changed since then, a number of my initial problems with it were—and in some cases are—still there.

But I’ve learned to accept that being part of a church isn’t about finding the perfect Christian community—because such a thing doesn’t exist. The church wasn’t perfect when it was launched, as the book of Acts shows, and it isn’t now. A church is, ultimately, a family—not a family that always do the right thing or always have their act together, but a family of sinners who must always find themselves at the foot of the cross, seeking the power and grace of God to be what He calls them to be.

When I started looking at my church this way, the sting of old wounds began to go away. I learned to forgive the church as Christ forgave me (Ephesians 4:32), and in turn, it allowed me to see the ways in which God had already positively changed some people I used to have problems with.

At the same time, I began to look at the community from a more realistic lens—I would never belong in certain circles, and that was alright. Instead of trying to fit myself in where my friends did, I simply found where I fit in within this church, embracing other groups and widening my own circle.

During a recent Sunday service, our pastor shared this excerpt from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s book Life Together:

He who loves his dream of a community more than the Christian community itself becomes a destroyer of the latter, even though his personal interests may be ever so honest and earnest and sacrificial.

She pointed out that disillusionment with the church can “either make you walk away or make you grow in perfect love, because when your picture of what a person or a church or a world should be shatters, that’s when your work of love truly begins.” Disillusionment, when channelled properly, can encourage us to love the real church—warts and all.

I know that my home church now is precisely where God wants me to be. I have found myself building unexpected relationships with our pastors and serving in ways I didn’t think I would years ago. When my grandmother developed Alzheimer’s and I was looking for someone to minister to her, it was recommended that I talk to one of the pastors, who had gone through the same thing with her grandmother. I hesitated initially, as we were not close, but when I did finally approach her, she was gracious to help out and pray for my family. It changed my initial view of the church leadership and helped me see that they were also fellow Christians doing their best to serve the community God had called them to.

Today, I make it a habit to minister to our pastors through prayer, and to make the effort to meet what needs I could in the church, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone at times. Because, by the grace of God, I want to do what I can for the place I call home.

As my pastor put it, “the road from where we are to what we want to see may still be a long and bumpy road. But it would be impossible to get there if we are not willing to stick it out with each other, loving one another painstakingly each and every day.”

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