I’m Starting a New Church.

I’m yet another young preacher opening a new church.

The title is click-bait.

As a student in college and seminary, I’ve never paid much attention to the idea of church planting. I often felt it was more of a trend. I thought people were doing it for the culture. More than anything else, the trend of church planting reminded me of imperialism.

But now I am a “church planter.”

Let me share my story.

(You’ve now been warned, however. This is not your typical “I’m starting a church” letter. This is a blog post; and a long one at that. Also, I’m gonna ask for money at the end.)

About four and ½ years ago, I wrote a paper titled “We Can’t Speak.” It was a plea to my Asian American brothers and sisters — that we are not called to stay silent in the black-and-white binary that has framed the conversation about race in America.

About two years ago, I wrote a piece titled “The Life of Tweener.” It was a call to Asian American clergies; a call to reclaim our unique identity and call as tweeners (those who are lost in the dichotomy between seemingly opposing traditions).

I’ve always found it amusing that people like myself stood between the poles of these spectrum — like a stranger in a strange land. But instead of submitting and co-opting to the culture of either poles, I imagined reclaiming our identity as a liberated people who live out our unique and peculiar identity; and do so abundantly. This abundant living means we partake in the kingdom of God — a communion with the Triune God and with another and with the stranger (the poor, the persecuted, the lonely, the hurting, etc.) in love.

Perhaps, God took notice of my amusement and my imagination. For my first full-time ministry, I was appointed to serve a multicultural church, where I experienced the beautiful clashes of cultures that were frustrating, uncomfortable, perilous, and yet graceful.

In my ministerial role as a preacher, two major instances of such beautiful clashes — that happened halfway through my three-year tenure — come to mind. One instance occurred during Black History Month in February. I heard a gentle complaint that the church celebrates black history throughout the month, but only through the medium of music and liturgy. The complaint was that black history wasn’t celebrated from the pulpit and through the Word. I realized the gravity of such negligence and decided to take on the task of making sense of the story of African Americans through the grand narrative of God-with-us.

Imagine an Asian clergy talking about race in a room full of white Americans and African Americans. It didn’t make sense. So, I preached the gospel; the story that encompasses my story, your story, and their story.

That Sunday, I received some interesting remarks. One of them came from an African congregant: “We don’t consider ourselves black. We are Africans.”

Honestly, this remark helped me realize that I was serving a multicultural congregation and not a biracial one. It helped me stand by and be with our African community.

Another instance occurred on the Sunday after the 2016 Presidential Election. Saturday night, I was imagining myself preaching to a room full of Republicans and Democrats. It was a terrifying thought. So I prayed; and I remembered their faces, their stories, and our friendships.

God was with me the next day. The heater broke so we had to be in a smaller classroom, instead of our usual sanctuary. In an unfamiliar setting, we all listened to the Word while sitting in our unfamiliar seats. And there, we imagined beyond ourselves. We imagined God’s kingdom.

I ended the above sermon with this prayer:

I sincerely pray that our beloved church could be a place that [bears] faithful witnesses to the world so that when others see us, they may say with hope: “Wow, it is possible for people of all stripes to come together and unite as one, reconciled body…”

I believe the second half of my tenure was aligned with the actualization of this very prayer. We learned to imagine a community truthful to the Gospel and antithetical to the dominant culture’s narrative.

Our culture says Democrats don’t know a single Trump-voter, and vice versa. Our culture says young children should not worship with the adults. Our culture says blacks and whites treat each other with hatred and fear. Our culture says Africans and African Americans don’t get along. Our culture says progressives and evangelicals must part their ways. Our culture says millennials are killing the church (among many other things). Our culture says the poor should be looking for jobs even on Sundays.

Yet, every Sunday, all of us came together to be with God and with one another. Every Sunday, all of us remembered the grand narrative of God-with-us. Through incorporating weekly Holy Communion, we looked at the one loaf and one cup, and imagined ourselves as members of one body. We trained ourselves in how to forgive and how to receive forgiveness.

Every Sunday, we participated in the community of truth, who is Jesus Christ, the way and the life; the one who commanded us to love God and love one another. I came to tears when I learned that the lay leadership expressed to their new pastors that they wanted to continue their weekly Holy Communion.

It displayed their desire to be with the Triune God, with one another, and with the stranger; despite what many consider the time-consuming, inconvenient, and repetitive practice of the Sacrament’s liturgy. In the end, this is what discipleship is all about. In the end, this is what friendship is all about (John 15:12–15).

There were also a few experiences and relationships that pushed me to imagine further on the call to church planting in the past three years.

• My father became a church planter. It’s a long story to explain why a 60-year-old pastor is now a church planter, but he became one because he sensed a call to be with a particular group of people who had been struggling to exist as a church.
• I took part of a clergy peer group and most of them were church planters. I don’t know how or why I was invited to that group, but I grew to enjoy the group, their stories, and their passion and vision.
• My dear friends became church planters; and church planters became my friends and allies.
• When my then-church celebrated her 50th year anniversary, we invited the founding pastor to preach. We also invited other founding members to share their stories with us. Participating in it was one of the highlights of my ministry there.
• I got married. My friends continued to be my friends. Her friends became my friends. My friends became her friends. A group of us chatted often — especially on the Christian faith and the church. We dreamt together.

I must also share that, over the past three years, a group of people from Fairfax United Methodist Church dreamt and cast a vision together of “taking the church into the community” to share the gospel and be with the neighbor in love — as written in the Great Commission and the Greatest Commandment. They shared this call with their lead pastor in the fall of 2015. They talked, studied, and prayed together. After two long years, they then began the process of finding a pastor who would carry out this peculiar vision.

I participated in the planter assessment and discernment process with a committee of seasoned pastors and strategists with honesty and humility (to a fault). I disregarded the advice, “don’t show all of your hands.” I had zero expectations.

Yet, with all that had been happening and all that I was partaking in over the past three years, it made sense when I received the appointment to become a church planter.

So, I’m planting a new faith community in Fairfax, Virginia.

A community of with. A community with the Triune God, with one another, and with the stranger. A community that is not bound by the dichotomies of our culture; but rather, a community that stands unapologetically with the truth rather than with lies. A community that journeys together with beloveds. A community that experiences, embodies, and shares the good news of God-with-us with anyone and everyone — with the pattern of life that is visible, truthful, creative, and revolutionary.

As I share this story with you, I’m asking you to consider investing in this story. Invest in this story with your prayers. Invest in this story with your gifts. Invest in this story with your time. Invest in this story by sharing this story with others.

I can’t do this alone. No one can and no one should. And that’s what I’m most excited about — I’ve always wanted to be like Dom Toretto. I need family.

• Be my family with your prayers. If you subscribe to this mailing list with your pledge to be my prayer partners/intercessors, I will send biweekly updates on our story and prayer requests straight to your inbox.
• Be my family with your monetary gifts. You can do so through my Mightycause page. All funds raised through your gifts will be used in our church journey. I will update you on how these gifts are used.
• Be my family with your gifts, talents, interests, or participation. If you already know my contact information, call me or send me a text. If you don’t, email me at minoowkim@gmail.com. Let’s chat. Let’s grab coffee together. Let’s share our passions. Let’s dream together.

An old gentleman in Fairfax told me that I’m starting a very difficult endeavor. I agreed. But I remember what Jesus has called us to remember: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

So, with faith, I share this story with you in excitement and hope. I pray that this excitement and hope reaches you as well.