There’s much more to food than palate and preference. How does a go-to meal at your favorite hometown restaurant reveal the true you behind the web bio? 

My family immigrated to the US from Taiwan when I was three years old. I quickly became proficient in English through the alchemical mix of a plastic young brain bathed in hours of watching Sesame Street. What resulted is something that often happens in immigrant families: the child linguistically adapts to the new society at a much faster and deeper rate than the parents. For me and for many other immigrants like me, this generational flipping of natural  language mastery can dissolve some of the normal ways that parents retain importance for their children growing up: my mom was not the one who read to me, who taught me to read, and who explained what the roadside signs meant.

I think this is one reason that food holds outsize importance for immigrant families. Cooking for one’s child is how the parent — and in most immigrant cultures, it is the mother — retains their sense of having something valuable to offer. My family was and is no different.

This is why my favorite meal is “Ma-Po Tofu” and while I will order it at Chinese restaurants, my go-to version is from my mother. Even at 84 years old, she will be ready with this dish on a visit.  Days before I arrive, she will take the bus to her local Chinese market to acquire just the right kind of tofu, which has to be silken so that it holds together just barely enough to make it to your mouth where it melts away in deliciousness. 

She will hand chop the scallions and garlic into tiny particles so that the flavor permeates the tofu. Growing up, the sound of the chop-chop-chop of her cleaver filled our home, the rapidity of the beats announcing the presence of a mom hard at work to provide for her children. The cadence of those beats has slowed in recent years, but it has not stopped. 

We’ve all got quirky proclivities and out-of-the-way interests. So, what are yours? What so-called “nonspiritual” activity (or activities) do you love engaging in, which also help you find essential spiritual renewal? 

I have a home gym in which I had installed a pegboard, which contains rows and rows of openings in which you can slot hooks, baskets, and hangers in endless fashion. I use the system to organize the variety of bands, rollers, weights, pulleys that I use in my workouts. The other day, I noticed that the arrangement of all these devices was suboptimal such that the devices I used most were actually located furthest away from me. So I spent probably 45 minutes rearranging hooks and baskets to my satisfaction. I estimate that this saved me at least 20 seconds of wasted motion per workout. Further calculations show that I should achieve ROI parity from this organizing project sometime in 2040.

While those calculations suggest I just wasted a bunch of time, what is missing is the sheer joy I take in organizing things. For me, getting things optimized can be, ironically, about something much more than sheer optimization. The sense that I am bringing greater order out of disorder fills me with a deep sense of satisfaction. In this, I feel like I am reflecting something of our Creator God, who clearly took great pleasure in bringing order out of the chaos. His delight is a shared delight. This delight is shared within the Triune Godhead, with the Spirit (that hovered over the cosmic chaos per Genesis 1:2) and with the Son who was the very Logos – which can be roughly translated as “the organizing principle” — of all creation (per John 1:1-3). And God shares this impulse to organize with human beings: this is why the first task he gives humanity is precisely to properly label the animals in a coherent fashion (Genesis 2:19-20).

So, when I’m bringing order out of the chaos of our mismatched tupperware lids and containers or when I’m labeling my wife’s tangled computer cables, I feel like I am participating in this divine delight. Now, I know this kind of delight is not felt by everyone — we all image different aspects of God in different ways. But some of you reading this will get me. If you do, let’s get a drink together, and then go hang out at The Container Store.

Every superhero has a weakness. Every human too. We’re just good at faking it. But who are we kidding? We’re broken and in this thing together. So, what’s your kryptonite, and how do you hide it? 

I think the concept of “kryptonite” as told in the Superman myth is quite profound. Krypton is the home planet of Superman and thus it represents the origin of his superpowers: the fact that he is from Krypton is why he is as strong as he is. But the origin of that very strength (as represented in a piece of his home planet) transplanted into a different context — to Earth in his case — becomes his greatest weakness.

This is how I tend to think of many human weaknesses, including mine: it’s when a piece of strength that has a home in another context gets transplanted into the wrong context. And this is why I don’t necessarily conceive of weakness, as phrased in the question, as something “to be rid of forever.” In many cases, to rid myself of some weakness would mean ridding myself of an important strength.

For instance, I’m good at using concepts and language to help people make sense of the world. This is a “superpower” in the context of teaching, presenting, consulting, or shaping my Good Faith podcast. But there are contexts where people just want to be heard in their struggles, or to have someone just be present with them in their pain. In those contexts, people sometimes don’t want someone like me sorting things out with rationality, theology, or analysis. My “superpowers” make things worse. I’ve learned this truth the hard way, especially with my daughters. 

Tell us about your toil. How are you investing your professional time right now? What’s your current obsession? And why should it be ours? 

The past year I have been working hard on The After Party project, a faith & politics offering I collaborated on with my good friends David French and Russell Moore. It is a project literally born among friends that has since grown to serve more than 250,000 people around the country. 

We began with a simple question – How should Christians think about – and engage in – politics in light of how Jesus calls us to live? – and through a free video course, book co-authored by Nancy French, & an album featuring musicians from The Porter’s Gate, The After Party helps us move away from our current obsession with the “what” of politics to a Jesus-centered “how” of politics. 

The “what” of politics asks, “What policy, party, or candidate is most Christian?” The “how” of politics asks, “How do I relate to others — including those I might disagree with — so that I better reflect Jesus?” 

The After Party has particularly resonated with people who feel a kind of homelessness—not of the body, but of the soul—and who find themselves asking questions like “Am I the only one who sees things this way?” If this resonates with you, I’d welcome you to check out the project!

Cashiers, CEOs, contractors, or customer service reps, we all need grace flowing into us and back out into the world. How does the Holy Spirit invigorate your work? And how do you know it’s God when it happens? 

I conceive of any human creativity (including mine own) as a derivative image of God’s originating creativity. By this, I mean that we lack the divine power to create ex nihilo — to make something out of nothing. I think of human creativity as derivative in the sense that it is the act of making new connections between things that already exist, but that haven’t heretofore been combined. Creativity is the flash of insight that says, “What if I took A (that previously had only been experienced in a given realm) and applied it to B… what might result then?”

This is why I try to read as broadly as I can across varied disciplines and fields. And I am drawn to books that make unexpected connections across historical periods: I’m a sucker for the genre “12 X (battles, foods, tools, flowers, discoveries, etc.) that changed the world.” I think it’s why I never followed the path of the academy: that path required too much specialization for my tastes. It’s also why I love doing the Good Faith podcast. It takes me into conversation with experts across the fields of theology, technology, politics, law, medicine, news, and more. The more I am exposed to new realms, the more raw material I have to make my own connections. 

Scripture and tradition beckon us into the rich and varied habits that open our hearts to the presence of God. So, let us in. Which spiritual practice is working best for you right now? 

I’m in the business of generating words. In recent years, that business has been quite consuming. I’ve written two books in three years — and I’m about to embark on a third next year. In about the same period of time, I’ve created three online courses: one on anxiety, another on the theology of institutions, and the most popular one, The After Party course on politics. Every week, I produce an hour’s worth of new conversation on the Good Faith podcast.

What this has meant is that in my own regular encounter with God, I often feel like I don’t want to generate any more words. There have been seasons when my daily devotional practice revolved around writing in a prayer journal — and I still do that from time to time. But more often than not, I find I crave an encounter with God that doesn’t involve my words. My practice of silent contemplative prayer actually predates this most recent season of productivity (and I think it was critical in preparing me for my current work), but I find it increasingly indispensable.

I usually engage in this practice in the evening. I sit in a special chair in my office, and turn it to face an icon by Rubelev of the Trinity. Sometimes I will recite a regular simple phrase to calm the inner chatter; other times, I can slip into that silent place without that particular rehearsal. The duration can range from 20 minutes to over an hour. There is no imposed structure, other than a decision to be present to God in the silence. Beyond that description, I will honor contemplative prayer’s version of the Vegas rule: what happens in silence, stays in silence.

Looking backward, considering the full sweep of your unique faith journey and all you encountered along the way, what top three resources stand out to you? What changed the game and changed your heart? What radically altered your life? What changed your reality? 

Into the Silent Land: The Practice of Contemplation by Thomas Laird, which introduced me most helpfully to contemplative prayer: 

Surprised by Hope by N.T. Wright, which succinctly summarized a key theological re-grounding that was indispensable to me — and to anyone who grew up in the distorted vision of the Gospel that featured “going away to heaven:” 

The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen, which described key moves in my own spiritual journey as a son, brother, and father. 

Andrew Peterson’s Resurrection Letters, volume 2 and Sandra McCracken’s Psalms, pieces of artistic beauty with rich theological depths that are crucial to filling my imagination with Gospel hope. 

God is continually stirring new things in each of us. So, give us the scoop! What’s beginning to stir in you but not yet fully awakened? What can we expect from you in the future? 

I’m hoping to carve out time in 2025 to start writing a book that has been brewing within me for many years. The broad topic is “a theology of institutions.” When I told a friend about this passion project, he said, “Well, you’ve got yourself a marketing problem, because you’ve just used two nouns that put most Christians to sleep.” I suppose he’s right: when a preposition is the sexiest aspect of your title, you do have a problem. But I’m convinced the topic is hugely relevant and if properly grasped, has the potential to transform many of our lives. The reality is that most of us spend most of our most productive hours of life within institutions: corporations, small companies, schools, non-profits, government, associations, clubs, teams, and churches. Yet, apart from the institution of the church, we’ve been given little teaching on this being called “an institution.” For instance, what exactly is a corporation in God’s eyes? Does it have a role in God’s Kingdom? Does it “sin?” If a company can “sin,” how does it participate in Jesus’ work on the cross? Will there be corporations in the new heavens and new earths?

 I’m convinced that how we answer these questions (or ignore them entirely) fundamentally shapes our own sense of purpose in life. If we can’t make meaningful sense of the institutions that shape so much of our life, it means we can’t make meaning out of that huge portion of our life. I’m also convinced that the  Bible has more to say about these questions than most of us realize. 

I just need a sexier title. Does anybody out there have any good ideas?!