Terrible Song, But Rejoice Anyway?

 

I went to church. The worship leader smiled and said, “Today we’ll teach you a new song!” Here we go again.

“HALLE!” A pause. “LUJAH!” What a terrible song.

Then the song continued as a remix of Amazing Grace. Now it felt insulting.

Are we, as Christians, supposed to enjoy a worship service no matter what?

The people in the front row were just jamming it out. Was that what I was supposed to do?

We hear about Christians with abundant joy in their hearts and on their faces, made possible by their strong faith in Christ. Is that what this is about – to be a strong believer is to rejoice in any worship song, Philippians 1:18 style?

I think it’s objectively true that some songs are “better” than others. To go one step further, some genres are more suitable for certain purposes than others. The most popular song at a rave is probably not going to be well received at a funeral. At what point do we decide that a worship song is “not good enough”?

Language is probably the low-hanging fruit: it’s easy to detect vulgar language. It’s a bit harder to detect unbiblical content. As a result, many contemporary worship songs feel generic, vague, and “safe.”

“God is good!”

“I am saved!”

“Praise God!”

“Hallelujah!”

Now spice them up in twenty different ways and we’re good to go.

I struggle with worship songs that I find terrible. Am I offended by the low quality, the low effort of what we are offering to God? Or am I acting like a Pharisee, gatekeeping people from worshiping with different tastes and scorning new and creative approaches?

Perhaps, when everything is said and done, there are different spaces for worship. One for modern, contemporary performances. Another for death metal rock fans. Yet another for rap and hip hop. And I’ll find my little corner of traditional, classically performed, beloved hymns. And God would see that it’s all very good.

Superman, Crashed and Burned

 

For generations, Superman stood as the cultural blueprint for the ideal man. He embodied strength paired with restraint, courage guided by conscience, confidence anchored in humility. He was the man who could lift mountains yet chose gentleness, who could rule the world yet chose to serve it. Boys looked up to him not just for his powers, but for his virtues, a model of what a man could aspire to be at his best. But that man is no more.

The new Superman (2025) movie opens with a stunning reversal of everything he once represented. The first image we see is not steadiness or strength but helplessness: Superman, bloodied and defeated, sprawled face-down in the snow, crying out for help. His dog, Krypto, arrives, not as a loyal companion, but as a chaotic, disobedient force that bounces on his injured body, worsening his wounds, then drags him for miles across the frozen ground like a captive in an old Western. Our first encounter with this new Superman is not inspiration: it is humiliation. The next major scene continues the inversion. During an interview with Lois Lane, instead of the traditionally showcased Superman’s calm moral clarity, we see he becomes frustrated, raises his voice, and loses composure. Lois herself is combative and dismissive, questioning him about breaking laws even as he tries to save people’s lives. Their exchange is tense, unpleasant, and stripped of the dignity and mutual respect that used to define them.

This new portrayal is not random. It reflects a deeper cultural rewrite of what a “good man” is supposed to be today. Traditional masculinity - assertive, steady, principled, and protective - has increasingly been reframed as dangerous and toxic. Strength is treated with suspicion. Leadership is portrayed as aggression. Emotional steadiness is dismissed as repression. In this current worldview, a man is only considered virtuous when he is softened, humbled, or broken. And so Superman, the ultimate masculine archetype, must now be remade as weak, insecure, easily overwhelmed, and constantly challenged. The modern Superman does not inspire: he apologizes. He does not lead: he second-guesses. He does not project strength: he is allowed worth only after he first collapses.

When we change Superman, we reveal what we believe about men themselves. The sad truth is that the cultural ideal of the good man has shrunk. Instead of encouraging men to be strong and responsible with their strength, society increasingly expects them to be harmless, passive, and emotionally fragile. The result is a generation of young men who no longer see a clear path toward admirable masculinity: even their greatest hero has been stripped of his virtues.

In the end, none of this really seems to matter. The movie gives us bright colors, loud explosions, fast punches, and a few slow-motion hero shots. So the crowd cheers, the theater shakes, and everyone walks out smiling. Why do we care? We got our explosive action scenes, so we clap, and we’re happy.

How "Two and a Half Men" Damaged Marriage

 

When people talk about Two and a Half Men, they usually describe it as lighthearted fun, a classic sitcom built on raunchy jokes, exaggerated characters, and over-the-top scenarios. But underneath all the easy laughs, the show quietly delivers a message about marriage that is far darker and more corrosive than most viewers ever acknowledge. And I think that message has done real harm.

The problem isn’t that the writers set out to attack marriage, or that the show is making some philosophical argument. Intent doesn’t matter. Impact does. And the impact is plain: the show repeatedly portrays marriage as a terrible deal for men, something naïve men fall into and pay for the rest of their lives.

For 12 seasons, Alan Harper is the audience’s case study in marital misery. His divorce isn’t just a plot point; it becomes the defining feature of his entire life. He is chronically broke, paying alimony, paying child support, losing his home, and losing his dignity. And every time he tries again - attempting new relationships, contemplating remarriage - he’s humiliated all over. The lesson is clear: once a man signs that marriage contract, he gives up stability, finances, and freedom.

Meanwhile, the contrast with Charlie couldn’t be sharper. Charlie, the eternal bachelor, lives freely, sleeps with whoever he wants, and faces no long-term consequences. His lifestyle is painted as carefree and enviable, while commitment is painted as punishment. The show doesn’t have to tell men directly that marriage is a trap: it simply shows it, week after week, until the message sinks in.

I’m not claiming a sitcom single-handedly ruined American marriage culture - that would be absurd. But the show didn’t appear in a vacuum. It aired during a time when marriage rates were already declining, the divorce system was already widely viewed as risky for men, and fears about unfair financial and custody outcomes were spreading. What Two and a Half Men did was normalize those fears. It took the worst-case scenarios men worry about and turned them into everyone’s running joke.

That matters. Comedy has a way of shaping what we believe without us realizing it. When the same message appears across dozens of episodes: marriage ruins men; divorce bleeds them dry; women hold all the cards, it becomes part of the cultural background. A young man watching that doesn’t walk away thinking, “Haha, what a clever satire.” He walks away thinking, “That’s what marriage looks like.”

I want to be hopeful about marriage. I want to believe that people try to make it work, that two adults can come together in good faith, that love and effort matter more than fear. But the reality is that the perceived risk of marriage keeps rising, and shows like this amplify that fear even further. They reflect a world where men increasingly feel they have everything to lose and not much to gain.

Maybe that’s the saddest part: instead of offering a healthier or more balanced view, Two and a Half Men reinforces the idea that marriage is a gamble only a fool would take. And for many viewers, especially men, that message sticks long after the laugh track fades.

I Take God for Granted, Because I Can

 

I take God for granted
Because I can
I’ve done no deed
No righteous plan
To deserve Him
To earn His gaze
Not the slightest
Totally depraved
Yet still He saves
With His irresistible grace
He takes me in all the same
He loves me for who I am
He loves me despite my sinful shame.

I take nothing for granted
Not my family, nor friends I hold
Not my money, nor things,
Not even myself, truth be told
For I am not my own.

Yet I take God for granted still
Unconditional: this election
For I can’t choose what bends my will
As I am nothing but His sheep
As I am nothing but His son.

So I take God for granted
Along with His comfort,
His unbinding love,
And His boundless mercy
Forever preserved
And granted to me.

Our Tooth Fairy Tale

 

When my son was six years old, he lost his very first tooth. He was so excited that his tooth finally came off after so long. He carefully put the tooth in a Ziploc bag and placed it under his pillow when he went to bed that night.

I waited for a few hours to make sure that the boy was deep in sleep. Then my wife and I sneaked in. Then I searched for the Ziploc bag under his pillow. Then I placed a dollar bill there. My son was still sound asleep. Mission accomplished. We could not breathe.

The next morning, my son excitedly showed us his one dollar bill from the tooth fairy. “The tooth fairy must be very tiny!”, he said. “She left me one dollar and I could not tell!”

My son also bragged about it at school. Then his classmate Boden said:

- That’s nothing! My sister got TEN dollars for her tooth!

Indians are Now Turkeys

 

When I was a baby in Vietnam, my father would hold me and sing me a song he found in the English book. The song went like this:

One little, two little, three little Indians
Four little, five little, six little Indians
Seven little, eight little, nine little Indians
Ten little Indian boys!

A few decades later, now I lived in the U.S. My son came home from kindergarten and taught me a song he had learned in his class for the upcoming Thanksgiving. It went like this:

One little, two little, three little turkeys
Four little, five little, six little turkeys
Seven little, eight little, nine little turkeys
Ten little baby turkeys!

No, I am aware that singing about “little Indians” has become somehow offensive and therefore unacceptable. So now we sing about turkeys. 

But what if the people from Turkey also get offended?

"How to" Celebrate Father's Day in a Meaningful Way, Pt. 2

 Continued from Part 1.

Another way is to punch some bricks for coins, obviously!