Knit Together, Indeed
By Timothy Sin
KALI is proud to present the first installment of a series of reflections from the 51st PCA General Assembly 2024. Our goal is to serve the greater PCA by highlighting our stories and by platforming the abundance of talent we have among the KALI community. In this first reflection, Tim Sin (TE - Rocky Mountain Presbytery) shares his thoughts and experiences from his time in Richmond, VA.
Growing up, I pictured the perfect family as the ones we used to see in the Hallmark commercials during the holidays. I imagined my future family sitting around the dinner table, all of us smiling, laughing, and eating. In that picture, there were no stained shirts, spilled drinks, or sour faces.
The picture-perfect family — that is what I imagined General Assembly to be. This gathering of PCA church leaders—all of an ilk, with the same theological convictions and faith, gathered together for the glory of God and the advancement of the gospel—is a visible representation of the universal church. I pictured discussions without divisions, rulings without rudeness, and unity without ugliness.
I’ve been able to witness and experience a culture of grace and peace in my own presbytery (Rocky Mountain), of which I have had the privilege of being a part of for over 9 years. I’ve seen suits laugh with flannels. I’ve witnessed neckties, bowties, and no-ties embrace one another. I’ve observed slacks, chinos, and skinny jeans stand in worship and sit in humility together. I’ve experienced love and grace from all parties to me and to my church.
When the circumstances finally allowed, I attended the 2022 General Assembly. It didn’t take long for that romantic picture I had of General Assembly to shatter. The disagreements were disorienting. The divisions were discouraging. The tension was palpable. I left with a sinking feeling that our denomination was more fractured than united.
After missing it last year, I girded my loins in preparation for the 2024 GA. This year, I had some skin in the game. There was an overture in its final stages that, if passed, would restrict the use of titles—elder, deacon, pastor—to the respective ordained officers of the church. My home church, like her Korean-speaking sisters, uses the first two terms in lieu of names as an honorific. The passing of the overture would be an ostracizing blow. Will this pass? How will it affect us? When I shared my concerns with my presbytery in January, they warmly responded with compassion and empathy and voted it down. I had hope. Maybe the Assembly will hear and see us. Maybe they will understand and vote it down. Just maybe.
During the weeks leading up to the Assembly, I was wrestling with whether to speak on the floor. There are many pastors, much wiser and more qualified than me. It’s an unwritten rule that you are not allowed to speak until you’ve attended GA for at least a decade, right?
I kept thinking to myself, “Why, Lord? Who am I?”
But the Lord placed it on my heart. Maybe it was the KALI National Gathering where we were encouraged to not be afraid to fail. Maybe it was my wife’s tough love in years past that rebuked me for my silence and inspired me to step out in faith. Maybe it was my friend’s seminar earlier that day on being a fearfully and wonderfully made Korean American.
I think it was everything.
I was the last to speak and could not finish because the time allotted for discussion had expired. The subsequent motion to extend the time was also denied.
This is General Assembly.
I’ve seen and witnessed this before. At least we brought about some awareness. At least we were able to get a few words in. At least we tried.
The meeting was followed by dozens of conversations the next day. I talked about our culture. I tried to educate as best as possible. But the feeling of inadequacy continued to nag at me. The thought kept creeping into my mind– “Why, Lord? Who am I?”
On the morning of the last day, there was a protest born out of regret that the Korean churches got caught in the overture’s crossfire. It was done out of empathy, compassion, and love. It was marked with the same sensitivity, grace, and peace I’ve experienced in my own presbytery. The line to sign the petition at the front stretched all the way to the back of the Assembly Hall. We got the message from those who signed it: “We see you. We value you.”
Maybe I was wrong about the General Assembly. Maybe I was wrong about the fractures in our denomination. Maybe there is more unity than division. Maybe the gospel that unites us is also the gospel that reconciles us. Maybe we are a dysfunctional family, but we are a family nonetheless.
The line to sign the petition at the front stretched all the way to the back of the Assembly Hall.
We got the message from those who signed it: “We see you. We value you.”
That protest was only the beginning of what would be an emotional day. The Assembly ended with a worship service led by the Korean Capital Presbytery. It was the first worship in the Assembly's history that would be conducted in two languages. There were many concerns leading up to the start of service. Korean-style prayer? Two languages? Not going to lie… I was nervous. No, I was anxious. How would this be perceived? Will presbyters even attend the worship? Will this be the first and last multilingual worship at GA?
What transpired in the next couple of hours was nothing short of a movement of God in my own heart. The service put my doubts and anxieties to shame, and the Lord reminded me of His work, both in my life and in the history of my people. His people.
My friend, TE David Bae, with the Korean Capital Presbytery praise team led us in a time of worship. But it wasn’t him I saw (no offense, brother). I saw the worship leaders that I grew up with in the Korean immigrant church. I saw the praise teams that led me during countless retreats in my youth, and I saw the praise team that leads my own congregation each week now.
There was not a single dry eye amongst the Korean American pastors during the choir’s performance. We saw our parents and grandparents up there in that choir. We were reminded of their sacrifices, having grown up in war-torn Korea and immigrating to a foreign land in search of something better for us. They served the Lord, worshiped passionately, and raised the next generation in gospel promises. We weren’t just praising God through music during that time. We were praising God through the glimpses of His faithfulness in all our stories.
During our time of prayer, we were reminded of the good work done by the first missionaries to Korea. My grandmother went to one of those missionary schools in the 1910s, and she raised her family to walk with the Lord. Their obedient work is the seed from which I grew into a pastor.
The whole service was like a wave of God’s Spirit and grace on my soul. It was a window into God’s sovereign plan of salvation. It was an echo of the prayers and praises of His people. It was a testament that God’s fingerprints are all over our stories and that we stand upon the shoulders of those who have gone before us.
Being humbled by His grace, the thought came into my mind again: “Why, Lord? Who am I?”
Westminster Seminary California President Joel Kim preached a powerful bilingual sermon—the blessing of Abraham comes to us Gentiles because Jesus is the One who became a curse on the cross for us. He was forsaken, so God’s face can turn toward us. “No matter our last name, we bear His name. He has put His name on us as His people.”
Again, “Why, Lord? Who am I?’
He went on: We are His, and we belong to Him. That is the blessing. But it doesn’t stop there. We are blessed in order to bless. Being blessed comes with a purpose. Blessed people will proclaim. We are to proclaim God’s word. We share this beautiful gospel message with no boundaries or limitations. We make disciples of all the nations.
“Why, Lord? Who am I?” turns into “Here am I, Lord. Send me.”
In my own family, there are stained shirts, spilled drinks, and sour faces—most of which are mine. We look more like Chaos-Incarnate than a Picture-Perfect Family. We fight. We reconcile. We laugh. We cry. We hurt each other. We heal one another. We neglect each other. We understand one another. But more than anything, we love each other.
I leave this year’s GA with a different feeling than what I had going in. Are we at war? Yes, we are at war against sin, Satan, and death. Are we a family? Yes, we are the scattered children of God, united by the blood of Jesus. There are moments when all we see is ugliness. But there are moments that are breathtaking, humbling, and transforming. And it’s all because of the perfect Savior who continues to knit us together and makes us beautiful in Him.
Timothy Sin is currently serving as the English Ministry Pastor at New Life Mission Church in Aurora, CO. He was born and raised in the suburbs of Philadelphia, and his children have inherited his passion for the city's sports teams. After receiving a BS from Grove City College and an MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary, he served in his hometown till 2015 and has been at New Life ever since, falling more in love with this beautiful state and community with each passing day.
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