Volume 7, Issue 2

BRO KEN NESS

THE COLUMBIA FALL 2020 VOL. 7 | NO. 2

A JOURNAL OF CHRISTIAN PERSPECTIVES

our vision A campus that witnesses the subversive person of Jesus and accepts the reality of the Gospel.

our mission To proclaim the life and power of God’s truth to the Columbia community and beyond through diverse Christian voices and ideas.

contents Brokenness Fall 2020

Brokenness

6

10

I’m(moral)

Practical Philosophy

Timothy Kinnamon

Grace-Elleda Gonzalez

13

14

The Egg

When It Hits Home

Michael Manasseh

Jade Thompson

18

22

Catholic, Protestant, White, Black

Racial Justice

Imani Benberry

Chase Chumchal & Tony Kim

24

28

Copy-Kat(niss)

surrender the key

Chase Chumchal

Grace Eldridge

staff / contributors

Jade Thompson

Michael Manasseh

Sandra Song

editor in chief

managing editor

design head

Tony Kim

Imani Benberry

Grace-Elleda Gonzalez

print head

blog head

webmaster & head of outreach

Chase Chumchal

Timothy Kinnamon

Grace Eldrige

staff writer

editor

contributor

Dear Reader,

B

eing published amidst a global pandemic and racial strife, our issue, “Brokenness” has a much more significant meaning than we intended when we first decided on the theme months ago. Our communities are broken politically, socially,

and spiritually. And the campus many of us students once called home, is now fragmented and unfamiliar. On an individual level, this has resulted in pain, loss, discomfort, depression, loneliness, and despair for many. But these feelings aren’t new. They are symptoms of the brokenness that has plagued our society for as long as anyone can remember.

The purpose of this journal is to offer an outlook of hope to the brokenness of this world. In this issue, you will find pieces that challenge brokenness as it exists within our minds, hearts, churches, schools, and homes. We believe that a Christian perspective not only adds to our understanding of these issues, but is crucial to any discussion on the nature, cause, and cure of brokenness.

Brokenness can be viewed as the end result of sin. Sin is the severed relationship between God and humans, where humans, although created in the image of God, now fall short of what He created us to be. Our sin manifested as selfishness, pride, ingratitude, envy, and greed create a chasm of disharmony. Only by inviting the Holy Spirit into our lives through faith in Jesus, can we have victory over sin and the brokenness that results from it.

This is the lens through which we encourage you, our reader, to interpret our writing.

Though this semester may be far from our expectations, rest assured that God has a perfect plan. May this journal be an encouragement to you.

Love, THE COLUMBIA

Jade Thompson Fall 2020

“

“

I’m(moral): The Scarcity of Morality Timothy Kinnamon

C

onsider the word “immoral.”

What does it mean? Sometimes it sounds like a word long forgotten, a social construct from the days of long-dead ancestors. Some other times it is a word with narrow boundaries, only used to set out actions like murder or rape. But it can also be used very broadly to mean anything that is not fair or equal. Etymologically, “immoral” comes from the Latin negative prefix in- and the root mores, a word meaning customs or traditions. This implies a temporal sense of morality, where something immoral goes against long-standing traditions and defies the natural social order. As a Christian I could simply say that immorality is strictly sin. This is my personal conception of morality, which shapes the way morality plays out in this essay. I believe in an objective reality where personal ideas of morality are wrong except where they align with God’s conception of morality. In general, however, I would like this idea to remain subverted. I want

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to use immorality without the pretext of sin. Everyone has a moral compass, even if not everyone believes in God’s.

If I were to use sin instead of immorality, I fear I would impose too much on those who disagree with my moral compass. Instead, I want everyone to have the space to reflecwt on the implications of their own immorality, even if not everyone agrees with my definitions.

In that lens, I will explore the facets of immorality revealed through Augustine’s Confessions and the Genesis account of original sin. Although these texts center on sin rather than morality, I hope to discuss them in a way that is less restricting. First, I want to show that immoral actions selfishly acquire pleasure through a wrong, earthly means.

Focusing on that pleasure, I will argue that we pursue immorality because we believe in a scarcity that God is not enough. Moreover, this is a belief we cannot escape. Yet, while it may be true that we are not enough for God, He has forgiven our immorality and reconciled

us through Jesus. Finally, I want to apply the theory of immorality maintained in this essay to college campuses in order to decry our own immoral tendencies and expose the harms they cause to academic institutions.

From its etymology, we see that immorality goes against tradition, but I believe that it has a much deeper claim.

The traditions immorality goes against are not the traditions of man, but rather the natural order created and desired

by God. A common simplification of sin is to capitalize the middle “I” to show that sin is selfishness. I think we can similarly simplify immorality by creating the contraction “I’m” from the first two letters. This shows that immorality is more than selfishness, it is a claim to Godliness and the arbiter of morality, a claim to the great “I Am.” This claim refutes God’s plan and represents the belief that God is not enough or that God does not provide enough. This deception of scarcity has been the root of immorality since the beginning. When the

serpent begins to trick Eve in Genesis, he begins by casting doubt about God’s command. The serpent asks, “‘Indeed, has God said, ‘You shall not eat from any tree of the garden?’”1 Eve corrects the serpent’s quotation to God’s actual command, that they only refrain from the tree in the middle of the garden, but the image of scarcity had already been introduced. Even if God did not limit the couple from every tree, lacking one now appears scarce against a backdrop of totality. The serpent then fleshes this scarcity out by instilling the forbidden fruit with value. He claims, “You surely will not die! For God knows that in the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil”.2 Now, Eve sees that the fruit

1 Genesis 3:1.

2 Genesis 3:4.

fulfills a gap in her life. She will not die by eating it but will instead become like God. She believes in a scarcity in God’s plan for her life, that He has not given her all that He can and ought. She selfishly takes the fruit believing that her plans, her ascension to Godliness, will fulfill her life more than God’s plan.

With this definition in place, I would like to use Augustine’s understanding of immorality in his Confessions to provide another angle on this belief in scarcity. In the second book, he confesses to stealing pears and throwing them at pigs with his friends as a young boy. He attempts several times to explain why he committed this immoral act, and while none of his explanations point directly towards a belief in God’s scarcity and his own remediation, they all lead to that conclusion. He first

claims that he “wasn’t looking for what [he] could get from infamy, but looking for infamy”.3 Yet it makes no sense to claim that anyone seeks what he considers immoral unless it fulfills some good in his life. Thus, Augustine continues to explain all the ways he derived pleasure from his immorality. He turns to the physical beauty of the fruit, but “there was in fact nothing attractive about it.”4 In this sense, Augustine throws out a form of idolatry, that he worshipped the good created by God over the Creator Himself. This explanation would have reflected a belief in the scarcity of God’s beauty, that He was somehow less attractive than the fruit. However, with that idea reduced, he claims that he would not have committed the immoral 3 Augustine, "Confessions", (New York: Modern Library, 2017), 42.

4 ibid, 45.

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explanation, it would have demonstrated a belief in the scarcity of relationship with God, that human connections are more valuable than one with the ultimate relational being. He seems to settle on this cause; if he would not have done it alone, the only reason he did do it was because he was not alone. Therefore, he “loved the company of those with whom [he] did it.”1 Augustine was not delighted and satisfied in the presence of God, and pursued immorality for the sake of maintaining human connections.

However, Augustine remains unsettled by this explanation as well. He repeatedly comes back to one idea throughout his confession, that he enjoyed the crime “for no other reason than that it wasn’t allowed.”2 He denies the value of any factor other than immorality for its own sake, going as far as to say that he “loved nothing else, because [the] company itself is also nothing”3, just like the beauty of the fruit. But since Augustine considers the company as uninfluential on his actions as any other factor, what caused him to like immorality enough to fall into it? Perhaps Augustine cannot explain it, perhaps he is not able to introspectively uncover the reasons behind a simple boyish delight. He asks, “Who can disentangle that wretched immensity of distortions and contortions and knot-

3 ibid, 49.

1 ibid, 48.

2 ibid, 47.

tedness?”4 Does Augustine relinquish the task of explaining his immoral action and accept that some things are unknowable? I believe he does. And yet that should not dissuade us from trying to understand his immorality further.

For guidance, I turn towards Augustine’s conversion, the point in his life when he transitioned from immorality to morality. To achieve this shift, he claims, “I stopped wanting what I had been wanting, and instead wanted what you [God] wanted.”5 Augustine committed himself to a life of immorality because it was what he wanted. Perhaps he drew pleasure from all the reasons he discards, but those are only the reasons he refused to turn from immorality, not why he initially turned to immorality.

The only reason he initially committed immorality was because he wanted to do it. He believed that pursuing his desires was of ultimate benefit to his life, and when it proved to accomplish all that he expected, he had no reason to stop. Only when he reflects as a Christian does he struggle to understand his moral inclinations. He fails to see how he could have done something other than what God wanted without foreknowledge of its worth. But, as we see with Eve and the serpent in Genesis, we do not require foreknowledge to fall into immorality, only a reasonable expectation of pleasure. For Augustine, that basis was a social experience. For Eve, it was both

that the serpent convinced her of scarcity and that “the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was desirable to make one wise.”6 Her own observations affirmed the serpent’s argument for scarcity, so she accepted his argument and partook of the fruit and immorality. I imagine Augustine’s experience was similar. He was convinced of a scarcity in his life, namely that following God’s moral code would restrain him from experiencing a joyful life. When he experienced the pleasure of immorality, he had no reason to disbelieve the scarcity he had convinced himself of.

Beyond showing us what immorality is, this idea of scarcity also demonstrates one practical reason why we choose immorality over morality. As humans, we cannot see God’s plan for our lives. God, unbounded by time, crafted the narrative of our lives all at once. But our temporality restricts what we can see in that narrative. Mirroring Augustine and Eve, we partake in immorality and our own designs because we have a reasonable expectation of pleasure, but we do not know the truth of God’s maximal providence. Unfortunately, I believe we always fall into this lie without God’s aid. On our own, “[t]here is no one who does good, not even one.”7 It is for this reason that Isaiah writes: “All of us like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; but the

4 ibid, 50.

6 Genesis 3:6.

5 ibid, 239.

7 Psalm 14:3.

“GOD, in His

INFINIT

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Lord has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him.”8 The first half is our life under the lie of scarcity, but the second half is even more important. God, in His infinite abundance, provides all we need, and far more than we deserve. Out of His mercy and despite our inability to follow His moral compass, God reconciles us to Himself without anything from us. We can approach God in our immorality and brokenness because God provided Jesus the Christ, our salvation. As the apostle Paul tells us, “He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.”9 God laid our iniquities on Himself through Jesus, who, though fully God and perfectly moral, became our immorality so that we might be foreign for not living up to God’s perfect moral compass. Even when we believe that we have scarcities that He cannot or will not satisfy, the truth is that God makes sure our scarcity of morality does not keep us from Him. While this message provides a way for all of us to fall short of God’s perfect morality while seeking to align our moral compass with His, I also see it providing an imperative in our lives.

Our reconciliation is not an excuse to continue living our own way. And while this is intrinsically a spiritual concern, I believe it manifests in more practical ways as well. When we live according to our own plans, we actually inhibit God’s

8 Isaiah 53:6.

9 2 Corinthians 5:21.

desire for our lives. From Romans: And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren; and these whom he predestined, He also called; and these whom He called, He also justified; and these whom He justified, He also glorified.10

This good that Paul writes about comes when we conform to the image of Jesus and His perfect morality. And this good is not merely our justification and glorification, it is also a good that exists in our physical world. At Columbia, a place where I recognize vast hives of immorality, and abroad, many of us prefer to seek our own sexual, academic, consumptive, or other pleasures rather than follow the perfect moral compass. Paul also writes in Romans that we should “behave properly,” and “put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision of the flesh in regard to its lusts.” He also points out some of these lusts, such as carousing and drunkenness, sexual promiscuity and sensuality, and strife and jealousy.11

10 Romans 8:28-30.

11 Romans 13:13-14.

TE abundance,

ovides

Not only do these tendencies separate us from a moral life, they also detract from the fruitfulness of the academic institution and intellectualism. In college and for the rest of our lives, we must seek the highest academic focus, integrity, and rigor. College may be a time for us to discover who we are as people, but that fact does not excuse behaviors that ignore morality. Immoral tendencies only provide short-term pleasure that pales in comparison to the reward granted through strict purposiveness, not only in academics, but in moral behavior through all aspects of our college experience. To remain moral, we must commit ourselves to a higher objective than pleasure. Let us not destroy education out of our lusts and passions, our own imaginations of scarcity, but let us strengthen it by fulfilling our moral purpose. Columbia University’s motto comes from Psalms 36:9: In lumine tuo, videbimus lumen. In Thy light we shall see light. Not only do we see hope, joy, and peace through the light that is Jesus, but through God’s light we come to the enlightenment of knowledge.

Thus, with God’s light as a lamp unto our feet, with God’s moral compass as a guide to our actions, do we come to the enlightenment of knowledge.

Timothy Kinnamon (CC '23) is a sophomore in Columbia College studying Classics and Political Science.

He often reflects on how we can glorify God through ordinary life. Contact him at tmk2144@columbia.edu.

ALL we need.”

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Practical Philosophy Trying to Be Whole Grace-Elleda Gonzalez

P

hilosophical ponderings often seem distinct from reality. There doesn’t seem to be much value questioning whether one is a brain in a vat when there are people dying in the world. As a result, it can often seem as though philosophical thoughts don’t have anything to add to practical conversations. But this isn’t the case. The philosophy that we believe subconsciously directly impacts the way in which we live our lives. For this reason, we cannot talk about practical problems in the world without first agreeing upon some baseline premises. When it comes to the justification for responding to brokenness in the world, these philosophical discussions are rooted in the very definition of brokenness.

Something is broken when it fails to fulfill its assigned purpose. For example, when a cup shatters it can no longer be used to hold liquid or when a democratic government becomes corrupt it ceases to represent its constituents. In contrast, something is whole when it is able to fulfill its assigned purpose. As such, brokenness is the state in which something has diverged from its assigned purpose and wholeness is the state in which something is in alignment with its assigned purpose.

There are some cases where things break and people still use them; for instance, think of a broken plate being used in an art piece. Using something that is broken is an example of re-assigning its

purpose and it should be noted that it still fails to fulfill its original purpose.

As a consequence of having the word “broken,” it is implied that there is a conceptual possibility for “wholeness.”

For propositions to be conceptually possible, they cannot be self-contradictory. To be more specific, a proposition that is self-contradictory can exist, but it can’t be true. For example, the proposition that there exists a square triangle is self-contradictory because definitionally a square triangle is a logical impossibility. In other words, for a proposition to be conceptually possible there must be at least one possible world in which it is true. For something to exist in a possible world that means there could be an alternate timeline in which that was a reality. To say that the proposition “water is not chemically H2O” is

defined something, of all of the things that could have existed. When a proposition is allowed by the natures of all the things that could have existed, it is called metaphysically possible. For example, although the premise “water is not chemically H2O” is a logical possibility it isn’t a metaphysical possibility because water has been defined as having the chemical composition H2O. Because water is defined to be H2O metaphysically there cannot be a world in which water and H2O are not coextensive. To define A as broken, where A is anything, means the proposition “A is whole” is at the very least logically possible because we can conceive of a possible world in which A is whole regardless of whether the proposition is allowed by empirical natures. For example, suppose I accidentally drop a plate on the ground

Through the very act of recognizing that the world we live in is broken, we can conceive of a possible world that is whole. conceptually possible means that there could exist an alternate timeline in which water has a chemical composition of something other than H2O. That being said, conceptual possibility makes no claim on whether a proposition is allowed by empirical natures, wherein nature is how we have

and it breaks. I can imagine an alternate timeline in which the plate fell and didn’t break. Being able to imagine this alternate timeline proves that there is a possible world in which the proposition “the plate is whole” is true. Expanding this example out to everything we label as broken means that it is conceptually possible for all things that are currently The Witness | 11

broken to be whole.

Through the very act of recognizing that the world we live in is broken, we can conceive of a possible world that is whole. Thus, the proposition that “the world is whole” is conceptually possible. For example, if we believe that the current state of the world is imperfect because slavery exists, wars are ongoing,

heaven . Additionally, according to the Bible, the brokenness of the world is a result of sin. Ephesians 1:1-3 says, “and you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience — among whom we all once li-

Each moment in time leads to God’s ultimate desire that all things are united, i.e., that brokenness is restored. and people die, the proposition that “there is a world where slavery does not occur, wars do not exist, and people never die” is conceptually possible because we can conceive of a world in which that proposition is true. Saying that the world is broken is defining “the world” as broken which, based on the logical progression outlined in the previous paragraph, implies that the proposition “the world is whole” is conceptually possible. By defining the world as broken we are inherently conceiving of a possible world in which the world is whole. It is important to note that it is possible to conceive of an alternate timeline in which the world is whole because the definition of brokenness is inherently opposite to wholeness. As a contrasting example, the definition of red doesn’t have an inherent opposite and as such doesn’t directly imply that another proposition is conceptually possible in the same way that brokenness does.

As a Christian, I believe that this conceptual possibility for wholeness will one day be manifested meaning that the possible world where everything currently brokenis whole will become the actual world. This manifestation is heaven. Revelation 21:27 says that “nothing unclean will ever enter [Heaven], nor anyone who does what is detestable or false, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life” meaning that sin will not be present in 12 | vol. 7, no. 2

ved in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.” Carrying out the desires of the body and mind means that we “were filled with all manner of unrighteousness, evil, covetousness, malice. [We] are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, maliciouswness. [We] are gossipers, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless” (Romans 1:29-31). Sin is us diverging from our assigned purpose resulting in us being broken. As such, to be sinless is to be fulfilling our assigned purpose. The implication is that heaven is whole because it lacks sin. The current sinful state of the world will eventually “pass away” when “the perfect comes" (1 Corinthians 13:10). When heaven comes, the conceptual possibility for wholeness will be manifested.

Additionally, the Bible presents heaven as the reality which God ultimately desires, i.e., heaven conforms to the finality of God’s purpose. Ephesians 1:10 says God’s “plan for the fullness of time, [is] to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth”.

Fullness of time refers to the fullness of all sequences of events that leads to the fulfillment of all things. Each moment in time leads to God’s ultimate desire that all things are united, i.e.,

that brokenness is restored. As a result, heaven is the fulfillment of all things that God ultimately desires.

Using backwards induction and reasoning backwards in time based on a known future outcome, God’s ultimate desire for heaven manifests itself in our justification for a present call to action. In heaven, the known future outcome, brokenness won’t exist.

As a result, because brokenness won’t exist in heaven and God ultimately desires heaven, we can say God doesn’t desire the brokenness that exists in our current reality to exist eternally. The implication is that God desires that there is a progression from the state of brokenness to wholeness where the fulfilment of the progression is wholeness in heaven. This chain implies that God considers wholeness in the present to be good and a part of the progression to complete wholeness. The result is a call to action to Christians that they respond to brokenness in the world and do their best to make it whole in the present reality.

Fighting against brokenness in the world is hard; it is a process that won’t ever be completed until heaven.

Christians shouldn’t expect to restore everything to a state of wholeness.

However, all Christians should be working within their ability to combat brokenness where it is revealed because of a recognition that God ultimately desires the conceptual possibility of wholeness that will be manifested in heaven.

Grace-Elleda Gonzalez (CC '23) is a sophomore in Columbia College planning on studying pure mathematics and economics. She is currently grappling with what it looks like to be a student in a way that is glorifying to God. Contact her at geg2139@columbia.edu.

The Egg Michael Manasseh The Egg. A humble manifestation of life renewed.

How does the feeble chick find life?

Surely it longs to escape its temporary confinement and Unite with its Mother The smooth yet seemingly impenetrable Shell beckons and taunts the chick to Break it And breathe.

The Jar. Filled with the most treasured perfume.

For whom is it worthy of receiving?

She, soiled with the filth of the Earth, Yet having the audacity to bring forth A jar of alabaster.

Break it The cleansing fragrance of Grace.

The Body.

Paradox of perfection in human form Who can access this gift?

He, about to endure suffering of The highest order, took The bread, and as the world stood still, said Break it, in remembrance of Me Unlocking eternal Salvation.

Us. Our bodies desire to be made whole.

If the weakness of the flesh makes such A dream futile, What remains is the ultimate Contradiction: We break ourselves open, For the boundless freedom of our soul.

Michael Manasseh (CC ‘23) is a sophomore in Columbia College currently studying Applied Mathematics. He is always searching for his next cup of single origin coffee. Contact him at m.manasseh@columbia.edu.

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When It Hits Home Jade Thompson

M

y father has been absent from my life for as long as I can remember. But I only recently began to understand how much this absence affects the way I interact with the world. I remember in high school watching the Dr. Phil show and a woman came out to talk about the pain she had felt growing up fatherless after her dad left her family when she was young. Dr. Phil brought her dad onto the show and she explained how his absence has affected her self-esteem, her love life, and her overall happiness.

I distinctly remember thinking that the girl was silly. I insensitively commented, “it’s not that serious,” and thought she was exaggerating. I wondered how much of the woman’s problems were her own fault because she obsessed over her father’s absence rather than simply moving on to live her own life.

Years later, when I unexpectedly burst into tears while watching a video of a dad comforting his toddler daughter after a bad day at school, I realized “moving on” is not as easy as I naively thought while watching that girl on Dr. Phil. Pain is often buried deep and the effects of it are not always apparent until something triggers painful memories. Moving on would require me to get past the deep seated pain and the void left within my heart from not being assured of my worth as a child. But, getting past this hurt requires recognizing it first. And in order to recognize my pain, which was buried deep, I needed to dig into my subconscious. However, before the day I cried rivers because the little

girl probably experienced more love and assurance from her dad in her 2 years than I would experience in a lifetime, I had no reason to begin digging. The consequences of my father’s absence were never apparent. For all I knew, the feelings of worthlessness and unattractiveness I dealt with throughout my early adolescence were normal and inevitable, caused by the pressures of American beauty standards. But after witnessing the almost reflexive sentiments of jealousy and pain I felt after seeing a display of fatherly love, something I subconsciously felt both robbed and undeserving of, I made the decision to intentionally dig up the hurt I kept bottled up inside and work towards healing.

I began reflection, as the first step in my digging process to discover areas of pain I needed to address. As a Christian, I was told my whole life that brokenness existed because of sin. In my life, however, I never truly realized it until I recognized brokenness in my own life. The realization of brokenness came quickly after I began reflecting on the dynamics of my relationship with my father.

My father attempted to mask his absence in my life with money, superficial phone calls, and occasional visits. He missed all the moments I needed to be reassured of my worth after a classmate

told me otherwise. He missed all the moments I needed to be reminded that I had purpose and could do anything I put my mind to, every time I doubted those truths. I needed to be shown that I was loved, not simply hear it from the other side of the phone.

My dad’s failure to assure me that I was deserving of love led me to question this in all other relationships, especially those with men. Without an idea of what it felt like to be loved by a man, I had low standards for relationships and confused possessive and controlling behavior with loving concern. I struggled to balance my desire for self-assurance and independence with my yearning for validation and security. Where my love for myself fell short, I expected others to carry the weight of loving me; and, where they inevitably fell short, resentment filled the place of expectations.

My introspection allowed me to see that the scars of my past stained my relationships today with mistrust and fear of abandonment. The more time I spent in my reflections, the more I realized that the brokenness in my relationship with my dad had become a chain reaction that affected my ability to genuinely love anyone I came in contact with.

I suppose my story wouldn’t be all that exciting if it just ended there. I

But that’s the problem, when any aspect of my life went out of alignment, my whole world seemed to crumble.

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wanted to change. I didn’t just want to get over and move on from the hurt I felt from my dad’s absence, I wanted to fill the hole in my heart and become whole.

But what does that wholeness look like?

With firsthand insight, I can point out the mistake many children from broken homes make when we say, “I wish my family looked like [that].” The image of another person’s family is not what wholeness looks like and it should not be what we aim to achieve, especially because we cannot change our families.

Instead, wholeness should be a realistic model of how we aim to interact with others and ourselves. I came to the understanding that wholeness means enjoying self-love and confidence that allows me to love others without resenting them and to be loved by them without shame.

So how would I get there? The answer came to me during my sophomore year of college. As I walked across campus, I thought about the reasons why my relationships with those around me never looked the way I wanted them to. I realized that in an effort to protect

knew His worth came from God and His inherent value would not diminish even if someone didn’t recognize it. I laughed as I thought about how ordinary I was. If Christ, the Savior of the world could be vulnerable and open then I could too, even if it resulted in hurt sometimes.

Hurt is inevitable in any relationship and some people will not be in my life forever, but the love we share before we grow apart is worth it. Jesus loved without limits to show us what love is and I wanted to be like Him. Following the example of Jesus’ selfless love, I began approaching relationships as opportunities to model vulnerability and love, not caring about whether I got hurt, as long as the other person learned more about what true love is.

The true love I witnessed in Jesus’ actions empowered me to forgive my dad. As I thought about the forgiveness Jesus showed to me, my heart of anger toward my dad became soft. While I was an enemy to God, being disobedient and hating Him, He still sent Jesus to redeem me so I could have a relationship with Him. God showed me kindness

It was in seeking self-love through my own strength that I missed the fullness of life that Jesus offered for all along. myself, I had hidden parts of me that I didn’t want to be seen. I resorted to a superficial way of interacting with people to avoid rejection. At that moment, the image of Jesus nailed to the cross came to my mind. Jesus, who is the most precious human being to ever walk the planet, never hid a part of Himself from His friends, even those who He knew would betray Him. Jesus shared Himself completely and openly and allowed Himself to be hated, spat on and walked over despite being royalty. He was not afraid to be devalued by humans because He

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when I didn’t deserve it, so I wanted to offer that same grace to my dad and give him a second chance. When he and I talk now, I try to see him through eyes of understanding and compassion. My attention has shifted away from focusing on the ways he has hurt me to considering the ways his past suffering has affected his ability to love me. I seek to show him that Christ can heal his wounds too. And now, I am not dependent on the frequency of his calls as a sign of my value. Since I have understood God is my Heavenly Father, I live and walk in new

freedom and assurance. I was only upset at my dad when I believed I was at a disadvantage without him. But, with God I lack nothing. Even when my dad lets me down, I am not left without. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want” are the words that reminded me God will always take care of me.

Having learned about selfless vulnerability and forgiveness, I had the tools I needed to love others better, but I still felt like I was missing something.

I also needed to find a way to love myself in order to have fulfilment. I decided to approach growth systematically. I broke my life into compartments: Spiritual, Physical, Mental and Emotional, and set goals for each category that would allow me to achieve wholeness. My spiritual goals were to acknowledge God first every morning by reading and praying; I designed skincare and workout regimens to achieve physical goals; scheduled time to attend therapy and journal weekly to “level-up mentally; and set out to find hobbies so I wouldn’t be emotionally dependent on friends.

For a while it felt like things were working. I loved myself and my life. I was meeting so many new people and deepening friendships with old ones by being more vulnerable and making others comfortable to do the same. My friends in Christian Union were great and surrounded me with constant love.

And when I wasn’t with them, I genuinely enjoyed spending time by myself.

I discovered dancing. Dancing without the pressure of being perfect or mastering a new move, but dancing for the sake of expressing my soul. And I found music that made me feel embraced. I was praying and reading my Bible every day and I learned something new about God every time I read. I was growing in all aspects of my life: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally; everything just seemed to fall into place. But that’s the problem, when any aspect of my life went out of alignment, my whole world seemed to crumble. If I felt far from God

after missing a few days of reading my Bible or if I felt excluded when my friends went out without me or if dancing didn’t lift my mood to the extent I expected it to, it felt like a piece of a puzzle was missing and my life was out of balance.

As time went on, I grew frustrated by how transient my state of happiness was and I habitually questioned the truth of God’s promise of new life. I doubted whether I was truly set free from my old way of thinking, asking, “If I believe, why am I not healed?”, “If I am a new creature, why do I not have the joy and peace that are promised with new life?”

My questions were answered in one passage of Scripture: Matthew 17:1-8.

The Scripture tells of Jesus inviting Peter, James and John to a mountain to witness His transfiguration, where Jesus’ face shone like the sun to reveal God’s glory. As this happened, two esteemed prophets, Elijah and Moses, appeared next to Jesus and Peter exclaimed “Lord, it is good for us to be here.” Peter then asked if Jesus wanted him to build three temples for each of the men. As Peter asked this, God interrupted him from heaven, saying “This is my Son, listen to Him.” Out of fear of God’s powerful voice Peter, James and John fell to the ground, but Jesus touched them, reminding them not to be afraid and when they looked up they only saw Jesus. This passage has great significance to me because it convicted me of how wrong my focus was. Metaphorically, I understood the mountain in the story to be an “emotional and spiritual high.” Often when I am doing well mentally and I feel connected to God and my friends, I exclaim, “Thank you God, it is so good to be here.

I love my life.” I feel like I am experiencing the goodness of God’s glory, like the 3 men did when they saw Jesus’ shining face, and I am happy because of it. But the same way Peter asked, “Jesus would you like me to build a shelter for each of you?” I also do the same. I also want to build a shelter to protect and preserve these “high feelings.” Peter wanted to build a shelter for all 3 figures because he considered Moses and Elijah equally

important as Jesus within that experience of great glory. I reflected for a short while on what my Moses and Elijah were. What did I consider so important for my happiness that I tried to hold on to and protect as much as I did Jesus?

Self-love, emotional stability, a vibrant social life. Even peace and joy were as important to me as Jesus was. I’d constantly try to shelter and protect them in any way I could because I thought they were so crucial for my happiness. But, God said, this is my Son, listen to Him, seek Him, keep Him at the center. And when I looked up, all I saw was Jesus, the Only One to follow. God doesn’t just tell us what we did wrong, He shows the clear path to what is right. And since then I have lived in such immeasurable freedom, knowing that I don’t have to carry the burden of protecting all those variables I thought were necessary for a whole life. It was in seeking self-love through my own strength that I missed the fullness of life that Jesus offered for all along.

Now, my mind is renewed daily and filled with the life that speaks out from the pages of the Bible. As I saturate my mind with the Word of God I can only

think of myself in the terms that Jesus declares. Each day, I believe more and more than I am a daughter, I am a friend, I am chosen, I am set free, I am part of an unshakable family, I am blessed, I am confident, I am beloved, I am complete!

And yes, the Bible reminds me that wholeness will come when we all get to heaven, but introspection has taught me that wholeness is not what I’m looking for now. I’m looking for freedom and that’s exactly what Christ offers in this new life. I am free from the burden of bringing about my own wholeness. I went through the process of digging to recognize my brokenness, but to truly move on is to accept my brokenness and submit it all to Christ, trusting that he will make all things whole.

Jade Thompson (BC’21) is a senior in Barnard College double-majoring in Economics and Urban Studies, Sustainability. She enjoys singing, fashion design, and putting on a British accent at random times. Contact her at jct2169@ barnard.edu.

The Witness | 17

Catholic

Protestant

White

Black

Me and Splits in Christendom Imani Benberry

T

he first time someone called me a Protestant, I was piercingly offended. “I’m a what?”

I felt like I had been called a pilgrim or something. I was probably 15 years old, and the only time I had ever heard “protestant” at my Catholic school was in history class, in relation to a religious schism that had happened in England over three centuries ago. To me Protestants were colonial, New England folk who didn’t dance and used a chamber pot. In other words, they were people I, as a Baptist-raised teenager who was simultaneously a “Catholic school girl”, had nothing to do with. The two denominations that defined my religious identity--African American Baptist and Roman Catholic--were my only conscious conception of a difference in Christian faith traditions. But that moment of perceived insult is seared in my mind as the day I became fully aware that a much more fundamental division--Catholic versus Protestant--was necessary to understand the modern strains of faith I experienced as someone enmeshed in

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two faith traditions. A decade or so of competing messages and spiritual tension might be summed up in the fact that I was in fact a Protestant among Catholics.

But of course it wasn’t that simple, and race is partially why. Perhaps I felt like I had been ousted out of something I’d spent 14 years establishing my place in--that is, the Catholic spirituality I’d grown into at Stone Ridge, the predominantly white, Roman Catholic school I entered at 5 years old. I’m 21 now, and my life has been defined by this spiritual splitness, and my attempts at reworking Catholicism’s hegemonic relationship with the black Baptist self I tucked away during school hours.

There are about 200 Protestant denominations in the United States. Even though religious affiliation is declining in the United States, about 70% of Americans continue to identify as Christians, and Protestants (46.5%) and Catholics (20.8%) constitute the largest segments

of that population.1 Rather than assume a colorblind “Protestantism” exists, the study acknowledges that 6.5% of Protestants identify with a branch Pew calls “Historically Black Protestantism.”

This includes the African-American Baptist Church, the Methodist Church, and Black Pentecostals. Even in a general study of the religious affiliations of American citizens, race classifications of various churches are taken into account with an understanding that the spiritual and cultural traditions of these institutions are influenced by a common racial experience. The ultra-segmented data reveals that in the U.S. we attribute significant meaning to denominations of faith and that, for African-American Christians, faith and racialization inform where one finds her spiritual home.

Growing up, moving back and forth between two very different religious 1Pew Research Center, “Religion in America: U.S. Religious Data, Demographics and Statistics,” www.pewforum.org/religious-landscape-study/, ( 9 Sept. 2020).

spaces was central to the formation of not only my religious identity, but also my relationship to African-American culture. My education took place at a predominantly white, all-girls, Catholic prep school. Despite my upbringing in a lively African-American Baptist Church defined by charismatic preacher characters, audience feedback, and spontaneous worship, I behaved like a “perfect” Catholic at school religious services: I sat reverently on the school chapel pews, did the sign of the cross, and sang Here I Am Lord solemnly during mass. Somehow, I managed a life in two completely different churches, in two completely different traditions. I attended the stone-front Metropolitan Baptist in D.C.’s Shaw neighborhood on Sundays with my mother and younger brother. At school, I went to masses in the gym or the campus chapel, and a few times a year I stood at the very front of the National Cathedral on Wisconsin Ave., singing Catholic hymns to a still, reverent crowd with Stone Ridge’s Junior Chorus. As a child, I didn’t think about the intense compartmentalizing and spiritual “code-switching” I was doing to feel comfortable in the religio-educational space of my school. I learned how to exist in each space by internalizing the expectations for two sanctuaries.

I memorized Cathol ic prayers and assumed that I shouldn’t expose my mostly white school friends to the bumping “rhythm and praise” music that my mother played in the car. It didn’t help that my classmates sometimes performed impressions of stereotypical African-American preacherisms, asking “can I get an amen?” and wagging their fingers as they puffed out their chests.

From my religious workbook to the effective assumption that every student came from a Catholic family to my experiences on the playground, everything about my education seemed to assert that Catholicism was the only authentic expression of Christianity, and that Black Protestants were a punchline.

It was hard not to feel split in two when Protestant forms of Christianity

A decade or so of competing messages and spiritual tension might be summed up in the fact that I was in fact a Protestant among Catholics.

were, besides not even being acknowledged in my case, belittled and illegitimized. But even at eight, I felt that I wasn’t willing to put up with this double spirituality, or at least not the part that made me feel like an outsider at school.

One day I asked my mother “why aren’t we Catholic?” My brother, who attended another Catholic school, and I, small fourth- and third-graders in the backseat of the car, both told her we would convert to Catholicism as adults. I guess we were exhausted of feeling split down the middle.

But deciding that Catholic was “right” meant giving up something else.

Towards my senior year of high school and the end of my time at Stone Ridge, I felt this loss as I questioned why it had

been so important to me to distance myself from a religious tradition that intricately tied me to African-American people and Black spirituality. I began to resolve what I experienced as a spiritual conflict by clinging more firmly to my Baptist identity, at the same time that I carved out space to appreciate African-American figures in the limits of my school curriculum. I dedicated a capstone Literature project to Zora Neale Hurston and presented the work of Senegalese poet Leopold Sedar Senghor to my senior AP Lit class. In March of that year, I was baptized in The First Baptist Church of Glenarden at 18 and began sharing clips from the lively, sometimes intensely sentimental worship section of Sunday noon services on social me-

The Witness | 19

dia. I was taking my first steps in proudly identifying with the worship tradition I had come to see as overblown and “wild” from the lens of my Catholic peers. I realized how much my false sense of “liking” Catholicism better than my own faith tradition actually came from a desire to feel more assimilated in a school culture in which Catholicism was the dominant and default faith practice.

By the time I graduated, I did not have qualms about likely never experiencing a Catholic mass again. First Baptist was a home I felt embarrassed about once rejecting. I spent the summer between high school and college being more present at Sunday service as I revelled in the solidarity felt in an African-American congregation confident in what we were and how we did church, and clapped my hands to the music.

When I began my academic journey at another institution though, the disjunction began again. There was no Baptist Students’ Association for me to join on Columbia’s campus, and I found

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the task of finding a familiar style of church in a new city daunting. I latched on to the first fellowship labeled “Christian” I found, which was RUF (Reformed University Fellowship), a campus organization affiliated with the Presbyterian Church. When I went to the first group meeting, a worship gathering that happened every Thursday, I realized I didn’t know any of the songs, and had never had a white man preach to me that wasn’t in full-on mass vestments. Unwittingly comparing everything about RUF’s Thursday evening worship to my church experience back home, my feelings were more complicated than disappointment: the hymn lyrics on my pamphlet foreign to me, I felt an acute sense that I was in the wrong place. Without the full belting of First Baptist’s gospel choir or the sermons peppered with AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) I was so used to, I felt lost and dissatisfied. This church was something I didn’t know.

My religious culture-shock was

a moment where I felt the Protestant Church to be a fragmented body that didn’t quite understand itself. It had something to do with the paradox of my feeling so comfortable and involved at my Baptist church back home, and so foreign and confused at the Presbyterian meetings of RUF. I asked myself why no one had heard of a single Black contemporary gospel artist, and then puzzled over whether the question was relevant. Was my religious experience designated to the fringe? Importantly: who was Hillsong?

My inheritance as a kid having grown up between a Baptist church and a Catholic school didn’t have much value in the new Christian space--I found it difficult to connect to the guitar-accompanied hymns, the recital of the confession of sin, and the passive stillness that radiated from the congregation, which sat and stood according to instruction.

Once again, I found myself trying to balance dual spiritual affiliations--one to the African-American Baptist tradi-

tion (I watched the livestream of noon service at FBCG every Sunday) and one to the new, college-aged community of worshippers I found at Columbia. I attended RUF Thursday nights and accompanied friends to a nondenominational service held on the top floor of the Riverside cathedral). I was happy to be at church each Sunday, and happier to have friends to go with, even if occasionally I would get blank stares when I referenced gospel artists that had been household names in my community. But the way the different parts of my Christian identity never seemed to touch continued my persistent feeling of spiritual fragmentation, which made me feel like a worshipper permanently displaced.

My splintered spirituality began to fall away when I sought out a church home for myself, instead of going the more convenient route of being absorbed into one my peers attended. I was grateful for the relationships RUF brought to me, and over time became less agitated and more appreciative of the novelty of an unfamiliar church culture.

But it was not sustainable to surrender all my needs for spiritual nourishment to the goal of widening my theological horizons. On Sundays, I needed a place that felt just right. My sophomore year, after having a conversation with a Christian Union mentor about growing up

plant located in the National Black Theater in Harlem. It is a ten-minute bus ride from campus. The congregation is overwhelmingly Black and Latino. The majority of attendants are also young-most of the persons to my right and left are under thirty, marking a sharp difference from the congregation I belong to at home. Like my home church, I am not a minority when I take a seat in its pews; unlike my home church, written in the very mission of the church is a commitment to social justice via racial equality, and the congregation identifies as “non-denominational,” not Baptist. A distinctly Christian character--radical empathy--shrunk my staunch loyalty to a particular denomination and integrated all of my positive experiences with a smattering of religious traditions into one new, whole sense of best fit.

Though the brokenness of our denominational identities made me feel confused and pulled in competing directions for parts of my life, the encompassing relief I found in discovering a right-fit church home revealed that God doesn’t leave us feeling divided, for “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Cor 14:33).” The simultaneity of my experiences at The Gathering and my participation in Presbyterian-affiliated RUF show that God’s people find each other across denominational, and even

spiritual self by not compromising the vibrant faith tradition I grew up in; by appreciating my understanding of the Catholic tradition and the numerous Catholic mentors that have shaped my understanding of a Catholic and, moreover, a Christian response to many justice issues; and by participating in the fellowship RUF offers through deep relationships with people who attend churches very different from my own.

I no longer experience the same division within myself of multiple spiritual “selves.” I bring my whole spiritual self into whatever worship space I enter, making no accommodations for the unique fusion of religious experiences that make up my Christian identity.

Finding confidence in a multi-denominational spiritual identity, and coming to terms with a multi-denominational Church in general, means seeking God’s peace while abiding in the fissures.

The encompassing relief I found in discovering a right-fit church home revealed that God doesn’t leave us feeling divided. in a Baptist church and my struggles with feeling dissatisfied and unfulfilled with the Sunday services I could find in Morningside Heights, she provided me a list of churches that were culturally and denominationally similar to what I missed about my home church. The first one I tried--which turned out to be the only one I needed--was The Gathering, a recent, nondenominational church

schismistic lines. Integrating a lifetime of differing denominational affiliations means stepping into wholeness out of a splintered spiritual upbringing, just as God asks us to leave behind our brokenness to step into wholeness through a relationship with him.

I’ve been able to integrate my Baptist identity, my participation in RUF, and my Catholic education into a whole

Imani Benberry (CC ‘21) is a senior in Columbia College majoring in English literature and African American Studies. She writes fiction and is currently experimenting with the short story form.

Contact her at iab2130@columbia.edu.

The Witness | 21

Racial Justice Chase Chumchal & Tony Kim

W

hen we decided on “brokenness” as the theme for our Fall 2020 issue at the onset of the year, we did not imagine that our country would be experiencing it in the raw and corporate way that we have seen in these past couple months. In light of the racial turmoil fracturing and polarizing communities, we, the staff of the Columbia Witness, want to address how Christ and His gospel rebukes and overcomes racism. It is only through discipleship to Him that we can heal and redeem the racial brokenness in our communities and bring about His Kingdom.

When Christ introduces a model of prayer in Matthew 6:9-13, He reveals what true restoration and justice looks like, praying to the Father: “Your Kingdom come, / Your will be done, / on earth as it is in heaven.” In the fight against brokenness and injustice, Christ offers humanity more than a moral code or a model of social action. He offers humanity the Kingdom of God, a Kingdom of perfect righteousness and justice, filled with people who lovingly submit to and obey the holy rulership of a perfectly wise God. Jesus invites us to this Kingdom by offering Himself — His life, ministry, death, and resurrection.

Racism, systematically and dispositionally, is incongruent with the person of Jesus and His Kingdom. When the Christian considers the nature of God’s Kingdom, it is not one of ethnic, national, or racial uniformity. Rather, Christ breaks the bonds of division. God is not interested in redeeming one group, but is committed to restoring people from “…every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages…” (Revelation 7:9). In Christ, the Jew and the

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Gentile are made “one body through the cross” (Ephesians 2:16). Those who are in Christ are not considered citizens of a broken world, but are deemed a “new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17) that dwells in light (Matthew 5:14-16; Ephesians 5:8).

The biblical picture of the Kingdom, with ethnically and culturally diverse citizens who live in perfect unity and neighborly love, has fundamental implications for the Christian’s battle against racial injustice today. While the fullness of the Kingdom is presently unattainable, and consequently, the church must wait with eager longing for the redemption of the world, Christ commands His church to live in His Kingdom now and display the reality of the soonto-be fulfilled promise of perfect unity, love, and justice. He commands us to love one another (Mark 12:31; John 13:3435), warns to stand firm against injustice (Matthew 23:23), and to serve the poor and marginalized, whom He identified with (Matthew 25:40).

The great challenge and great beauty of the gospel, however, is this: we cannot achieve justice with our black brothers and sisters without Christ. He is the only Way. With social media and news outlets broadcasting polarized and even violent activism and counter-activism, superficial “performative” trends, to denial of injustice at all, we want to cry out the urgent need for justice and reform, but also emphasize that that means we need Christ. An increasingly secularized America is crying out for a Kingdom of perfect justice without the only perfectly just King. By disconnecting the work for justice from the God of justice, we are blinded from what justice looks like. Without seeking

perfect reconciliation with God through Christ, our efforts for reconciliation in our country are futile and, at best, temporary. Our prayer and hope, especially for Columbia, is that in Christ, people will be genuinely seen and treated as intrinsically meaningful beings created in the image of God, not as embodied characteristics who are valued in the contexts of social groups, politics, or self-righteous activism. The former points to the perfect Kingdom, the latter points to the hypocrisy and moral legalism of the Pharisees.

Brokenness is certainly not fixed by people who ignorantly dismiss it, but it cannot be fixed by those who obtain their righteousness by their works, or their social media posts, or their donations. The world sees these things: how many movements we follow, how many protests we attend, and how many black squares we post. But brokenness can only be treated by people who receive their righteousness from Christ, and who act as genuine vessels of Christlike love to their neighbors, even when they are not seen.

Christ’s love, for the oppressed and oppressor, frequently looked much different than what many anticipated, firm and unyielding, but with grace and forgiveness. Christ was not afraid to challenge people’s social prejudices when He touched lepers, healed on the Sabbath, and encountered the Samaritan woman at the well (Mark 1:41; John 5:1-17; John 4:1-45). “Uneducated”, He challenged religious leaders, considered the moral activists of the time, with His intimate knowledge and loving relationship with His Father (John 7:15-16). He discipled, served, and ate with many who were disliked and undervalued in society. Instead of violently overthrowing the government, Christ washed feet. Instead of

making peace with the hypocritical Jewish leaders, Christ pushed thieves out of the Temple courts. Instead of taking the throne, He chose to be enthroned on the cross. Yet, despite the seemingly strange nature of Christ’s actions, the outcome displayed a paradoxical reality that no person could imagine: eternal kingship from execution, beauty from ashes, life from death, an empty tomb. The example of Christ— man filled with the Holy Spirit in humble but uncompromising love, — serves as the only solution to racial tension in our communities.

As Christians at Columbia, we should hold accountable how secular America, our classmates, and our university fights injustice, where hypocritical moralism and self-righteousness can blur our hope for true justice. We ought not to be primarily motivated by social media trends, though they may be helpful and even be blessings, but by the Spirit which produces good works in us; not tempted by our own notions of justice, but steadfast to the counsel of wise children of God (and, of course, God Himself); not fed by the seductive words of politicians, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4).

In fighting against racism in our university, the church at Columbia moving forward must be the church in the mundane, nuanced features of university life, even more than on social media or spotlight protests. By being a prayerful, sacrificially loving, united, Scripture-infatuated, others-oriented, God-centered, and patient Christlike church which takes Spirit-led initiatives to fight for justice, we can begin to look like the church. By sharing and living out the gospel, systematic and more importantly, dispositional impact can be made. The reality of God’s Kingdom

at Columbia, as well as the hallowing of His Name, is the hope and mission of all believers at Columbia, one that we should seriously, urgently, yet joyfully participate in.

We ought to recount the prayer of Christ in John 17:21-23, when He asked the Father that the church would “all be one” as the Father is one with the Son. When we are one, the world will “know that [the Father] has sent [the Son].” Our fight is only effective when we demonstrate and share the oneness we have in Christ, a oneness that surpasses the color of our skin (Galatians 3:28). When we stand as a united witness of all that Jesus has done and is doing for us, when we love each other as He has loved us (John 13:35), then the broken world catches a tiny glimpse of the redeemed world soon to come.

Conforming to the loving and just image of Christ is impossible through sheer human effort and self-righteousness. We, at the Columbia Witness, pray to our Father in Christ’s Name, and in the power of His Holy Spirit in us, that His Kingdom would come and His will would be done at Columbia in and through us.

Chase Chumchal (CC ‘23) is a sophomore in Columbia College currently studying English literature. He is easily captivated by landscapes and wildlife. Contact him at cac2311@columbia.edu.

Tony Kim (CC ‘23) is a sophomore in Columbia College studying Neuroscience and Behavior. He enjoys playing pool in the Hartley lounge with other people on Witness at unacceptably late hours during finals week. Contact him at tjk2141@columbia.edu.

The Witness | 23

Copy-Kat(niss) On Imitative Desire, Deceiving T.V.s, and Christlikeness

Chase Chumchal

T

he wooden arch gently perched in my hand, I pulled the arrow back, drawing the bow string up to my cheek, aimed at the target, shot. Missed this time — I was only ten, maybe eleven. But with a quiver full of arrows and throwing knives spread out before my feet, my strength seemed to transcend my age. I was a fighter, brave, bold, tough, and keen. I was a Hunger Games trainee, a follower of Katniss Everdeen.

I read The Hunger Games, watched the movie, discussed the content with friends, and reflected— plot, character, the affairs of Panem, the gong gonging, running away from the cornucopia (lest I perish). I shot arrows, threw knives, and hurled axes in my backyard. In some strange sense, I adopted aspects of her character. For me, this behavior was normal. “Character adoption” was a common theme in my childhood, fantasies of pretending to be something that I was not: Sharkboy, Dash, a vampire, a werewolf. Yet, like the arrow that loses air and eventually curls back to the ground, this childlike fantasy of character adoption wears off, and all human beings must eventually grow up. So I did.

Or did I?

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When I became a teenager, intensified online streaming allowed for an easy escape into a realm of storytelling.

As I got older, I no longer pretended to be something silly and mystical, like Sharkboy. Something else, less noticeable, less loud, crept up on me. I began to adopt and imitate out of acute desire: desire for vocation, for lifestyle, to transform perceptions of myself and others.

My own behavior began to unconsciously conform to televised conduct and desire: if an admired protagonist was a doctor, I suddenly wanted to become a doctor. If an admired protagonist wanted to go to a particular Ivy League school, I suddenly wanted to go to a particular Ivy League school. My aspirations were closely connected to my current binge-watching craze. Each show of obsession led me further into this adoption of desire — the psychological grasping of a character’s passion, followed by diligent mental, emotional, social, and behavioral practice in applying it to my

own character.

Netflix, Instagram, YouTube — none stood as mere pastimes. I was conforming more to the people and desires that I most admired, and in return, was committing a form of contemporary idolatry. For example, my imitated desire to go into politics during my junior year of high school, encouraged by a political thriller on Netflix, was perhaps an expression of my restless pursuit to fill an inner void with idols (e.g, power, significance, achievement) that only God Himself can fill.1 Only through complete surrender to God through Christ and repentance from a broken lifestyle was this void filled, since, as Augustine famously remarked, “…our heart is restless until it rests in [Him].”2 While this yielding, finding, and following has and is continuing to transform my life and 1 Interestingly, the Bible seems to claim that a person becomes like the idol(s) that they worship (See, Psalm 115, 135:15-18; Isaiah 44:18).

2 Augustine. Confessions. Modern Library, 2017,

p. 3.

My own behavior began to unconsciously conform to televised conduct and desire.

perception of reality, the question of imitation perplexes me. Why did this happen to me? Why did I perform, imitate, adopt these characters? These desires?

Am I still imitating today?

The question of imitation is prominent in the field of observational learning. Most notable studies are those by Bandura et al., where children imitate aggressive behavior through the observation of a model.3 Perhaps, observational learning is etched into the very composition of the human mind. Mirror neurons, for example, suggest that the same regions of the brain respond to both the observation and the execution

3 For example, see Bandura et al.’s study, “Imitation of film-mediated aggressive models,” in which explores how children imitate the aggressive behavior of an adult model in-person, an adult model over a televised medium, and a cartoon-figure model over a televised medium. Bandura, Albert; Ross, Dorothea; & Ross, Sheila A. “Imitation of film-mediated aggressive models.” The Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, vol. 66, no. 1, 1963, pp. 3–11. Accessed 1 May 2020. https://doiorg.ezproxy.cul.columbia.edu/10.1037/h0048687.

of a particular action.4 Our desire to imitate certain qualities suggest the presence of a model. For example, my imitation to shoot archery like Katniss could suggest the real imitation that is the desire for competency, maybe excitement, or perhaps to be seen as valuable. Regardless, for desire to be imitated, it must come from a model.

French philosopher René Girard was fluent in the subject of mimesis (μίμησις) — “imitation” — and its relation to literature, and further, to human life.5 Girard introduced “triangular desire”, which entails that desire is not a linear connection between desire and the desirer, but a triangular connection, first connecting the desirer with the modeled desir4 Winerman, Lea. “The mind’s mirror.” Monitor on Psychology, vol. 36, no. 9, Oct. 2005. Accessed 1 May 2020. http://www.apa.org/monitor/oct05/ mirror.

5 For René Girard’s work on mimetic desire, see chapter three of René Girard’s Mimetic Theory.

Palaver, Wolfgang. René Girard’s Mimetic Theory (Studies in Violence, Mimesis & Culture). Michigan State University Press. Kindle Edition.

er, and then both leading to the same desire.6 And our society is buzzing with this triangular desire: why do we easily adopt the same habits of our family members?

Why is it difficult to not mimic the vices of our communities? Why was avocado toast so popular?7 In regards to triangular desire through the lens of Christianity, I find that the creation narrative of Genesis 1-2 provides comprehensive insight in shaping a biblical paradigm surrounding human beings’ imitation of others’ desires. The creation narrative depicts human beings as more than merely chance and biology, but as sacred creatures designed by God with the divine gift (and 6 “Triangular desire” is described and studied in the first chapter of René Girard’s Deceit, Desire, And the Novel. Girard, René. Deceit, Desire, And the Novel: Self And Other In Literary Structure. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1965. Accessed 3 October 2020. https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015027234288&view=1up&seq=16&q1=triangular%20desire.

7 “René Girard Explains Mimetic Desire.” Youtube, ImitatioVideo, 17 December 2018. https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=OgB9p2BA4fw.

The Witness | 25

responsibility) of being interconnected in relationship. The Bible describes God as finding man being “alone” as “not good” (Gen. 2:18). From the beginning, we were destined to find and understand ourselves, not through introspection, nor for the purposes of self-discover, but in community with God and other human beings. More so, one of the most revolutionary statements in all of history is that humankind is created in the image of God Himself (Gen. 1:27). By recognizing the triune nature of God (Father, Son, Holy Spirit), one can conclude that a part of being made in God’s image is to be, by necessity, in relationship with another.

Imitation — whether of desire or actual behavior — cannot occur without the presence of relationship. This relational imitation is found in the first pages of Genesis at that Forbidden Tree, with that serpent, with that man, and that woman. The serpent lies to the first humans, using their model (God) against them, saying: “‘You will not certainly die… For God knows that when you eat from [the fruit] your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil’” (Gen. 3:4-5).

The model, in this case, is the desire to become like God through self-interested and self-wise means. Eve saw the fruit, no longer as forbidden, but good, “desirable for gaining wisdom.” Eve took and ate (Gen. 3:6).

Genesis notes that Adam was also with Eve, and when she gave him the fruit, he ate of it, as well (Gen. 3:6). Adam’s shared disobedience reinforces the power of imitation in community — he did not seem to protest the sin. He ate.

The creation narrative reveals the relational power that connects human beings to what they admire and desire — both primarily (like Eve) and secondarily (like Adam).

The entire Old Testament offers a wide exploration of community-inspired imitation, that like unto Adam and Eve, or Katniss and myself. The nation of Israel, for instance, repeatedly falls into collective sin. After witness26 | vol. 7, no. 2

ing God spark miraculous plagues, the parting of the Red Sea, and the Exodus from Egypt, Israel begins to grumble in the desert (Exodus 16:2). They then turn from God and fashion a golden calf to worship (Exodus 32:7-8). Much later, they set up Asherah poles (2 Kings 17:9-12). They slaughter their own children to idols (Psalm 106:37-38, Ezekiel 16:20-21). When God declares His judgment through the biblical prophets, the unfaithful majority, those who motivate and imitate each other into depravity, are commonly addressed corporately (Isaiah 30:1; Jeremiah 13:27, 23:1).

Moreover, when Christ enters the

narrative, fully aware of humanity’s imitative nature, He does not command that we simply stop imitating. Instead, He exposes our incompetent models and offers redemption from our idolatrous imitation, and by doing so, intends to restore the image of God — the imago Dei — in us.

From accounts to letters, New Testament authors constantly present the power of Christlike imitation. Christ refers to His love and service for the Father God and for His fellow neighbor as the example humanity is to follow (Jn. 13:15). He also claims that it is walking in step and learning from Him that brings

one true rest (Mt. 11:29). Likewise, Paul speaks often about the relationship between models and imitators. In his first letter to the Corinthians, he tells the Corinth church to imitate him, because he is imitating Christ (1 Cor. 11:1). The authors of 2 Thessalonians (Paul, Silvanus, Timothy) reflect that they gave themselves to the Thessalonians as an “example to imitate” (2 Thess. 3:9). Yet, the New Testament authors do not present a model of personality, nor vocation, nor style of clothing. Rather, they appeal to the reader to imitate an example of self-sacrifice (Jn. 13:15), love for God and others (Jn. 13:34-35, Philippians 2:1-11, Eph. 4:15-16), a life of humility (Philippians 2:1-11), of purity (1 Pet. 4:12), faith (Heb. 13:7), goodness (3 John.

1:11), sufferings (1 Peter 2:21), and more (Eph. 5:1, Heb. 6:12). In other words, the New Testament authors are exhorting their listeners and readers to conform to the image of Christ, to become like Jesus (Romans 8:29).

While the Christian ideal is one of imitated conviction and Christlikeness, this must not be mistaken for monotony. Even though the example set out for

the church is to look like Christ, each member retains — or ideally retains — their own distinct personality (without, of course, idolizing the personality). And if the claim proves objective that Christ Jesus, the first being to faultlessly walk as a human should, is the true example humankind is to follow, then imitating Him as a model actually restores humanity’s intended design. Indeed, the whole idea behind imitatio Christi is that Christ is the example of what humanity is intended to look like — “For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive,” as Paul says (1 Cor. 15:22). The church, then, is not a building, but a family of alive and dynamic human beings transforming into the image of Christ from one degree of glory to another — not for the sake of “self-fulfillment” or “self-discovery”, but for the sake of God’s glory, Christ’s Name, as well as communal and cosmic renewal while loving God and loving others (2 Cor. 3:18).

Imitation, on the other hand, cannot be separated from faith. A part of Christian belief is that forgiveness, redemption, and transformation is

received, not by works, but by grace through faith in who Christ is and what He came to do: live, die, rise, and reign (Gal. 2:16, 20; Heb. 12:2). Through this faith, the same living Spirit who is of Christ, is given to His followers (Acts 2).

Imitation is not solely the workings of the individual, but it is brought about by the power of the Holy Spirit — the third Person of the Trinity — which is also referred to throughout the New Testament as the Spirit of Christ (Acts 16:7, Rom. 8:9). Nonetheless, for the Christian, imitation is not intended to be a dreadful and slavish exercise, but an obedience vitalized by the Spirit of Jesus working in and through one’s life (Romans 8:1-17).

If we look to ourselves, or look out into a mirror, or look through the eyes of others, or look toward an unhelpful model, our imitation will be dreadful, and our identity left in languishing fragments. There is no self-designated model — not a career, not an ideal, not an ideology, nor any fictional character — that will ever satisfy. So, let us put down the bow, burn the quiver of arrows, and pick up the cross, as Christ has done. By following this Redeemer of imitation — the incarnated, crucified, and risen Son of God — we find a model worth imitating: one whose love, sufferings, and bodily resurrection we can, by God’s grace, imitate ourselves.

Chase Chumchal (CC ‘23) is a sophomore in Columbia College currently studying English literature. He is easily captivated by landscapes and wildlife. Contact him at cac2311@columbia.edu.

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surrender the key Grace Eldridge

We are all born into this world with hearts intact But its seams are fissures and it isn’t long before the heart’s seams begin to crack Each cleft and crevice widens as pain and evil and fear Attack and fill in the gaps.

Though the mind may flourish the mangled heart remains the same Locked within the chest riddled of holes and gaps and cracks.

Until the mind surrenders its key and the Father can reach inside working gently as the cracks are filled full with liquid gold And behold, the pain and evil and fear have died with nowhere to hide.

And the heart -- it comes alive Whole and more full than even its birth In a new mold of liquid gold.

Grace Eldridge (CC ‘23) is a sophomore in Columbia College studying Psychology. She loves music, theater, and spending time in New York’s museums and Alaska’s mountains. You can contact her at gme2121@columbia.edu.

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Psalm 51 Create in Me A Clean Heart, O God 1

2

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin!

17

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

18

Do good to Zion in your good pleasure; build up the walls of Jerusalem; then will you delight in right sacrifices, in burnt offerings and whole burnt offerings; then bulls will be offered on your altar.

19 3 4

5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12

13 14

15 16

For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.

Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight, so that you may be justified in your words and blameless in your judgment.

Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me.

Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice.

Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and uphold me with a willing spirit.

Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you.

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God, O God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.

O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.

For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering.

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