Volume 3, Issue 1 by The Columbia Witness

Crown & Cross Columbiaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Journal of Christian Thought

The Columbia

Crown & Cross Volume 3, Issue 1

STA F F

C ON T RI BU TOR S

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

STAFF EDITORS

E S S AYS

Emily Lau CC ’17

WEBMASTER

Marcos Martinez CC ’16 Sofia Hsieh CC ’17 Raymond Li CC ’17 Chris Bolton CC ’19 Crystal Ren CC ’19

Anji Zhao SEAS ’16

ONLINE EDITORS

BUSINESS MANAGERS

Johanan Sowah SEAS ’17 Pauline Morgan CC ’18 Tiffany Li SEAS ’19

Jiaying Lim CC ’16 Marcos Martinez CC ’16 Megan Stater CC ’16 Kenya Watson CC ’16 Hope Chang CC ’18 Alex Chen CC ’18 Pauline Morgan CC ’18 Jesse Ojeda CC ’18 Lina Tian SEAS ’19

MANAGING EDITOR Titus Willis CC ’18

Andy Truelove CC ’17 Michael Yitayew CC ’19

LAYOUT EDITORS Rachel Chung BC ’16 Momoh Osilama CC ’16 Joy Pai CC ’16 Rebecca Ohaeri CC ’18 Myles Zhang CC ’19

P OE M S Momoh Osilama CC ’16 Kenna Arana CC ’17 Chris Bolton CC ’19

A RT & P H OTO S James Xue SEAS ’17 Myles Zhang CC ’19

If you are interested in getting involved, e-mail us at columbiacrowncross@gmail.com Check out our blog and print issues online at crowncross.org Like our Facebook page: facebook.com/columbiacrowncross Special thanks to the Collegiate Network and Christian Union Cover and Inside Back Cover Photos from Unsplash.com

A Letter from the Editors Prayer is not singular to Christianity, but it is an essential part of life as a Christian. In 1 Thessalonians 5:17, the apostle Paul instructs the Church to “pray without ceasing.” Yet even within the Church, there is no general consensus on what prayer should be. Prayer can take many forms and serve many purposes. A prayer may be a prepared speech or a spontaneous thought. It may be confession, worship, thanksgiving, or supplication. It may be communal or individual. Yet for all Christians, prayer ultimately has one overarching intention: communicating effectively with God. The variation of prayer seems to stem from the perplexity of such an endeavor. Is there a ‘correct’ way of relating to God? How do we know that He is listening? How do we hear back from Him? Since we believe in God’s omniscience, is prayer fundamentally self-serving? Prayer and communication with God can often seem like an enigmatic part of our faith, but we seek to elucidate some aspects of it, specifically as it relates to Christianity. In this issue, we explore the theme “Prayer: Communicating with God.” Our diverse team of contributors reflect on the human instinct to pray, the relational quality of God, and the transforming power of prayer through Jesus Christ. In “When God Speaks Back Today,” Marcos Martinez explores how God relates to humans through divine revelation. In “The Rule and the Order,” Pauline Morgan refers to the governing documents of two Christian institutions to explore different forms of prayer, and in “A ‘Thin’ Line Between Health and Idolatry,” Kenya Watson writes a testimony of how God, through prayer, helps us overcome personal darkness. We invite people of all backgrounds and beliefs to join us as we ponder questions about our communication with God. We do not claim to offer all the answers, but we do earnestly seek to stimulate further thought and encourage deeper conversations about the role of prayer in our lives. Our team has worked diligently and passionately on this issue, and we hope that you will enjoy reading it as much as we have enjoyed putting it together.

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ESSAYS When God Speaks Back Today: Divine Revelation 5 After the Bible Marcos Martinez Petitionary Prayer: 8 Why it Matters Jiaying Lim 12

Making Prayer Personal Alex Chen

Sanctuary and the Law Megan Stater

The Rule and the Order Pauline Morgan

POETRY & Art 11

The Sound of Prayer Kenna Arana

Meditation at Milvian Bridge Chris Bolton

Painting the Cathedral Myles Zhang

Prattler Momoh Osilama

Chinese Traditions in a 25 Christian Looking Glass Lina Tian 29

The Diversity of Prayer Jesse Ojeda

The Greater Miracle Hope Chang

A ‘Thin’ Line Between 36 Health and Idolatry Kenya Watson

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When God Speaks Back Today: Divine Revelation After the Bible

ontemporary Christians learn of God’s revelation through Scripture, and while denominations disagree on some parts of the scriptural canon, the belief that nothing may be added after the New Testament is prevalent among believers. This tenet is founded on the notion that Jesus’ death and resurrection fulfilled what divine revelation was meant to proclaim regarding our salvation. Both Pope Paul VI, who promulgated a major document regarding the Catholic position on divine revelation,1 and Wayne Grudem, a Calvinist who wrote one of the most widely-used introductory theology textbooks,2 support this claim with the opening lines of the Book of Hebrews: “Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days He has spoken to us by His Son.”3 The finality in these verses speaks to the culmination of God’s redemptive work in the ministry of Jesus Christ. Hence, to claim that there is need for further revelation beyond that of Jesus’ life and teachings is to suggest that He does not complete God’s plan for our redemption—a claim that contradicts the essence of our faith. The sufficiency of Christ is at the heart of the Gospel. However, multiple denominations today still deem instances in which devotees experience visions, prophecies, and other supernatural phenomena as divinely inspired. Behind these occurrences is the belief that divine revelation is not a thing of the past—that God actively communicates with us in perceivable ways even today. The Roman Catholic Church still tries to uphold the sentiment once expressed by Saint Augustine in reference to visions: “Why should we not believe these to be angelic operations through dispensation of the providence of God?”4 Vern Poythress, a theologian associated with 1

Pope Paul VI, Dei Verbum: Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation, section 4. 2 Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology, chapter 3. 3 Hebrews 1:1–2 ESV. 4 St. Augustine, On Care to Be Had for the Dead, section 16.

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Marcos Martinez

the Presbyterian Church in America, acknowledges that there is a fallibility of modern prophecies as opposed to the Old Testament ones, but that there is “an analogical justification for the use of these gifts in the church today.”5 And the Pentecostal congregation Assemblies of God USA affirms that there is an “essential link” between being filled with the Holy Spirit and speaking in tongues.6 But if we are not meant to dismiss these revelations, then what value do they hold?

Behind these occurrences is the belief that divine revelation is not a thing of the past—that God actively communicates with us in perceivable ways even today. The framework that the Catholic Church, of which I am a member, has built to make sense of these occurrences within its ranks is one that distinguishes between public and private revelation. While the former, which comprises of Scripture and apostolic tradition as manifested in the authority of the Church, is binding on all believers, the latter is binding only on those who receive it. Visions, apparitions, prophecies, and so on fall under the second category. The Catechism of the Catholic Church expands on their purpose as follows: “It is not their role to improve or complete Christ’s definitive Revelation, but to help live more fully by it in a certain period of history . . . Christian faith cannot accept ‘revelations’ that claim to surpass or correct the Revelation of which Christ is the fulfillment.”7 The Catechism’s position on private revelation is consistent with both 5

Vern S. Poythress, “Modern Spiritual Gifts as Analogous to Apostolic Gifts: Affirming Extraordinary Works of the Spirit within Cessationist Theology,” accessed 4 Apr 2016, http://frame-poythress.org/modern-spiritual-gifts-as-analogous-to-apostolic-gifts-affirming-extraordinary-works-of-the-spirit-within-cessationist-theology/. 6 “Questions about Tongues,” Assemblies of God, accessed 4 Apr 2016, http://ag.org/top/Beliefs/topics/baptmhs_faq_tongues.cfm. 7 Catechism of the Catholic Church, section 67.

the theological concept of the sufficiency of Christ and Paul’s prescriptive claim that prophecy exists so that “the church may be edified.”8 Historically, the Catholic Church has recognized two main sources of private revelation.9 First, there are the mystical experiences of faithful men and women who have been proposed for sainthood. These are commonly associated with lives devoted to prayer and service. The second kind comes through apparitions experienced by individuals who need not be spiritually mature, but have received their visions as a gift from God to His people. It seems easier to believe in the authenticity of the first kind of private revelation, since the exemplary and steadfast commitment of these mystics to God suggests they would be particularly sensitive to the movements of the Holy Spirit. Such is the case of the mystic Helena Kowalska, now known as St. Faustina. Faustina was born into a humble peasant family in the heart of Poland. As reported in her Diary,10 she experienced visions of Jesus throughout her life. Faustina recounts that she felt drawn to religious life from age seven, but when she asked her parents to let her join a convent at age eighteen, they utterly refused. Disappointed by their decision, Faustina turned herself over to worldly pursuits, only to find no comfort in her heart due the intensity with which she felt her call. The Lord first appeared to Faustina while she was at a dance with her sister: As I began to dance, I suddenly saw Jesus at my side, Jesus racked with pain, stripped of His clothing, all covered with wounds, who spoke to me: “How long shall I put up with you and for how long will you keep putting me off?” [I] begged the Lord to be good enough to give me to understand what I should do next. Then I heard these words: “Go at once to Warsaw; you will enter a convent there.”11 This powerful experience caused Faustina to run away from her house and move to Warsaw, where she was accepted into a convent right away. 8

1 Corinthians 14:5. “Apparitions/Private Revelations,” Eternal Word Television Network, accessed 4 Apr 2016, https://www.ewtn.com/expert/answers/apparitions.htm. 10 Divine Mercy in My Soul: Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska, Stockbridge, MA (Marian Press, 2011). 11 Ibid., 7. 9

St. Faustina continued to receive guidance from her visions of Jesus until her death. The recurring theme in Faustina’s visions is that of mercy—the Lord called her to “speak to the world about [His] great and unfathomable mercy.”12 Through her visions, Jesus related the message that he wanted her to convey to others: “even if the sins of souls were dark as night, when the sinner turns to My mercy, he gives Me the greatest praise and is the glory of My Passion.”13 Obedient to God’s call, St. Faustina shared her revelations of mercy and fulfilled the mission commanded to her. Today she is known in the Catholic Church as the source of the devotion to the Divine Mercy of Jesus. Catholic devotions are distinct practices of piety such as prayers, hymns, and observances attached to particular times, places, insignia, medals, habits, or customs, all of which are meant to reflect a particular aspect in the relationship between the Church and God, the Virgin Mary, or the Saints.14 They are set apart due to their strong appeal to emotion and the straightforward messages they convey.15 In particular, the devotion to the Divine Mercy of Jesus is mainly comprised of an image of Jesus and a Feast—a commemorative date in the liturgical calendar—annually set for the Sunday after Easter. The image of the Divine Mercy is well-known even outside Catholic circles. It is based on Faustina’s vision from February 22nd, 1931, and portrays Jesus dressed in a white garment, with two rays emanating from His chest—one red and one white, symbolizing the water and blood which poured from His side when it was pierced by a spear during His crucifixion.16 The goal of the Church in declaring the Divine Mercy a devotion was to underscore the centrality of this quality of Jesus. Its propagation allows for an increased number of devotees to focus on His mercy and more easily apply the implications of this principle to their lives. This is how St. Faustina’s visions served to edify the Church.

Historically, the Catholic Church has recognized two main sources of private revelation. As for private revelations experienced by individuals who may not be spiritually mature, the Church must 12

Ibid., 94. Ibid., 172. 14 Directory on Popular Piety and the Liturgy, section 8. 15 Herbert Thurston, “Popular Devotions,” The Catholic Encyclopedia, accessed 7 Apr 2016, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/12275b.htm. 16 John 19:34. 13

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strike a balance between being cautious and embracing the Pauline call: “Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise prophecies, but test everything; hold fast what is good.”17 In this spirit, Pope Paul VI approved in 1978 a document titled “Norms regarding the proceedings in the discernment of presumed apparitions or revelations,” with the purpose of establishing a set procedure to deal with the hundreds of visions that were being reported to the Church. Out of the over 1,500 apparitions of the Virgin Mary that have been reported around the world in the past century, the Vatican has only deemed nine as worthy of belief.18 This does not mean that the Church can vouch for their occurrence, but rather that, in the words of Pope Benedict XVI, “[Their] message contains nothing contrary to faith and morals; it is licit to make [them] public and the faithful are authorized to give [them] their prudent adhesion.”19 Veneration of Mary is a pillar of the faith for many Catholics, and Marian apparitions which have been endorsed by the Church completely transform the locality in which they took place into an epicenter of devotion. A touching example of the impact that a Marian apparition has had on a place is that of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico City. The story of Guadalupe dates back to the sixteenth century, when the Virgin appeared to a native Mexican peasant in Tepeyac Hill (near what is now Mexico City) and requested a shrine to her to be built there.20 An ancient indigenous account of this event appears in the Nahuatl text Nican Mopohua, written by the native writer Antonio Valeriano and later published by the vicar of the chapel at Tepeyac. The story of the Virgin’s visit contributed to the conversion of hun17

1 Thessalonians 5:19–21. “Vatican publishes rules for verifying visions of Mary,” National Catholic Reporter, accessed 4 Apr 2016, http://ncronline.org/news/vatican/vatican-publishes-rules-verifying-visions-mary. 19 Pope Benedict XVI, Verbum Domini, section 14. 20 “A pilgrimage to Mexico to honor Our Lady of Guadalupe,” National Catholic Reporter, accessed 9 Apr 2016, http://ncronline.org/blogs/ road-peace/pilgrimage-mexico-honor-our-lady-guadalupe. 18

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dreds of thousands of Mexicans during colonial times.21 Today, the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, built to honor this apparition, is one of the most visited Catholic shrines in the world.22 Millions of these visits take place during an annual pilgrimage around December 12. This is another story of an episode of private revelation that has served to invigorate the faith of countless people. One need not to be a member of the Catholic Church to recognize the value of the framework it uses to think of divine revelation. The strict distinction the Church establishes between public and private revelation is a testament to the theological principle of the sufficiency of Christ. At the same time, the Church leaves room to embrace private revelation when it serves the purpose of advancing the message of Christ and bringing people closer to faith in Him. Jesus, the Word incarnate,23 who “is the same yesterday and today and forever,”24 continues to speak to us in different ways. To think that God cannot reveal Himself to us even today is to question His dominion over all space and time. So let us keep our ears, our eyes, our minds, and our hearts open. 21

“Our Lady of Guadalupe: Historical Sources,” Eternal Word Television Network, accessed 9 Apr 2016, https://www.ewtn.com/library/ MARY/LADYGUAD.HTM. 22 “Shrine of Guadalupe most popular in the world,” Eternal Word Television Network, accessed 9 Apr 2016, http://www.ewtn.com/library/ MARY/ZSHRINE.HTM. 23 John 1:14. 24 Hebrews 13:8.

Marcos Martinez (CC’16) was born and raised in Paraguay, where he learned the value of people, pets, and air conditioners. He considers himself as spontaneous as an INTJ, Economics-Mathematics major can be. God keeps surprising him day after day with His faithfulness, and he hopes to convey some of that through CC&C.

Petitionary Prayer: Why it Matters Jiaying Lim

he first time I prayed, I did not believe in God. I had not yet heard about Jesus dying on the cross and the incredible sacrifice that would reshape my entire life. I did not have the slightest inkling of the nature or traits of the God I was praying to, except that I knew it was the Christian God I was trying to reach. I was young, just a preteen, crouching in my bedroom and worrying about the trivial problems I was preoccupied with back then. In my earnestness, I decided it would not do any harm to cover all the bases and talk to this God I had heard others speak about. I shakily and hesitantly prayed my request, in a few short sentences. “Please . . . um . . . God . . . if you’re listening . . . give me what I want . . . and I’ll be good for the rest of my life.” But what could I offer to a God who had everything? I tried different types of bargains, believing that some sort of exchange was required of me. That was it. I did not trace the outcome back to my prayer, and I forgot about it for the next ten or so years. I find it fascinating now to recall that I had prayed for requests without even firmly believing in God. Praying is often an instinctive reaction when we lose control or undergo extreme pressure. We may pray on a personal level before an important final exam or job interview, or on a vast, grand scale as we respond with “thoughts and prayers” to inexplicable human tragedies. My first personal encounter with prayer revealed this raw need inside of me, even before I met Christ. Prayer is almost universal across all religions as a means of communicating with God, though religions of than Christianity may focus more on offerings, ceremonies, or different interpretations. Even within Christianity, prayer takes many forms and types. As a rule, Christians normally look to how Jesus taught his disciples how

to pray through the model of the Lord’s prayer.1 A single prayer can include supplication, adoration, confession, and, of course, petition. Petitionary prayer is probably the one we are most used to: it involves a list of wishes or requests we want to see fulfilled. We are instructed to lift up such petitions to God, as we should pray for God to “give us our daily bread.” The popular verse Philippians 4:6, shown by Kindle data to be the most highlighted verse in the Bible,2 gently advises us: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.” Scripture also reminds us that nothing is too trivial or insignificant: Paul writes in Ephesians that we should “pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests.”3 For a Christian, prayer is our direct form of communication with God and is therefore meaningful, natural, and sacred. In this essay, I will explore common problems or objections to petitionary prayer concerning its purpose and its efficacy. Why is petitionary prayer necessary? And how are we, if at all, to determine its efficacy?

“Please . . . um . . . God . . . if you’re listening . . . give me what I want . . . and I’ll be good for the rest of my life.” But what could I offer to a God who had everything? The motivations for petitionary prayer could be divided into two categories: first, to inform God of our re1

Matthew 6:9–13 NIV. “The Most Popular Passages Readers Love, According to Kindle Data.” The Atlantic, 2 Nov 2014. Accessed 12 Mar 2016. http://www. theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2014/11/the-passages-that-readers-love/381373/. 3 Ephesians 6:18. 2

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quests for Him, and second, to utilize prayer to influence and affect an outcome. Regarding the first category, if we pray to inform God of our desires, it seems counterintuitive, since God, as our Creator, “knows us far better than we know ourselves”.4 His omniscience seems to render prayer fruitless and unnecessary. Thus, one might wonder why this kind of prayer remains such a crucial spiritual discipline. The importance of petitionary prayer comes through its internal significance. As C.S. Lewis argued, prayer makes us both “aware of the present fact (of being known to God)” and simultaneously marks an “assent with all our will to be so known.”5 This “unveiling” means that the “change is in us . . . Instead of merely being known, we show, we tell, we offer ourselves to view.”6 In the Christian worldview, the importance of prayer is unparalleled, even though orienting one’s prayer life continues to be a challenge for many. The second question of efficacy is indeed a thorny one. Prayer in the gospels is strikingly effective, and we may therefore expect a similar potency with our petitions. For instance, Jesus and the disciples healed many of the sick through prayer. The question of the effects of prayer has fascinated the scientific community and it received special attention during a renowned $2.4 million study conducted by Dr. Herbert Benson on intercessory prayer.7 He found that there was little to no effect of prayer on the recovery of his experimental group of cardiac patients, leading many to declare that he had discredited prayer entirely. Such studies, in addition to our own disappointment because of unfulfilled or seemingly ‘fruitless’ prayers, may tempt us to dismiss prayer as an outdated or useless endeavor.

His omniscience seems to render prayer fruitless and unnecessary. Thus, why does prayer remain such a crucial spiritual discipline? However, the belief in prayer and in God exercising His will remains as robust as ever in light of to several problems with that approach to prayer. The idea that prayer’s effectiveness can be tested at will through a controlled experiment is a crude one. Aside from all the other intervening variables that affected a patient’s wellness, the prayers that were deliberately ordered do not reflect the real, genuine prayers of a Christian. As C.S. Lewis 4

Romans 8:27. C. S. Lewis, Prayer: Letters to Malcolm (London: Fontana, 1974), 21. Ibid. 7 Benson, Herbert. “Study of the Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer (STEP) in Cardiac Bypass Patients: A Multicenter Randomized Trial of Uncertainty and Certainty of Receiving Intercessory Prayer.” PubMed, accessed 12 Mar 2016, http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/ pubmed/16569567. 5 6

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declared, “simply to say prayers is not to pray.”8 He notes too that the real purpose of such experiments (testing God) and the assigned purpose (for patients to heal) are not aligned. Such ‘empirical’ methods do not provide a shortcut to the truth. Secondly, there is the simple impossibility of fulfilling all petitions indiscriminately. Though united in its love of Christ, the body of believers can often pray for contradictory outcomes. The prayers of two players on opposing football teams or two interviewees vying for the same job come to mind: though both believers may desire something, it is simply impossible to satisfy both of them. Fulfilling one’s prayer often necessarily means the denial of another. Thirdly, this desire to quantify the effectiveness of our prayers arises from a fundamental misunderstanding of prayer. Prayer is not a laundry list of our heart’s desires, or a litany of demands to our divine Santa Claus, but rather an active dialogue. As Lewis eloquently expressed, “Prayer is request,” and “the essence of request, as distinct from compulsion, is that it may or may not be granted.”9 The most important part of our prayer, arguably, is not the ability to say the correct literal words, but rather our ability to discern God’s response. God does, in that sense, answer all our prayers, just not always in the way we may want or expect. He could respond with a Yes, He could say No, or He could say Not Now, Wait. We are often caught in the illusion that our ordering and view of the world is the absolute best one—but the Christian faith entails belief in God’s ultimate sovereignty. Can we honestly say that we wish all our prayers were magically fulfilled? That every unfiltered thought or word should be automatically actualized? I have certainly been ashamed of my prayers before. This means that if someone prayed for our harm, it would be done, 8 9

C.S. Lewis, “The World’s Last Night” (London: Fontana, 1974), 6. Ibid., 4.

and likewise, any malicious thoughts we have harbored would come true. If we have such absolute power, there is no arbiter of right and wrong—we have usurped God to become God. Thus, it may seem that God’s sovereignty in responding to us and determining the outcome negates the need for petitionary prayer or renders it unnecessary. However, that is not the case. God desires a relationship with us, and just like any other human relationship, it can only be strengthened with time and commitment. Over time, we can learn to approach prayer with a different posture as well: laying out our desires but also realizing that our ultimate desire is for God’s best and perfect will to be done. In the Garden of Gethsemane, as Jesus struggled with His imminent death and suffering for the sake of the world, He fervently prayed, “My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may Your will be done.”10 Even Jesus, with His power and His connection to His Father, prayed. He wished for the end of His suffering, but His greatest desire is to live out His life in accordance to God’s will. His prayer for God’s will to be done reconciles the two.

God does, in that sense, answer all our prayers, just not always in the way we may want or expect. He could respond with a Yes, He could say No, or He could say Not Now, Wait.

tireless preparation during winter break, I did not pass the interview. That night, I was incredibly upset, convinced that I had lost the opportunity and jeopardized my future forever. That small rejection seemed so significant to me, but I ended up finding another position for the summer at home. It was actually a fantastic experience, and I had missed home more than I realized. I spent precious time with family, travelled and reconnected with high school friends, and experienced the work culture in Asia. Eventually, I received the same offer that I was originally denied. In hindisght, I realize that the deferral was not a coincidence. Instead, it was God gently telling me, “Not yet, I have much better plans for you now. Just yield and wait.” Experiencing this deferral firsthand has made me much more assured in His sovereign and perfect plan for my life. I draw comfort and strength from bringing my prayers and petitions to God, trusting in Him and yielding to Him so that He may do His work in my life.

Jiaying Lim (CC ’16) grew up in Singapore before stepping into New York for the first time at the start of freshman year. She loves exploring museums and new restaurants, reading long novels or good books, hanging out with friends, writing, drinking good coffee, and so on. She became a Christian before college but is thankful for her tremendous growth here, and was happy to share that through CC&C.

Of course, it is difficult to know we may not receive our desired outcome. If we are told to wait for what we desire, we often find it hard to stay patient. I am sure many of us are accustomed to disappointments in the high-strung and competitive culture here at Columbia, and some of us may feel jaded about it. But I have found that “not now” and “no” are just as valuable as “yes.” As the psalmist gently reminds us, “Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.”11 For instance, a year ago, I had my heart set on an internship program that would likely lead to my dream job. Despite 10 11

Matthew 26:42. Psalm 27:14.

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The Sound of Prayer Kenna Arana

I come to You in the silence You call to me through the noise It is Your voice that I listen for And it is in Your Word that I rejoice I long to hear but a whisper A sound to know You are near I raise my ear even closer But all I have is silence and fear I hear many sounds all around me But none of them come from You I search, yet I cannot find quiet I am lost and what I’ve lost is You I talk to many and no one Can help me find You again It seems I have nothing to want for But all I want is to hear You again I am desperately lost in the chaos I fear You are only in the calm I can’t shut out the cares of my own world I can’t tune my ear to Your song But You open my heart to hear Your love Because Your love is where I belong And, God, it is only when You do this That I realize You were with me all along

Kenna Arana (CC ’17) is a self-proclaimed bookworm who was born and raised in sunny Southern California, which left her with a complete lack of understanding about how to dress for New York weather. One of her favorite things to do is to laugh, and she likes her jokes like she likes her pizza—the cheesier the better. She enjoys planning parties and believes that the best invitation is one that asks people to join together in celebrating God’s love.

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Making Prayer Personal Alex Chen

or those of us who have made prayer a part of our daily lives, the feeling of struggling with how exactly to pray can be all too familiar. Despite years of practice, sometimes the words escape us or it feels as though we are not being heard. Many of the anxieties we face when we pray can be summarized in a single doubt: Am I reaching God? The best possible guide to prayer is the gospels, where we find advice from Jesus Himself. Yet the divine quality of Jesus makes us wonder whether we can ever have the same connection with our Father as He did. In such cases, we can look to those believers who came before us and faced anxieties similar to ours. During His time on Earth, Jesus taught us how to pray. Through the Bible, today’s believers are able to learn about prayer from God Himself in the form of His Son. In the gospels, Jesus not only prays, He prays so hard that his sweat became bloody in the garden of Gethsemane.1 There, Jesus has a clear message to communicate to His Father as he fervently prays: “Remove this cup from me.”2 Knowing what He would have to endure in order to overcome death and sin, it is no surprise that Jesus would seek another way in which to free mankind from its transgressions. But Jesus is not simply trying to be heard in the garden—He is also listening as He proclaimed God’s will be done: “Not what I will, but what You will.”3 Jesus places an emphasis on intimacy with God the Father in his Gethsemane prayer. He 1

Luke 22:44 ESV. 2 Luke 22:42. 3 Mark 14:36–39.

goes away to a secluded place at night, isolating Himself from his disciples.4 Interestingly, the gospels almost exclusively recount stories from Jesus’ public life: whether He is preaching to the five thousand or to the disciples, there is always a human audience. But His prayer habits are an exception. Luke tells us that Jesus would “withdraw to desolate places to pray.”5 At the garden and elsewhere, privacy, not publicity, is emphasized. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus preaches on the merits of solitary prayer—He instructs us to “go into [our] room and shut the door” when we pray.6 It is no coincidence then that in this scene of most dramatic prayer, Jesus is completely alone in the garden with God. Standing in opposition to this moment is when Jesus is on the cross. Whereas the garden is a quiet place where Jesus is alone, during the crucifixion He is on display to a crowd. Although He accepts God’s will and the necessity of His perfect sacrifice for the sake of humanity, Jesus still calls out “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” while on the cross.7 In this moment of unfathomable suffering, both physical and spiritual, Jesus articulates His despair in a way that denotes distance from God. Despite the fact that we cannot begin to imagine what Jesus endured for our sake, it is still shocking to read about how Jesus felt this abandonment. We must remember it was the weight of our sin that made Him 4

Matthew 26:40. Luke 5:16. 6 Matthew 6:5–6. 7 Matthew 27:46. 5

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feel stranded. In a way, He was crying out for all of us and lamenting the separation from God because of our sin. Indeed, Jesus was a living example of how prayer allows for intimacy with God the Father, while sin drives us apart. We can also gather advice from Jesus’ teaching on how to narrow the gap between God and us. In His parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector in the temple, Jesus teaches that humbling ourselves is a way of shortening the distance. Here we see a direct comparison between two ways of praying—while the Pharisee is boastful and proud, thanking God for blessing him with virtousness, the tax collector is modest and unpretentious, simply proclaiming his sinfulness without even looking up while praying. Jesus exclaims how the latter is “justified” in God’s eyes for humbling himself.8 The emphasis of lowering ourselves before God as an act of glorifying Him and acknowledging our sinful nature can easily be confounded with the idea that God is unreachable—that we are too lowly for Him. The Gospel of Luke draws attention to this false dichotomy by placing the parable of the persistent widow only a few verses before the account of the Pharisee and the tax collector in the temple.9 In this parable, a widow unceasingly beseeches a callous judge, who neither fears nor respects God, but who eventually grants her what she wishes because of her persistence. Jesus points out that even an unrighteous judge will yield to unrelenting appeals in order to emphasize that our gracious and loving God will most certainly give justice to those who cry out to him day and night.10 The clear message for us is to pray humbly, continuously, and without the fear of failing.

Jesus was a living example of how prayer allows for intimacy with God the Father, while sin drives us apart. Yet oftentimes, trying to communicate with God seems only to highlight the chasm between divinity and humanity which sin creates and which we hope to bridge. While Jesus is the ultimate example and our greatest teacher, He, being God Himself, has a relationship with the Father that we can never experience. But God, in His infinite mercy and wisdom, provides us additional examples of faithful followers throughout the Bible. He reminds us that we are not the only ones who have tried to approach Him from a state of lowliness, and that we can also look to countless people before us who have done so, including Jesus’ apostles. In the be8 9

Luke 18:14. Luke 18:1. Luke 18:1–8.

ginning of the Book of Acts, the writer Luke tells us that the apostles’ work is a continuation of all that Jesus began to do and teach, and that the Holy Spirit stayed with them after He ascended into Heaven.11 The apostles, empowered by the Holy Spirit, teach us about the value of praying together—that it is not necessary to approach God by ourselves in order to find Him. Major episodes in the Book of Acts were preceded by intense communal prayer, from Pentecost12 to Peter’s liberation from imprisonment.13 But we need not limit ourselves to biblical examples. Someone who followed Jesus with utter faithfulness was Mother Teresa, famous for her joy and works of charity. One might expect that someone who surrendered her life to Christ as the late Mother did would indeed face great challenges, yet the extent to which she struggled was still a great surprise to many who learned of it after her death. The revered Nun of Calcutta said that, for years on end, she had felt as though God had left her, and she even came to question His existence. Despite living a life of service and forfeiting all earthly pleasures to God’s glory, Mother Teresa still felt anxiety over God’s seeming absence.14 Yet she was able to find meaning in this darkness by using it as a way to empathize with the hopelessness of the poor. The distance she felt was not evidence of any shortcoming of hers, but a natural part of the Christian experience. Perhaps the lesson we can learn from Mother Teresa—one that Jesus Himself acted on at the cross—is that no matter how far away God might feel, He still wants us to serve our purpose. Although her example is one of extremes, with profound devotion and great doubt accompanying one another, Mother Teresa’s spiritual battles highlight how easily even the most staunch believers can become stranded and feel disconnected from God. Her testimony encourages us as we see how she pressed forward toward her calling anyway.

with you always, to the end of the age,” but sometimes we can feel far from God or as if He is impossible to reach.15 But let us hold onto His promise and look to the community of past believers whose lives are examples that can teach and inspire us as we seek God through prayer. Together, and by God’s grace, we can draw closer to Him than if we try to come to the foot of the cross on our own. 15

Matthew 28:20.

Alex Chen (CC’18) enjoys studying and creating art when he is not running in Riverside Park. He is actively involved with Columbia Catholic Ministry and can be found in St. Paul’s Chapel Sundays from 4 to 6 pm. Alex also loves movies and is willing to discuss them anytime.

The apostles, empowered by the Holy Spirit, teach us about the value of praying together.

Acts 1:1–5; Acts 2:1–4. Acts 1:14. 13 Acts 12:5. 14 James Martin, “A Saint’s Dark Night,” The New York Times, 29 Aug 2007, http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/29/opinion/29martin. html?_r=0. 12

James Xue (SEAS'17)

Prayer is a conversation, an active exchange. Figures from the Bible and Church history who participated in a similar exchange need not be forgotten once they enter into Heaven. Rather, we can draw from their experiences and to help shape our own exchanges. Jesus promised his disciples, and by extension, the whole Church: “I am

Volume 3 | Issue 1 14

Sanctuary and the Law

spent last summer working for a federal judge in my hometown of Portland, Oregon. I saw one art forgery case, three tax fraud cases, and one cartel crackdown. There was one kind of case, however, that I saw every week, up to as many as four times a day. These cases were so routine and efficient that the judge would take a plea and sentence in the same hearing. Under the U.S. Code, these cases are known as § 1326 Reentry After Removal, more colloquially referred to as Illegal Reentry. Case after case, week after week, I would watch another Latino man shuffle to the desk with chains around his ankles and wrists. Many I saw did not have any criminal record except for prior illegal reentries into the United States—despite having been deported two, three, or four times, they returned to the United States time and time again. When in court, they would each insist that they would not return. Yet many were from Michoacán, a state in Mexico controlled by cartels, and said that they feared for their lives. One had an autistic daughter whom he said could not be cared for in his home state in Mexico. Every one of them had children who are American citizens in Oregon. One man in particular captured my interest. Francisco Aguirre-Velasquez, originally from El Salvador, had found sanctuary from deportation in Portland Augustana Lutheran Church for seven months. In court last summer, he claimed that when he had initially been

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Megan Stater

deported in 2000, the immigration judge had failed to inform him correctly of his options, including applying for asylum in the United States. Considering his repeated tortures at the hands of the Salvadoran junta and death threats in his home village, he was sure that if he was deported, even in 2015, his life would be at risk in El Salvador. The government’s response to Aguirre-Velasquez was to cite a drug felony of which he had been convicted in 1999. The government argued it could not allow an illegal immigrant with a criminal record to remain in the country. This response makes pragmatic sense: no country wants to allow convicted criminals to freely roam. Aguirre-Velasquez responded that his lawyer in 1999 had told him to take a plea deal, even though he claimed innocence. Even if he had committed that crime in 1999, he had since become a new person: after (illegally) returning to the U.S., he started a family and became a community organizer. And yet, for seven months, a church had sheltered him in defiance of Immigration Customs and Enforcement, or ICE. I saw the earnest moral commitments of this congregation reflect the moral commitments that I hold as a Christian myself, commitments which include the injunction to welcome the stranger1 and forgive past sins. But Christians are also beholden to another principle: the moral necessity of peace and order. After all, 1

Matthew 25:35 ESV.

Paul warns all Christians to “be subject to the governing authorities.”2 This case illustrated how these two principles could come into conflict. The leaders and the congregation of Augustana Lutheran had, presumably, recognized this conflict. But they resolved to defy the law.

In 1982, Pastor John Fife of Southside Presbyterian Church in Tucson, Arizona made the first official declaration of a ‘sanctuary church,’ a church that would offer refuge to those fleeing the Central American conflicts raging at the time. Angered by the U.S. government’s unwillingness to provide asylum to political refugees fleeing the Central American violence, Southside Presbyterian—and soon tens and hundreds of other congregations—offered its church as place of refuge for unauthorized immigrants. Churches from all denominations, both Catholic and Protestant, participated in the movement. By 1986, however, the high-profile Tucson Sanctuary Trial demonstrated that the U.S. government would not shy away from prosecuting religious groups. A Catholic priest and nun, three lay workers, and Pastor Fife were found guilty of conspiring to smuggle unauthorized aliens from Guatemala and El Salvador into the United States. After the sentences were announced, the nun, Sister Nicgorski, responded, “If I am guilty of anything, then I am guilty of living out the Gospel.”3

By the end of the 1980s, the Sanctuary Movement had petered out. In recent years, however, some churches have begun to harbor unauthorized immigrants again, deliberately continuing the 1980s movement. Apart from Aguirre-Velasquez, at least six other illegal immigrants have found sanctuary in churches across the U.S. this year.4 In contrast to the original Sanctuary movement, not all of those who seek sanctuary today are refugees from violence themselves. More often, they are long-standing, albeit unauthorized members of their local communities, whom, after a wrong turn or speeding ticket, are issued a deportation order from ICE. The Sanctuary Movement chose their commitment to harbor the harborless over a commitment to the governing authorities. Their choice of one moral principle over another is based in part upon a historical appeal to the Christian tradition of sanctuary throughout Late Antiquity and the medieval period. In premodern Christianity, sanctuary was a right by law. Sanctuary existed as a strong legal tradition from the reign of Theodosius and throughout the medieval period in canon and English common law. Late imperial jurists like Menochius understood sanctuary as the expression of a divine law and Christian sovereign authority over and above the edicts of even the Christian emperors. There were restrictions: murderers and thieves were commonly excluded from claiming sanctuary. But for over a thousand years, people under the secular law could flee to churches for protection, presenting church leaders with an opportunity to intercede and encourage penance. There was no contradiction between the moral principles of provid-

Case after case, week after week, I would watch another Latino man shuffle to the desk, chains around his ankles and wrists.

Romans 13:1. Murray Dubin, “8 Guilty in Sanctuary Trial,” Philly.com, 2 May 1986. http://articles.philly.com/1986-05-02/news/26049094_1_tucson-presbyterian-sister-darlene-nicgorski-sanctuary-movement. 3

Rosy Carroll, “Undocumented Latino migrants seek sanctuary in U.S. churches,” The Guardian, 22 Jan 2015. http://www.theguardian.com/ us-news/2015/jan/22/church-undocumented-migrant-us-clergy-hispanic-latino.

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ing welfare and abiding by the law, unlike in the modern Sanctuary movement. Sanctuary law depended upon an assumption of sacred space, a delineation between the sacred and the profane. Even the civil authorities accepted the church as sacred and thus inviolable. At the beginning of City of God, Augustine recounts that the pagan citizens of Rome fled to churches for sanctuary from the plundering soldiers of Alaric:

of man, ever subject to destruction and decay, and the inviolable refuges of God. The death of St. Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1170 C.E., violated the seemingly inviolable. In the most infamous case of the medieval period, four knights slew Becket for his defiance of King Henry II at the altar of Canterbury Cathedral during vespers. In T. S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral, a chorus of women wail following Becket’s death:

For to this earthly city belong the enemies against whom I have to defend the city of God . . . many are so inflamed with hatred against it, and are so ungrateful to its Redeemer for His signal benefits, as to forget that they would now be unable to utter a single word to its prejudice, had they not found in its sacred places, as they fled from the enemy’s steel, that life in which they now boast themselves . . . in the sack of the city they were open sanctuary for all who fled to them, whether Christian or Pagan. To their very threshold the blood-thirsty enemy raged; there his murderous fury owned a limit.5

Clean the air! clean the sky! wash the wind! take stone from stone and wash them. The land is foul, the water is foul, our beasts and ourselves defiled with blood. A rain of blood has blinded my eyes. Where is England? Where is Kent? Where is Canterbury?6

The pagan raiders’ violence found a “limit” at the threshold to the Christian churches in Rome. These “sacred places” provided refuge, even for the Romans who turned away from God after the destruction had ceased. For citizens of Rome fleeing foreign violence, these sacred places demarcated a boundary between the places

Defiance of the boundary between the sacred and the profane disorients the women. It overturns their basic orientation in the world: “Where is England?” The murder marked an “instant eternity of evil and wrong,” in which the violation of the church’s holiness rendered the whole world “wholly foul” and profane.7 Becket’s murder shook the medieval Christian world because it violated the accepted sanctity of the physical church. It demonstrated that the church could not always protect those who seek refuge. This medieval realization of the potential violability of sacred space remains today. Sanctuary law and the recognition of churches’ sanctity disappeared altogether alongside the onset of the

Philip Schaff, ed., Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: First Series, Volume II St. Augustin: City of God, Christine Doctrine (New York: Cosimo Classics, 2007), 1–2.

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T.S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909-1950 (New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1950), 213–4. 7 Ibid.

modern state. The eighteenth-century Italian jurist, Cesare Beccaria, severely criticized sanctuary in On Crimes and Punishments: “Within the borders of a country there should be no place independent of its laws.”8 There no longer exists room for churches to provide a space outside of the domain of secular law. The Sanctuary Movement of the 1980s ended in prosecutions. Today, ICE can knock down the doors of any church.

Legal attempts to reform immigration law have failed to reconcile secular law with the Christian moral imperative to care for the vulnerable. The modern demands of the state make sanctuary, a practice that previously could appeal to the authority of the law and the Church for its defense, extralegal. Within the law, Christian American citizens should try to support and enlarge the secular equivalent of a sanctuary or asylum that the United States already enforces. Again and again, however, legal attempts to reform immigration law have failed to reconcile secular law with the Christian moral imperative to care for the vulnerable. After all, if the U.S. government properly supported the legal institution of asylum, Aguirre-Velasquez may never have been initially deported. If Aguirre-Velasquez had received adequate legal counsel when first charged with a crime in 1999 and been correctly informed of the consequences of taking a plea deal, he may not have faced his immigration judge with a criminal record and could have been eligible for asylum. Perhaps if he had had a translator at his immigration proceedings, he 8

Cesare Beccaria, On Crimes and Punishments, ed. Richard Bellamy, trans. Richard Davies (Cambridge University Press, 1986), 92.

could have more adequately advocated for himself. And, if he had not been deported in 2000, he would not have faced the federal felony of Illegal Reentry, which makes an asylum status even less likely. From a Christian perspective, however, this appeal to stay within the law is not enough to dismiss sanctuary altogether. The historical tradition of sanctuary reveals that the two Christian moral principles—to care for the vulnerable and to obey the governing law—were not always in tension. The purpose of the latter principle of obedience is to preserve peace and order. Yet, if the governing law disrupts rather than preserves peace, Christians have a moral responsibility to act extralegally. In the words of Eliot’s Becket: “I give my life to the Law of God/above the Law of Man.”9 At times, secular law demands the deportation of those at risk of losing their lives. This law does not align with the Christian moral imperative to see all life as sacred and thus worthy of protection. Offering sanctuary is an attempt to maintain peace and unity within communities by keeping endangered families together and out of harm’s way. Refugees have a moral claim to be in the United States because of the imminent threat to their lives. It is the Christian’s responsibility to ensure that this moral claim is not ignored. We must pray that conditions will change for the afflicted and that the law will be reformed. We must also pray for the brave church leaders and congregations that open their doors to the suffering and hope to recover the Church’s sanctity in a secular world. 9 T.S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909–1950 (New York: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1950).

Megan Stater (CC ‘16) is majoring in Philosophy and Religion at Columbia College. Her favorite time period is the twelfth century, which is reflected in her choice to write a thesis on medieval anchoritism. She hails from the red hills of Dundee, Oregon.

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Meditation at the Milvian Bridge

Chris Bolton

By 312 C.E. the old Tetrarchy of Diocletian had collapsed, leaving the young emperors Constantine I and Maxentius engaged in a bitter struggle for ultimate control of the Roman Empire. Although Constantine was the son of the Western Emperor Constantius and had the support of the Eastern Emperors, Maxentius illegitimately seized the throne. Constantine marched his army through Italy toward Rome, camping along the Via Flaminia, near the Milvian Bridge. On the eve of battle, Constantine decided to seek help from the gods, crying out for guidance. “But which god?” he asked himself. Deep in thought, Constantine recalled the God of his father, the One Supreme God who, unlike other pagan deities, could be relied on completely. In his earnest, even desperate, prayer, an extraordinary sign appeared in the heavens: a Latin cross bearing the inscription, “in hoc signo vinces” (in this sign you will conquer). At that very moment, Constantine began on a path that would lead him far beyond Rome to Calvary, where he would discover the formidable and overwhelming power of the cross. ‘Alas O Lord’ I moan Icy cold and swallow’d sullen am I By vast voids unknown; Where molten pain issues from my dismal eyes.

Legionary virtues; Shrink ominously to shades of Rome’s ire, Transfigured into Evanescent smoke and bronze husks of empire.

Encamp’d on plain abroad, My wanton spirit o’er wildflowers roams As lie reeds downtrod Caked in crimson dew and heaps of mortal loam.

We meet evil headlong, Clash by the pontic thoroughfare foretold Those poor souls far-gone Wither then before our standards hundredfold.

In calm, I hear the din! The melodious battle-cry sounds aloud Somewhere deep within, Eager stirs to arms the king of kings uncrown’d:

Salt sown in rows of grain Remembering the sack of high Carthage; Countryside ablaze, Some beg for ‘mercy’ from the doomsday harvest.

His majesty decried, Girds His righteous chest with royal armor, Terrible sword aside Holding fast to the shepherd’s sash He garter’d.

The suppliants He spares Who clasp at His noble, travell’d filthy feet; Bending down to them To wash and offer at His table a seat.

He ravages and lauds The feeble pastures of Lavinia And leaves in ruins broad Pagan vineyards, citadels of Italia.

Victory! victorious am I, O Lord: Liberator of nations, Conqueror of hearts. I surrender myself to You!

Pity! piteous am I, O Lord: Liberator of nations, Conqueror of hearts. I surrender myself to You!

His providence redeems— He grants amnesty to the lost and weary— Miracles unseen Leave others cause for conceit’d mockery.

In His conquering sign Gnostic peoples yield, following soon to sing, Pour out blood and wine, Forthwith Liberty’s brazen banners bearing

Yet I exalt in Him For His passionate and most gracious love And bellow the hymns Of painful death to join the Father above.

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He assails the mighty And provides strong spears of Love to the meek Erelong He journeys To the concord beyond Zion’s lofty peaks. Upon my knees I fall To give thanks for his wisdom gleaming, To nearby kingdoms call And gleeful warn of His certain returning. Anoint me with your fire That I might scorch the ancient pines of Rome, Come before the gates, And install on earth your everlasting throne.

Behold! beholden am I, O Lord: Liberator of nations, Conqueror of hearts. I surrender myself to You!

Chris Bolton (CC ’19) is a proud Virginia gentleman. He loves his friends, his family, the Army, America, and Jesus. He studies Mathematics and Philosophy by day, but by night plumbs the depths of his soul for complex emotions that he can spew onto a page, hoping something beautiful manifests itself out of the madness. He writes poetry, fiction, and libretto, hoping one day to watch one of his operas performed live.

Raphael, Vision of the Cross, 1520–24

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The Rule and the Order Pauline Morgan

“Lord God be with us. Lord God be with us.” That was the only prayer

I was able to utter. Driving 100 miles per hour down a deserted Utah highway, I could not think about the boy in the back seat of my car. In that moment, I could not think about the hospital ahead of me, the nurses and their questions, and the aftermath from the night. I could only pray, “Lord God be with us.” My prayer was heartfelt, but it was not reverent. I might have been silent, but my heart was pounding. My entire soul was focused on the Almighty, but part of me was angry at Him, yelling the “why me? why now?” that had become common in my life. Anxiously sitting and silently screaming throughout the night, I wondered if my irreverent prayer was heard—or if my lack of humility had silenced my heart to God. Growing up in a Presbyterian church, I was taught that reverent prayer was an essential part of worship. Through 21 Columbia Crown & Cross

solemn liturgy we gave our confessions, offered praise, and recited the Lord’s prayer in continual worship to God. Coming to college, prayer seemed to have an ever increasing presence in my life—but in completely new ways. As I was confronted with new forms of open prayer, I came to understand the not-so-subtle shunning of my reverent liturgical upbringing in the collegiate community I had joined. I watched, listened, and participated in the prayer life of my community at Columbia, but lost the structural prayer I had always known. Feeling this loss, I began to look more into the church I had grown up in, and the texts alongside scripture we used to explore our faith. Referenced time and time again, the Book of Order1—the second part of the Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) alongside the Book of Confessions—and the mo1

Book of Order 2015-2017: The Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) (Louisville: Office of the General Assembly Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), 2015).

nastic Rule of Saint Benedict2 are two texts that I found to explore the beauty and power of prayer in its many forms. Created more than fifteen centuries apart, both of these texts are governing documents for believers worshiping within particular Christian communities. Written in a very similar manner, they share in the legacy of Christ’s teachings and the early church, even if they address hugely dissimilar audiences in completely different historical contexts. Benedict wrote his Rule to address concerns amidst the evermore turbulent world of the early medieval period. The late 6th and early 7th century in Western Europe were times of barbarian invasion and chaos. As wealthy families looked for places to protect their children, the monastery became a holy refuge. The Rule allowed for a regularity in life not experienced in the outside world.3 The Presbyterian Book of Order followed a much different history. Coming together during the post-Civil War years of 19th century America, the Presbyterian church faced a new type of turbulence. Taking a liberal-minded stance, first on abolition, then on the ordination of Women, and later on Civil Rights, the church faced a country rife with hate and discrimination. So as the 20th century came to a close, the unified Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) put together a stable and structured Order to instruct their members in matters of worship. Like Benedict, the church gave a regularity to religious life in a world of constant change and turmoil.4

After surviving through fear and change, why were these texts not filled with shouts of praise and hallelujah? So, why a silent reverence? While surviving through fear and change, why were these texts not filled with shouts of praise and hallelujah? On the contrary, it turns out they weren’t silent at all. Christ, our greatest teacher, shows us throughout the 2

Benedictus, Saint, Abbot of Monte Cassino, The Rule of St. Benedict, trans. Anthony C. Meisel and M.L. del Mastro (New York: Doubleday, 1975). 3 Rosamond McKitterick, The Early Middle Ages (New York: Oxford, 2001), 150–151. 4 “Timeline of Presbyterian History,” Presbyterian Historical Society, 2 Feb 2016, http://www.history.pcusa.org/history-online/presbyterian-history/timeline-presbyterian-history.

New Testament the many ways and times in which we are able to pray. These teachings—gathered from Scripture alone—give the foundation for further textual instruction on prayer. The gospels present us with multiple accounts of Jesus’ prayer life, lived as an example to His disciples and to us. Through communal, private, and even musical prayer, Christ presents to us the ways in which our worship can be lifted to God—reverent or not. In the account of the Transfiguration, we are told that Jesus took Peter and John up to the mountain to pray with Him together.5 In the Rule, Benedict furthers this togetherness and makes it clear that community prayer is essential for devotional life. Chapter after chapter of the Rule focuses on the Divine Office, or Liturgy of Hours, and therefore the Opus Dei (or “Work of God”), as a continuous communal prayer in the life of a monk. Columba Stewart, OSB, a contemporary American Benedictine monk, wrote Prayer and Community: The Benedictine Tradition on the importance of collective prayer within this monastic system. He solidifies this idea of prayer, stating, “The ‘divine work’ is the liturgy of hours and, by extension, all prayer.”6 Thus, everything that a monk does throughout his life is a prayer to God. Every action that he takes for the good of the community within the monastery is a form of praise, along with his recitation of Lauds, Psalms, and repentant prayers. Like the Rule, the Book of Order places community prayer at the center of the Christian life. The section on “The Elements of Christian Worship” reads: “Prayer is at the heart of worship. In prayer, through the Holy Spirit, people seek after and are found by the one true God who has been revealed in Jesus Christ.”7 Not only is this prayer done with other believers in community, but it is done in the presence of God. Christ’s example of communal prayer is echoed throughout the ages, and brought into the institution—whether inside the closed doors of a 6th century monastery or the open ones of today’s Presbyterian church. Christ also prayed completely alone.8 And when He prayed alone He did not do it randomly, or haphazardly, but regularly.9 Abbot Brendan Freeman, OCSO, a monk 5

Luke 9:28; Mark 9:2; Matthew 17:1 ESV. Stewart, Columba OSB, Prayer and Community: The Benedictine Tradition (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1998), 31. 7 Book of Order, 87. 8 Matthew 14:23. 9 Luke 5:16; Luke 22:39. 6

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from the Order of Trappists who also followed the Rule, wrote in Come and See: The Monastic Way for Today that for Benedict’s Monks, “The Liturgy of Hours is not just one of the many occupations a monk performs; it is his life.”10 The idea of living a life completely dedicated to the Liturgy, and therefore completely dedicated to prayer, sounds a bit . . . difficult. For these monks, life is a constant prayer—communally and privately a never-ceasing worship to God. In his work, Stewart connects the two types of prayer, communal and private, via the Liturgy of Hours and writes, “Common prayer is nurtured and deepened by private prayer, just as private prayer is energized by corporate experience of the Word in the liturgy.”11 Christ shows us that while communal prayer is spiritually vital, private prayer is equal in importance. Today, we see in the Book of Order a huge emphasis placed on how the believer should practice private prayer. An entire section dedicated to “Prayer in Personal Worship” includes guides on how to express prayer, as well as help for prayer when it simply feels empty. This prayer is not singular or regularized, but is an open conversation with God: a silence, a meditation, even an “expressive activity as a response to grace.”12 The examples that Christ gave us through His life inform these texts, and inform the varied prayerful worship we can lift up to God through our personal devotion.

Prayer is at the heart of worship. In prayer, people seek after and are found by the one true God who has been revealed in Jesus. A strikingly beautiful moment in the prayer life of Jesus is the account of Him singing.13 When thinking about prayer, we tend to place it in two related boxes— individual and communal prayer—both of them spoken. But can we not use our voices in more ways? Can we only whisper quietly, or can we also sing? At the Last Supper, a Thursday evening during Passover most likely containing a traditional Passover Seder, ancient Jewish hymns would have filled the room throughout the night. Even in His last hours of earthly freedom, Jesus’ heart was filled with prayer. Jesus prayed to His Father, spoke and sang prayers with his disciples, and prayed alone in the Garden of Gethsemane.14 Taking this tradition of musical prayer from Judaism, Benedict’s Rule and the Book of Order incorporate this somewhat striking element into a

life of prayer. The Rule places heavy emphasis on Lauds and Psalms, all sung throughout the Liturgy of Hours. The Book of Order includes both sung and instrumental music as forms of prayer. The Book reads: Song is a response which engages the whole self in prayer . . . The covenant people have always used the gift of song to offer prayer. Psalms were created to be sung by the faithful as their response to God. Later on it continues, “Instrumental music may be a form of prayer since words are not essential to prayer.”15 For the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), music is an essential form of prayer, just as it was for Benedict. In a Supplemental Liturgical Resource from the church in 1987, the writers chose to focus on daily prayer in the context of every type of prayer—including music. The commentary states, “By singing [Psalms] we lift our praise to Almighty God. By offering them as our own prayers we are guided in candid prayer.”16 Within both of these textual traditions— the interpretation of Christ’s singing and Old Testament Psalms—we are given yet another way to pray as believers in the world. Not only does Christ present us with how to pray, but also what to pray. The Lord’s Prayer17 is a remarkable model for the formula of prayer, giving believers what we would deem the ‘essential elements.’ Additionally, Christ gives us the parable of a pharisee and a tax collector to show the humility that informs what to pray in our brokenness. The parable goes:

Brendan Freeman, Come and See: The Monastic Way for Today (Trappist: Cistercian Publications by Liturgical Press, 2010), 175. 11 Stewart, 32. 12 Book of Order, 135. 13 Matthew 26:30. 14 Mark 14:26–42.

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Book of Order, 87. Daily Prayer: The Worship of God (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1987), 2. 17 Matthew 6:9–13. 16

Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: “God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.” But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.18 Coming as believers to the temple, both of these men arrived with what they wanted to say to God. Blinded by his adherence to the law and his own self-righteousness, the pharisee could not see past the emptiness of his embellished words. Both the Rule and the Book of Order warn against the pharisee’s prayer. The Rule states, “Our prayer must be heartfelt and to the point. Only a divine inspiration should lengthen it.”19 The Book of Order argues similarly with regard to music as prayer that, “Music is not to be for entertainment or artistic display. Care should be taken that it not be used merely as a cover for silence. Music as prayer is to be a worthy offering to God.”20 This problem of embellishment is something we cannot ignore—and something we have to be wary of. From the prayer life of Jesus, we are able to see the foundation of Christian prayer life, and the way it has been interpreted by numerous authors throughout the twenty centuries since Christ’s death. Yet, I still have no idea how to pray. I do not believe that there is a right way to pray. And I do not believe that there is a wrong way when my heart is directed toward God. From the Rule of

St. Benedict to the Presbyterian Book of Order, there is so much that can be learned from how people choose to pray. There is so much beauty to be found in these structural texts, which allows us to see the grace of God filling the hearts of all those who worship Him. Prayer continues to be unique. Every day I question, hope, and gain more knowledge of who God is through prayer. Looking back on that cold Utah night, God was constantly with me. From the car, to the hospital, and every moment since, He has shown His grace to me even when I cannot find words for my prayers. As I repeated my five-word prayer, God was there. As I sat in the hospital angry and afraid, finding only hateful words of regret, God was there. As I sit now, unable to find words of praise, repentance, forgiveness, or grace, God is here. He is constant and He allows prayer to guide me. Though in my darkest moments it seems ridiculous that He could join me there, I still feel the urge to pray, “Lord God be with me.” Pauline Morgan (CC ’18) was born in Texas, raised in Utah, and loves New York. She lives and breathes her History and Religion majors—working in museums by day, and museum-hopping by night. Over the past two years at Columbia, she has seen the overwhelming power of God. And, while still constantly questioning Him and His ways, she has learned to love Him more through these trials.

Luke 18:9–14. Rule of St. Benedict, 69. 20 Book of Order, 88. 19

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Chinese Traditions in a Christian Looking Glass Lina Tian

was born in a small city called Taiyuan in the northern part of China. There, I spent my first sixteen years of life. Growing up in a traditional Chinese family, I was immersed in the culture and practice of rituals and customs stemming from Ancient Chinese civilizations. I never truly realized how many of these practices I had been accustomed to until three years ago when I came to the United States and had to be reminded from time to time over the phone of traditions that had once been second nature to me. I was worried that, without a deeper understanding of the greater meanings behind those traditions, they would become meaningless practices that I would easily forget as I gradually got more and more tuned into the American way of life. With the fear of losing my cultural identity, I embarked on an intellectual quest to re-examine my own cultural roots. My views on the Chinese religions and customs then evolved over the next three years. The main shift originated from my change in perspective from agnostic to Christian that gradually took place after I came to the U.S. for high school. The high school I attended was a private Christian school where the students were required to take a Bible course every year. I started off not knowing anything about Christianity, and when I first learned about the sacrificial rituals in the Old Testament, I felt that they sounded eerily similar to the Chinese rituals. Thus, I had a similar, ambivalent reaction to the Christian faith as I did for the Chinese religions. I thought Christianity was the same story spoken by a different tongue: if you want this, you do as I say, and then you will have

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it. Religion was analogous to an exchange of conditions with a deity so that our own wishes might be fulfilled. However, through reading the Bible and praying, I saw the difference offered through Christianity, and the promise of redemption through Jesus. What God revealed to me was astounding, and what I was able to see through Christianity was life-changing. I encountered Christ, and in January of 2015, I converted to Christianity. Yet I still had questions. One that particularly persisted was why the ancient Chinese and the Hebrews in the Old Testament seemed to take many similar approaches with regards to communication with the divine. Was there something the ancient Chinese civilizations understood about communicating with God? Had I written them off too quickly? These questions led me to investigate the relationship between prayer and sacrifice in both the Ancient Chinese and Biblical traditions. I found that they shared a common understanding that a sacrifice was needed in order to communicate with the divine and they both often utilized intermediaries to facilitate the communication between the divine and the rest of the people. Yet despite these similarities, the gospels provide a crucial difference in the way that Christians can approach prayer that helped affirm my faith in Christ.

Was there something the ancient Chinese civilizations understood about communicating with God? Since the Shang Dynasty (c. 1765-c. 1122 B.C.), historical evidence has shown that the Chinese people had started to communicate with the divine by means of offering and sacrifice. The most official and solemn sacrifice was the Border Sacrifice, the annual national sacrifice ceremony to Shang Di, the Lord on High, at the time of the winter solstice. It had been one of the most important rituals throughout ancient Chinese history until the end of the last dynasty in 1911.1 In this ceremony alone, I discovered several ways in which the Chinese and the Hebrew traditions are similar, two of which are particularly notable. 1

Thong, Chan Kei., and Charlene Fu. Faith of Our Fathers: Discovering God in Ancient China, Xian Xian Zhi Xin. Singapore: Imprint Edition, 2007, 116.

The first parallel between the ancient Chinese and Hebrew traditions of communicating with the divine is the necessity of offering a sacrifice first. During the Border Sacrifice ceremony, the Chinese emperors would offer sacrifices, including food and treasures of the highest quality. Some examples are unblemished animals, fine jade objects, silk fabrics, and blood. The strictness of the offerings and sacrifice is very similar to what God asked from the Hebrews in Exodus:

est in status, had to lower themselves in the presence of Shang Di so that they could address the nation’s desires and needs, such as good harvest and favorable weather.6 These similarities helped me see a demonstration of what is stated in Paul’s addresses to the Areopagus people in Acts: The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth . . . gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And He made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward Him and find Him. Yet He is actually not far from each one of us . . . 7

Your lamb shall be without blemish, a male a year old. You may take it from the sheep or from the goats, and you shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month, when the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel shall kill their lambs at twilight.2 Both the Hebrews and the ancient Chinese knew the importance of preparing the sacrifice just right so that their God would be appeased and they would be able to pray to Him. The second similarity is that both the Chinese and Hebrew traditions utilize intermediary parties to facilitate communication with the divine. For the Israelites, the priests were the mediators between God and man. They were called the “ministers of the LORD” in the book of Joel.3 For the ancient Chinese people, the emperors were considered the most sacred individuals, responsible for offering the sacrifices and praying. They called themselves ‘Tianzi,’ which means the son heaven or the most supreme. Similar to the Hebrew priests who were required to be purified in order to perform their duties in the tabernacles,4 the Chinese emperors would start fasting three days before the ceremony so that they could be pure and acceptable physically and spiritually in front of Shang Di.5 The emperors, though the most powerful and high2

Exodus 12:5–6 ESV. Joel 1:9; 2:17. 4 Leviticus 16:1–5. 5 Thong, Chan Kei., and Charlene Fu. Faith of Our Fathers: Discovering God in Ancient China, Xian Xian Zhi Xin. Singapore: IMprint Edition, 2007, 121. 3

As the ancient Chinese explored the existence of deities, they showed a strong desire and a desperate need for a being higher than themselves. The fact that they attempted communication with the divine in a similar manner as the Hebrews shows their hope to “feel their way” toward God. While I had previously viewed them as superficial rites or means of feudal control, I can now see the greater meaning behind my Chinese traditions as an attempt to seek God. The ancient Chinese not only had the common understanding that there were prerequisites and rituals that needed to be followed to ensure their prayers were heard by a more supreme being, but also they recognized the validity of a mediator who had to be pure in both the body and the soul. However, despite the values I recognized in the ancient Chinese practices, the distinctions between the two belief systems are clear. A very important distinction is the way they discerned the will of the divine. While the ancient Chinese interpreted divine will based on general revelation—what they were able to see with their eyes— the Hebrews in the Old Testament often heard directly 6 7

Ibid., 116. Acts 17:24–27.

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from God Himself. Throughout the Old Testament, God gave out instructions to the Hebrews in different ways. Not only did He reveal Himself through nature, but also He gave instruction to Joseph in his dreams and talked to Moses through a burning bush.8 He made the covenant with Abraham and He gave them the Ten Commandments clearly outlining the rules.9 The Hebrews were able to know God through a much more direct way—Special Revelation. They heard the unmistakable voice of God, while the ancient Chinese often struggled to interpret ambiguous signs from nature. A common way for the ancient Chinese people to know Shang Di’s will was through observing and responding to natural events. Most of the time in the Shang Dynasty, the emperors and priests would consult oracle bones for divination, asking for instruction about the future based on physical patterns observed on the bones.10 Thus, to the ancient Chinese, praying to the divine was never like building an interactive relationship. Though the ancient Chinese followed a way of communicating with their gods, there was no guaranteed way of knowing what they were saying back. As a result, the god or the various gods they worshipped turned out to be just idols they created. The ancient Chinese were mistaken in their conception of who God is. The most important difference between these two religions and Christianity is the promise offered through Jesus Christ in the New Testament. It is the promise that gives all humanity, regardless of cultural differences, the hope to build a personal relationship with God through 8

Exodus 3. Genesis 17; Exodus 20:1–17. 10 Herbert Plutschow, “Archaic Chinese Sacrificial Practices in the Light of Generative Anthropology,” UCLA, Accessed 26 Mar 2016. 9

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prayer. In 1 Timothy, Paul writes, “For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself as a ransom for all, which is the testimony given at the proper time.”11 Though the ancient Chinese had a desire for a higher being and prayed consistently for thousands of years in a respectful and solemn way, without belief in the one true God—who became the ultimate sacrifice that bridged the gap between us—there was no way for them to hear back. Through tracing back to the origins and purposes of prayers and sacrifices, I better understood the meaning and reasoning behind Chinese traditions, but found a gap in the communication between the people and God that could only be overcome through Christ. Now with a Christian perspective, I am able not only to appreciate my cultural roots more, but also, more importantly, to enjoy the meaningful relationship with God enabled by personal prayers. 11

1 Timothy 2:5–6.

Lina Tian (SEAS ’19) was born and raised in Taiyuan, northern China. After immigrating to the U.S. in November of 2012, she became a Christian at 3:48 pm on January 16th, 2015. She loves China a little more than she loves America, and she spends most of her free time pondering the meaning of life.

Painting the Cathedral

Myles Zhang

he Cathedral of Saint John the Divine soars above the low-slung tenements and boxy towers that edge up against its firm butresses. Unfinished it survives, yet powerful it stands; solid stone will outlive concrete and glass any day. Five hundred years from now, the urban environment may change. Glass behemoths may rise and fall and condo homes may come and go, but this monument to past ages will stand for centuries, solid as ever. Its soaring silhouette proclaims above the urban din: Come weather, wind, or rain, it will remain.

Myles Zhang (CC â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19) is from Newark, NJ. He is majoring in Art History and Urban Studies with hopes of studying architecture in graduate school. When not socialzing in the dining hall, Myles spends much of his free time painting, drawing, reading, and learning about the role of faith in friendship.

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The Diversity of Prayer

rowing up, my family never prayed at dinner before we ate. Perhaps ‘never’ is too strong of a word. Occasionally, infrequently, or sporadically are probably a bit more accurate. It was the kind of thing that would happen enough that I knew it was not arbitrary, but never quite enough to cross my mind when I visited the households of my Christian friends and began sticking my fork into whatever was in front of me just as someone would start to say, “Thank you for this food . . . ” My parents always made a point of having a family dinner at least once or twice a week, despite our conflicting schedules. In what seemed like a slightly perverse ode to the ‘50s ideal of a Protestant nuclear family dinner scene, Father would arrive home from a tumultuous day of work just in time to see dear Mother plating a freshly cooked medley of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans (one of her five perfected recipes that she cycled through weekly). Her father, who lived downstairs in our house, would take his magisterial place at the head of the table, while I, frantic to fill my stomach, would hurriedly set it without any regard for its presentation. Finally, we would sit in each other’s presence, gaze upon the craftsmanship before us, and then, well, eat. But that’s not to say my parents were not praying people. My parents were both involved in working for the church: my father, an ordained pastor with a calling for the youth and my mother, his close ministry partner. This meant attending many all-night prayer gatherings,

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Jesse Ojeda

listening to my father answer various questions about prayer to questioning high schoolers, and having what effectively seemed like an intercessory prayer session every day for a month leading up to my departure for college. My mother met constantly with other women of the faith in order to pray actively and purposefully into the lives of their children, taking pride in the epithet she gained from it: ‘prayer warrior.’ Having the ability to observe and learn from my parents’ prayer lives during those formative years was crucial in my understanding of the relationship between the action of singular prayer itself and its importance and impact on the corporate Body of Christ. However, as instrumental as their examples were, that did not mean that I had mastered prayer at all. Praying in the presence of others remained difficult for me. I, like many other children raised in the faith, originally saw circumstances of praying with peers as a sort of audition: a far-too-transparent window into the health of my spiritual life which needed to be played up at all times. But even with that perspective, fear and ignorance took the wheel, and my feeble attempts at the flowery, legato spiritual prose of Paul and Pascal came out in the classic, “Dear God, thank you for this day. Thank you for _____, and let us have a great rest of the day. Amen!” Many Christian children that grow up in the church learn prayer forms such as the ‘ACTS’ method, an acronym describing elements that every prayer should have: adoration, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication. However, even in my utilization of those methods, I still

found myself treating them as performances, attempts to satisfy the evaluations of those around me. Concerned about what the implications of my seemingly superficial prayers meant, I desperately searched for a method of prayer that escaped this mindset. A possible solution began to unveil itself through a couple of close friends who had found authentic ways to pray. These peers all came from radically different sides of the theological spectrum, from tongue-speaking Pentecostals to liturgy-reciting worshippers. Despite coming from such different perspectives, each one of these people I had met manifested their prayer publicly in a manner that came off as completely genuine, like Jesus describes in Matthew 6. They were not concerned with how their words would be perceived or what others would think about their spiritual lives. They were simply praying as they would privately with God. It was then that I started to notice that learning how to pray was not through a formula per se, but rather through a framework that we fill with our own experiences. Prayer, it seemed to me, was passed down from diverse places—a sort of free-flowing expression not necessarily a permanent standard of rules.

I, like many other children raised in the faith, originally saw circumstances of praying with peers as a sort of audition. My first exposure to different prayers revealed to me stark stylistic contrasts. I attended a private Christian school which was grounded heavily in the conservative denomination of the Christian Reformed Church. On the other hand, my father was ordained in a fairly moderate denomination, but he leaned quite Pentecostal even by their standards. While this juxtaposition led to many theologically stimulating arguments between myself and Bible teachers throughout my high school years, what I found to be more important was the fact that I could understand the value of these different kinds of prayer. Fond of liturgies, hundred-year old hymns, and calland-response services, my high school held that spirituality may best be defined as ritualistic. In this camp, prayer had remained mostly the same as it was in the church days of old, permeating across not only a temporal boundary, but also a geographic one. Despite my natural aversion to this style due to my upbringing, over time I came to appreciate and value this approach to prayer. There is a certain comfort and camaraderie in the knowledge that your words to God are ones that

have been said collectively by the body of Christ, a body which has gone through the same highs and lows that you have, for hundreds and hundreds of years. A Prayer of Confession said as a collective group of people who are also falling as short of God’s glory is as comforting as it is humbling: you are not the only one who needs God’s grace for your actions. The Christian faith is dysfunctional in solitude, and a more scripted approach to prayer amongst the Church reminds us of that. Yet that style of prayer is not the only one I view fondly. As the Metro-District Youth Pastor for the Nazarene denomination, my father and our family had the privilege of visiting and learning from many churches across the NYC area. One of these churches saw interpersonal relationships as that of utmost importance, and therefore encouraged intercessory prayer, in which believers prayed specifically for and on behalf of other Christians and non-Christians. Certain members sought after God for the souls of the lost as Paul did for the unsaved;1 others on behalf of the pastoral staff as the Church of Philippi did for Paul during his bouts with opposition in the human and spiritual realms.2 Jesus Himself intercedes for His disciples, and His prayer for Simon Peter always stands out to me. Prior to Peter’s denial in the book of Luke, Jesus states: “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.”3 Despite denying Jesus later that night, Peter goes on to be an important leader of the early Christian Church. Through this story, Jesus teaches us two important lessons: to pray passionately for those around us and 1 2 3

Romans 10:1 ESV. Philippians 1:19. Luke 22:31–32.

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to remain faithful, even when God does not immediately answer our prayers. Another prayer type that was uniquely created by a congregation member of this church was termed ‘enacted prayer.’ The idea is pretty self-explanatory: the words and wishes of the prayer are physically acted out with movements and gestures by a group and moderator. Fueled by the sociodramatic idea of understanding and empathizing through acting, ‘enacted prayer’ was a means for people to come together and present their prayers with their minds and bodies. There is something empowering about actually living a prayer as if it is an active experience in addition to a dialogue. Tapping into the senses not only makes the presence of God that much more palpable, but also allows one to truly empathize in a way that words cannot achieve.

There is a certain comfort and camaraderie in the knowledge that your words to God are ones that have been said collectively by the body of Christ. The third and final style I have encountered has been the style of prayer that has most influenced my life: prayer as continuous communication with God. It is rooted out of the charge Paul gave to the church in Thessalonica to live out worship as a lifestyle and, as part of that command, to pray without ceasing.4 The gracefully complicated facet to this mindset is that it is not conditional. Jesus happily praises the works of the Father in a priestly prayer5 and continues to seek the Father even when He is considering the death He must face in the Garden of Gethsemane.6 How fitting for our own lives to see that Jesus turned to prayer in these stark highs and lows as well. One week in December of my senior year of high school, I found myself prayerfully rejoicing for my acceptance to Columbia, but just a few days later, I was wrestling with God about why two of my best friends’ fathers both passed away from brain cancer within two days of each other. Jesus’ example allows us to rely on something other than our own strength when we find ourselves in thess kinds of situations; He is truly a high priest who is able to sympathize with our weakness. Prayer requires deliberate, refining work. This beautiful form of personal expression to our God is certainly not mastered overnight. But luckily for us, cultivating a balanced prayer life is not dependent on a rigid form 4

1 Thessalonians 5:17. John 17. 6 Matthew 26. 5

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or template. Prayer is an experiment in our subjective ability to understand God more deeply: an activity of communication, worship, and revelation that is as free and multi-faceted as the God who receives it. I rejoice knowing that even as I continue to learn how to engage in the language of the spiritual—regardless of whether I am reciting a benediction amongst the Church, physically kneeling to represent a spiritual position, or thanking God for the food on my table—all types of prayer are equally effective and important in their own contexts to support the spiritual vitality of our Christian walk. These different facets have given me a groundwork to explore prayer in all its diverse forms as an integral part of our relationship with God.

Jesse Ojeda (CC ’18) hails from just across the river in the northwestern edge of the beautiful Garden state. Although writing is not his usual forte (he likes to look at brains and do ‘the science’), Jesse is excited to contribute his spiritual perspective to CC&C. In between FIFA tournaments with his roommate and defending his home state, Jesse also enjoys singing with the suited men of SHARP A Cappella.

The Greater Miracle T

Hope Chang

estimony can be a powerful witness; it is a convincing way to understand the world. But when someone else’s testimony conflicts with our own personal experience, which one do we have epistemic reason to doubt? At the heart of this question lies a fundamental distinction between two sources of information: sensory experience and testimony itself. These are by no means disparate things; in fact, the latter is derived from the former. Thus, both originate in our sensing of the natural world, and the two must not contradict in order to gain any reasonable facts about the world. Herein lies the dilemma that David Hume sought to outline in his work, Of Miracles. It is a dilemma that throws a wrench in the transfer of information concerning the world when the two sources come into opposition, especially when one of those sources concerns the divine, the supernatural, or points to the power of God. Hume says that because experience is infallibly linked to natural reality, testimony cannot cast even a shadow of doubt on sensory information, and the two cannot epistemically oppose each other.1

Sensory experience and testimony are linked by what Hume refers to as the law of nature—that natural occurrences are uniform—and it is in this relation that we find one source of information to be epistemically weaker than the other. Senses take information directly from nature, while testimony is based on two assumptions: first, that the relayed story is as close content-wise to sensory experience as possible, and second, that there is no deceptive intent in the witness.2 This second-hand and conditional evidence of testimony supposes a weaker epistemic significance than that of sensory experience, which is as close to a primary source for natural information as humans can hope to attain.3 Hume writes, “It is experience only, which gives authority to human testimony; and it is the same experience, which assures us of the laws of nature.”4 Both sensory information and testimony derive their epistemic authority from the law of nature, but testimony is one step further removed from it. So, testimony as a source of information is epistemically weaker than sensory experience, and it remains to be exposited how this relation

David Hume, Of Miracles. In An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, ed. Eric Steinberg, (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1993), 98.

Hume, 87–88. Ibid. 4 Ibid., 98. 3

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affects the veracity of these two sources when they tell two different stories. Hume chooses to address this issue by examining the phenomenon of miracles. A miracle, he says, is a “violation of the laws of nature”—something that violates the uniformity of the natural world.5 Since “firm and unalterable experience has established these laws,” every violation proves itself to be untrue by the very fact that it is a violation of established law.6 Both testimony and sensory experience are involved in the propagation of information regarding such supernatural happenings, but their connection to the law of nature differs. Hume equates experience to the law; they are one and the same by definition. Accordingly, no relation of translation or interpretation mediates between natural reality and our sensation of it. Testimony, on the other hand, merely serves to confirm that which experience conveys.7 Miracles, then, being outside of the laws of nature, by definition cannot be experienced at all because experience and natural law are the same; an occurrence beyond one is also beyond the other. So the burden of explanation for the prevalence of miraculous events must fall to the other source of knowledge: testimony—or rather, false testimony. There are two assumptive miracles that must be acknowledged before any thought is given to the miraculous phenomenon itself: the first miracle, that it actually occurs, producing testimony from experience, 5

Hume, 90. Ibid., 96. 7 Ibid., 98. 6

and the second miracle, proving the testimony’s veracity.8 These two must be true if we are to believe that miracles actually occur. Hume rejects the first because miracles, by definition, cannot be experienced and are not a part of natural reality. The second, he claims, is the greater miracle to consider: that testimony of miracles is epistemically meaningful. He says that the thought of believing a testimony about miracles to be true is an even greater leap of faith than believing in the miracle itself.9 There are three conditions that diminish the authority of testimony in this case: first, the number of witnesses; second, the nature of humans to love marvelous things; third, that testifying to miracles itself is a contradiction.

Hume says that the thought of believing a testimony about miracles to be true is an even greater leap of faith than believing in the miracle itself. First, he claims that there was never such a miracle attested to by a sufficient number of men of good character as to establish beyond suspicion its veracity.10 A possible counter argument for this point is the plight of Galileo and his heliocentric theory of the solar system. The majority of the populace uniformly experienced the sun ‘revolving’ around the earth. Yet, even in the presence of sufficient witnesses of good character, the phenomenon was neither natural nor true. Then Galileo discovered the ‘miraculous’ truth: that earth was not the center of the solar system. Hume deals with this by saying that if enough people bear testimony to any new ‘miraculous’ thing— extensively and uniformly—then it is no longer called a ‘miracle’ but a marvelous aspect of the law of nature newly discovered. The law of nature—still unchangeable and absolute—can be made clearer as man’s understanding of the world unfolds.11 Hume posits that the law of nature is discoverable and unchanging, driving convention; we as humans do not define the law but merely seek to understand it. The law is knowable by a uniform and sufficient number of experiences, but an unenlightened majority will fall to falsehood as readily as a single man might. An unenlightened experience of the world is just as false as a miraculous testimony. All of what we know about the law of nature is subjective, and, in this subjectivity, we find the danger in Hume’s position. If Hume’s natural law is unchanging and absolute, we may never have a true experience of it in our 8

Ibid., 91. Ibid. 10 Ibid., 92. 11 Ibid., 99. 9

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ignorant state, and worse, never know we are deceived. In essence, by definition, Hume has made the law of nature unknowable, and, even if we were to discover it, we could never know for sure that we have. Thus, if we can only know truth by the law, which we can never know for certain, we have no business even claiming that anything we discover—including miracles—is true, let alone false. Second, in order for a testimony to be valid (even apart from the miraculous), human nature must be “strictly examined.”12 Hume argues that the “manner of delivery” is named as one of the three causes for suspicion concerning any testimony, let alone a miraculous one.13 The manner in which humans tend to deliver information is in accordance with our own nature and cannot be otherwise. We are more prone to believe in miracles when the very fact that they are miracles should deter us from falling into the lie that miracles are real. Hume says that falsities of the miraculous kind are “detected by contrary evidence or…by their absurdity,”14 but passions cloud this judgment. Hume further states that unlearned men are more susceptible to the passionate part of their nature, which is enraptured by the supernatural.15 And if only ignorant people believe such “lies,” it further discredits the validity of any sort of miraculous testimony, for the character of its supporters must be taken into account when assessing its truth.16 The lack of judgment feeds our unreasonable passions, and our passionate nature causes us to love falsehood rather than reason.17 Early in his argument, Hume reveals a key assumption in his reasoning: sensory experience and natural law are epistemically equivalent and they are not subject to 12

Hume, 93. Ibid., 92. Ibid., 93. 15 Ibid., 94. 16 Ibid., 89. 17 Ibid., 99. 13 14

any mediating relation. But as ideal as this sounds, when humans receive input from our senses, we automatically interpret the information to understand it, turning sensation into perception. In reality, it is not nature and sensation that are inseparably linked, but sensation and personal perception. The first statement must be presumed, but the second is something we all know to be true, and it is one of the founding principles of our existence (cogito ergo sum).18 The possibility of a mediating relation between nature and experience creates another layer of complexity and vulnerability in Hume’s argument. Because this counter argument critiques his main assumption and directly addresses his statement that passions cloud reasonable judgment, it puts another nail in the coffin for his disproof of miracles. Hume says that human interpretation is faulty, but we cannot separate our interpretation from our experience. We are only human, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot be otherwise.

If we can only know truth by the law, which we can never know for certain, we have no business even claiming that anything we discover—including miracles—is true, let alone false. The third, and Hume’s most determined condition against miracles, states that “not only [does] the miracle destroy the credit of [its] testimony, but the testimony destroys itself.”19 If experience is inseparably linked to the law of nature, and testimony is merely the communication of this connection, then—as previously established—there are no such things to even be testified about. Rejecting the existence of miracles, Hume concludes that there is no testimony that exists beyond deceit or delusion. If there 18 19

Rene Descartes, Discourse on Method. Hume, 95.

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were, it would go against the law of nature, and nothing in all our experience can go against the law of nature, which our experiences establish.20 It seems that Hume’s circular reasoning of natural law leading to sensation, and sensation to testimony, and testimony to veracity, and veracity back to natural law, serves as an airtight check against believing anything of questionable occurrence.21 Therefore, any testimony concerning miracles is automatically proof that the testimony itself is false. So, not only can testimony be diminished by the two reasons posed previously, but testimony of miracles “alone [is] a sufficient refutation.”22 Hume firmly holds that “no testimony for any kind of miracle has ever amounted to . . . a proof,”23 and just as it cannot even hope to prove the unnatural, it stands no chance at altering our faith in sensory experience for good reason. Experience “assures us of the laws of nature” and “gives authority to human testimony” in accordance with those laws.24 Hume does not address how they came to be, only how they are confirmed. Any law without enforcement is an ephemeral suggestion, but Hume’s law of nature somehow possesses the power to determine truth from falsehood. Is its authority baseless? In order to function the way that Hume intends, the law must have a judge, and this entity must be beyond nature—in other words, supernatural. Man cannot be this mediator for, as Hume notes, his judgment is fallible and easily deceived. Hume seems to attribute this authority to nature itself, but this cannot be. The power to enforce comes from something or someone removed from the plane of judgment, vertical rather than horizontal. So for nature to be absolute, a higher, final, and absolute power must exist. We might call this 20

Hume, 98. Ibid., 86. 22 Ibid., 96. 23 Ibid., 86. 24 Ibid., 98. 21

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entity “God.” If this is so, the law of nature is contingent on a being who has authority over nature, transcending the limits of the law, and able to perform what Hume calls impossible: miracles. Herein we find the most convincing contradiction, that Hume requires the miraculous in order to maintain that there are no miracles. Hume was an atheist, and he strove to remove the supernatural from our experience. But I believe that the counterarguments above, while not necessarily proving him wrong, are sufficient to cast doubt on his theory. According to Hume, testimony cannot give reasonable grounds to undermine experience because that which is natural forbids discord between the two sources of information. Experience must be inseparable from natural reality in order for us to know any factual information about the world. If testimony ever opposes experience, it miraculously opposes nature, which “even supposing it amounted to a proof, would be [contradicted] by . . . the nature of the fact, which it would endeavor to establish.”25 But the true contradiction lies in the derivation of this absolute law. Its formation is tempted to subjectivity and misperception, and cannot be absolute without an absolute enforcer. Since Hume’s contradictory conclusion remains unsatisfactory, testimony may yet cast doubt on the senses, though this occurrence may be rare. Although Hume strives to reject the miraculous altogether, his proof ’s dependence on the law of nature requires a greater miracle—the ultimate miracle: God. 25

Ibid.

Hope Chang (CC ’18) is a writer, a photographer, a metaphysicist, and a dreamer. Currently a struggling amateur designer, she wistfully hopes one day to earn a living wage sitting in a comfy chair philosophizing. She believes wholeheartedly in the transforming power of God’s love in her own life as well as in the lives of everyone around her.

A ‘Thin’ Line Between Health and Idolatry

Kenya Watson

or years I struggled with eating disorders. That might surprise you. I can tell you I was surprised when I realized it. I thought I was too strong and self-sufficient to succumb to such things, let alone to something that has the connotation of being a vain, self-imposed, ‘rich person’ problem. Eating disorders are not all anorexia and bulimia, and many times they are barely veiled beneath ‘healthy lifestyle changes’ and validated by comments such as “Did you lose weight? You look great!” At first I thought what I was doing was something anyone who was health-conscious did. There was nothing extreme that pushed me there; it happened gradually rather than all at once. My identity since elementary school had been that of an athlete—I had done gymnastics for nearly ten years, as well as softball, track, and dance—and letting go of that identity in college was like painfully ripping off my badge. My naturally competitive personality and willingness to push myself mentally served me well in the gym, but turned out to be fertile ground for disordered eating as well. Towards the end of my time in gymnastics, what started off as healthy habits to maintain my fitness level gradually slipped into the danger zone as I grappled with my loss of identity, grasping desperately at whatever would replace it. If I was not Kenya the Gymnast, who would I be? I never threw up my food, but I was consuming far fewer calories than I was burning on the treadmill, and I obsessed over eating too little or eating too much, eating ‘good’ foods and avoiding ‘bad’ ones,

and other obsessive-compulsive habits. In retrospect, I realize that I saw life through a fractured, distorted lens in that period—I thought of myself as inadequate, and I took it upon myself to fix it. Outwardly, I did not ‘look’ sick, but inwardly, I was wasting away. I was always on the brink of passing out, even in public places—the treadmill, College Walk, the 2 train. Once, I was admitted to the emergency room, where the nurses missed all the signs that my body was not working properly and released me in a matter of hours. For a while, I fooled myself into thinking I was in control, but it was a complete illusion; in reality, I was a slave chained to destructive preoccupations and behaviors. After a while, I finally realized what I thought would satisfy me was making me more miserable than ever. I felt a constant twisting in my chest, constantly pulling me downwards and making me feel empty. I was trying to fill my soul with something only God could satisfy.

For a while, I fooled myself into thinking I was in control, but it was a complete illusion; in reality, I was a slave chained to destructive preoccupations and behaviors. The lowest low came after I decided life was not meant to be lived this way, but when I tried to stop what had become a pattern of behavior, I realized I could not. I was trapped. One of the worst days was a certain Volume 3 | Issue 1 36

Thanksgiving where all I remember eating for the entire meal were green beans because I was too paranoid to eat anything else. I wanted to stop planning my life around workouts and meal plans and go to a restaurant without looking up the menu beforehand. I wanted to order something besides salad and go back to eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full instead of abiding by strict calorie restrictions. It was exhausting and time-consuming to keep up, leaving me little time for anything else, and, as a result, my spiritual life and relationships suffered from neglect. I had to accept that while my actions might bring me temporary happiness at a workout well done or a diet perfectly maintained, my lifestyle was not sustainable and I would never reach an end goal where I would stop and be fully content as a result of my efforts. I could always work out harder, lose however many more pounds, and so on, but I would never be totally satisfied. When I realized how far I had gone and the physical damage I had perpetrated, it was too late to come back on my own accord. I had always been pretty independent, but this was the first time I knew I could not fix myself. I needed a Savior. I had grown up in a Christian household, but for all the Bible stories I knew and the sermons I had sat through, Christ was a distant figure, like the comic book hero Superman—someone I had heard of and knew was capable of doing great things, but whose power I had never witnessed. At church, I heard countless testimonies of struggling people who said they had prayed for deliverance and “instantly they were set free.” A lot of testimonies are based on that sort of instant transformation and healing, but my experience has been very different. When I finally turned back to God and realized only He could save me, no matter how many times I pleaded to be set free, change did not come overnight. I prayed for years without seeing the light at the end of tunnel. I thought that my lack of an instant transformative moment meant that God was not listening and was not going to heal me. Physical recovery was hard—I was constantly sick from eating more food than my body was accustomed to. I could not concentrate. I was too exhausted to do anything but sleep as my body tried to stabilize internal organs I had damaged, but the spiritual recovery was harder. I lost count of how many times I was tired of feeling like I was praying to an empty vacuum because I was not seeing results. Sometimes I wished I had another problem—at least with alcohol and drugs you can commit to never touching them again, and they are recognized as ‘serious’ addictions. But my eating disorder was much more insidious: there is a thin line between 37 Columbia Crown & Cross

trying to be healthy and idolatry. This is not as widely discussed in the church. Despite my prayers and pleading, I thought I had gone too far for God’s grace to reach me. Even though the Bible says He will never leave us nor forsake us,1 and I had grown up hearing that His arms are always open, I still felt like I was being punished with the cold shoulder. Sometimes I felt it would be easier to resign myself to go back to struggling with sin on my own rather than to pray one more time. But every time I came dangerously close to giving up, I would think, “What if my breakthrough is a tomorrow, or next week, or just around the corner, and I just gave up too soon?” As a former gymnast, the metaphor of pressing onward that Paul uses in Philippians resonates with me: “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”2 For me, prayer is a lot like training a new skill in gymnastics. At first it is not easy and does not seem worth the effort. I am tempted to skip practice when I am tired or simply do not feel like trying. There are times when I want to quit, especially on days when it seems like nothing is improving. Each day is full of small, almost imperceptible progressions and sometimes frustrating digressions, and it is only looking back over the long run that I see progress. It is only after countless practices that I finally master a new skill, and even then, I must work 1 2

Deuteronomy 31:8 ESV. Philippians 3:13–14.

control: instead of praying for how I could draw near to God, I started asking Him to come down and reach me. I prayed for forgiveness from idolatry; I prayed to be a slave to Him instead of a slave to myself. I began to rely less on feeling that my prayers were heard, and learned to trust that they were. God is working in ways I cannot see or understand. This is why we walk by faith, and not by sight.4 Living by sight makes it easy to give up if we do not see instant results, but sometimes we learn more about God when we cannot rely on the visible realm in front of us. Now I see God is working on His timeline, not mine, and He chooses to steadily grow me and renew me. Over time, I put to death the idea that my life was entirely my own and my primary purpose was to glorify and advance myself. The answer was not loving myself more; it was loving and thinking of Him more. I had to let go of my pride and wait patiently on Him. Over time, He granted me peace and contentment to replace the twisting in my chest.

just as hard to maintain it until it comes naturally. Similarly, I have learned that prayer is part of our training for the race we are running as Christians—we must work at it with the same perseverance. There is power in persistence of prayer. Just as training in the gym strengthens me and equips me for competition, prayer is part of our spiritual preparation to renew ourselves as new creations in Christ: You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.3 Looking back, I can now see that God was there. I was just looking in the wrong places. Like falling prey to my eating disorder, finding Him again was a gradual process, not an overnight event. If God had instantly granted me what I desired, I would probably still think of God as a magical genie and expect Him to serve me rather than for me to serve Him. Instead, He did so much more than I originally asked for, and guided me into starting a personal relationship with Him. It was only over time that I gave up my perceived sense of 3

Ephesians 4:22–24.

It was only over time that I gave up my perceived sense of control: instead of praying for how I could draw near to God, I started asking Him to come down and reach me. I began to see food and exercise as fuel to live, serve, and be energized, as a way to bring people together through meeting a basic need, and even as a pleasure to be enjoyed with friends and good conversation instead of a chore I had to schedule my life around. My purpose here on Earth was never to simply eat, burn, and count calories, but to love and serve. Though the world may tell us our worth consists mainly in our outward appearance, our real value is found in Christ and how God sees us. After all, as Jesus said, “is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?”5 During the difficult times, one of the verses I found myself repeatedly drawn to was the verse in Romans: “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”6 I mistakenly let the world convince me that I was made wrong and that to be accepted and well-liked is to be youthful, chiseled, and thin with a flawless complexion. But I realized that I was conforming to the wrong image. Instead, I must internalize God’s promises and work on conforming to the image of Christ. There is nothing wrong with working out and eating healthy; it is when these things replace God as our primary focus that it becomes idolatry. Filling my 4 5 6

2 Corinthians 5:7. Matthew 6:25. Romans 12:2.

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mind with the Word instead of new workouts or images of fit movie stars helped to replace the lies with the truth. In reality, my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit,7 I am God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works,8 and God’s grace is sufficient for any of my inadequacies, physical or otherwise.9 Most of all, real value comes from the fact that God redeemed me, even at my lowest point: “For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”10 If these things are true, how could I continue to abuse my body in such terrible ways or wish I were made differently?

Even though we struggle with addictions, idolatry, and other sins, we keep running because the redemption waiting for us will be worth our perseverance. Praying indefinitely and waiting is hard, but God promises that one day it will be worth it: “Therefore we do not lose heart,” Paul writes, Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.11 Remember, we are running a race, and endurance is key. Even though we struggle with addictions, idolatry, and other sins, we keep running because the redemption waiting for us will be worth our perseverance. I can say now I found a new identity in Christ, and I find fulfillment in spreading God’s love rather than vainly trying to perfect myself. My primary calling is now clear, but that does not mean my struggles do not still pop up from time to time. I feel inadequate looking at models in fashion advertisements and scrolling through my Instagram feed, or I get anxious about finishing an entire plate of food even though I was hungry enough to finish it. These are the times I actively have to focus on God and His truths instead of myself. Through it all, I have learned that I cannot put my treasures in my life, my career, my body, my choices, and so on. By seeking Him, my treasures, and subsequently the desires of my heart, have shifted. Nonetheless, I can never get so confident as to think I no longer need help and grace. Prayer was 7

1 Corinthians 6:19. Ephesians 2:10. 9 2 Corinthians 12:9. 10 Romans 5:7–8. 11 2 Corinthians 4:16–18. 8

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once a chore for me, but now it is a refreshment, and I approach it with more confidence and faith than before. If you are struggling, and feel like your prayers are echoing into empty space because there is no instant change, I want to encourage you to stay persistent. Sometimes God has more than one lesson for us, and He cares too much to give us what we want in place of what He knows is truly best for us. Sometimes God works in an instant, but sometimes He does not. It took years for my prayer to be answered, but it was worth it.

Kenya Watson (CC '16) is a native North Carolinian learning to be a faithful follower of Christ. After ten years as a competitive gymnast, she stays involved with the sport through coaching, judging, and, from time to time, pulling out some of her old flips and tricks. In her free time, she enjoys dancing, supporting Columbia basketball, and finding things to laugh about.

Prattler

Momoh Osilama

A holy intention, a whole-hearted attempt. The words and worlds amalgamate affixed by and to a selfless and divinely trusting egotism. They fly up from my heart and flitter for a moment on my tongue— but only syllables slip, well-meaning, yet unrepresentative, only syllables drip from my lips and puddle around my knees. Piffling, prattling, feigning a commitment to piety, a commitment to prayerful sobriety. My hands keep crossed intently, devoutly, with my head bowed just over-zealously, as my closed eyes blunder off, innocently, from chasing chastity to a dreamy otherworld— my knees sore and still soaked in syllables. But an air always comes, atoning and torrid, to evaporate the puddle up, up, and away— to decode and transpose each time I fall asleep, each time my spirit is willing, and each time my flesh is weak. Momoh Osilama (CC ’16), biology major and Boston-native, can’t believe that he is graduating. He also can’t believe he’s been blessed enough to be a part of Crown & Cross for the past three years and over five issues.

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