TAUG: Home, Fall 2018

TAUG To An Unknown God: A Journal of Christian Thought at Berkeley

HOME Volume 11 | Issue 2 | Fall 2018

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To A n U n k n o w n G o d

is a studentrun journal at UC Berkeley that endeavors to stimulate dialogue with the campus community through writing and artwork produced by Cal s t u d e n t s . Th e s e s e m e s t e r l y p u b l i c a t i o n s e n g a g e w i t h v2a TAUG rious topics through a Christian lens.

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VISION

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LETTER TO THE EDITOR

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ART TAUG CREDITS 3

LETTER FROM THE

EDITOR Dear Reader,

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hree years ago, if you were to ask freshman-me where I envisioned myself as a senior at Cal, of all the immediate answers I would have provided, none of them would have been editor-in-chief of this journal.

I did not anticipate joining this student organization, striving for the publication’s improvement, editing submissions, workshopping with authors, facilitating the TAUG DeCal, serving as editor-in-chief, or writing to you.

And now, the journal that freshman-me had not thought of joining has become one of the most formative environments that has shaped my undergraduate experience. In the past three years, there were multiple moments of painstaking growth as I learned more about others and myself in the context of disappointments, shortcomings, and miscommunications. Nevertheless, the journal has been a place of community through meetings and collaborations with amazing people of varying backgrounds, passions, and talents. It has been a place of learning how to reconcile despite differences in opinion, how to coordinate events, and how to be a team player. It has been a place of dreaming and wondering the journal into a more creative and compelling version of itself for the issue’s readership.

It has been a force that has shaped and continues to shape who I am.

It has become a sort of home away from home.

This conception of home, marked by difficult but necessary maturation, is one of the many that people have. Thus, our team thought it worthwhile to call for submissions that would explore those various meanings of home in this semester’s issue. Of the submissions published, there are depictions of home as a physical place associated with warmth, nostalgia, and security. These descriptions are complicated by further depictions of home marked by vulnerability, discord, discomfort, and brokenness. It follows that home seems to be a place that means something different for everyone.

However, these submissions are unified by a single running thread: the conception of home as a spiritual abode that the Christian faith freely extends to all who accept. This concept of a spiritual home remains independent of individuals’ familial circumstances. It transcends physical conditions. It provides a steady and stable anchor throughout the ripples and waves of life.

You, dear Reader, have flipped open the pages to a journal of Christian thought.

Warmly, Jacquelyn Vasantachat Editor-in-chief

To An Unknown God is not affiliated with any church or any religious group. Opinions expressed in articles do not necessarily represent those of the team. We are completely student-run and funded partly by the student body as an ASUC-sponsored student publication. Funding is also provided through individual donations.

Distribution is free while supplies last. To contact us, please email us at taug@berkeley.edu or visit us at our website unknowngodjournal.wordpress.com.

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“Therefore, the One whom you worship without knowing, Him I proclaim to you.”

—Acts 17:23 *Not photographed: Ami Yuen, Anashe Barton, Andrea Chau, Calvin Han, Crystal Chang, Emily Kinnaman, Michelle Chan

Editor-in-Chief Jacquelyn Vasantachat Executive Editor Simon Kuang Executive Designer Harmonie Lau Business Manager Anna Park Social Media Chair Michelle Chan

Associate Editors Anashe Barton Anna Park Bereket Getachew Calvin Han David Chen Emily Kinnaman Joel Chang Raul Montellano Business Raul Montellano David Chen

Associate Designers Ami Yuen Andrea Chau Crystal Chang Michelle Chan Stella Kim Stephany Su Tai In Chuang Associate Photographer Kim Lionel Rivera Social Media Stella Kim

ART CREDITS | Cover: Harmonie Lau, Stephany Su; 2–3: Harmonie Lau, Michelle Chan; 4: Harmonie Lau; 5: Kim Lionel Rivera; 8: Michael Parulava; 9: Michelle Chan; 10: Annie Spratt; 11: Javard H., Jeppe Hove Jenson, Toa Heftiba; 14: Ingrid Hofstra; 16: Orlova Maria; 17: Ami Yuen; 19: Stephany Su; 23: Thomas William; 24–25: chuttersnap, Joseph Pearson, Stephany Su; 26: Stephany Su; 33: Stella Kim; 34–35: Sang Huynh; 36: Harmonie Lau

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PHOTO STEPHANY SU

Stephany Su is a first year studying Political Economics. She enjoys spontaneous food adventures in the Bay and photography.

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Eternal Home

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ome is where the heart is, the saying goes. But as simple as this sounds, there is certainly a truth to it. It is a city, a house, or even a country: a physical place where one feels comfort, stability, and rest. Colorful Venice-inspired street-buildings, towering cathedrals of gold, and bustling streets: these are some features of Saint Petersburg, Russia. I lived with my parents in a small apartment which lacked the glamour and appeal of even the more modest apartments in Europe or America. But it was still a source of contentment and warmth. The thin walls allowed most outside noises to be heard, our windows constantly got stuck, and our air conditioners leaked water. Nevertheless, this was my home. To me, it was not only a point on a map with a longitude and latitude, but a place that housed the outpourings of my sensitive and immature heart for three years.

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WORDS JOEL CHANG

...and with a heart that serves and worships him in all circumstances, I will always be home.

That concept of home, however, underwent a serious change when I moved in to my dorm at Berkeley. I am now in a setting drastically different from the one I was accustomed to. Leaving Russia, I experienced a complete separation from the very nature of what home meant to me: a place of familiarity and acceptance. Not only was there no familiarity in surroundings and in faces, but also the streets of America felt bland in comparison to the elegant streets of Saint Petersburg. There was no cheer or warmth on my side of our shared triple dorm.

Nothing to keep my mind from wandering off into thoughts of wanting to go back. There was a painful absence of intimacy. All around me, I saw only disparate people with disparate motivations. I felt physically weak and ill. This sense of immense loss and unfamiliarity still grips me. Without the stability of a home, it was grueling to see meaning in anything and I felt a personal darkness—an emptiness.

These harmful emotions, however, persist only until I seek the one constant in my life that is neverchanging. The times during the week that I manage to center my time and attention on the Lord, I am never turned away. In prayer, He enables me to experience a radical change in mindset and emotion.

I see beauty in all of his creation and the emptiness in my heart is replaced with purpose. His warmth is tangible; I feel physically well following this positive change in emotion, and I feel all happy and fuzzy inside. The darkness that clouded over me is replaced by clarity in mind—my head isn’t stuck in a muddled and disorganized place. I also feel his rebuke on me for not approaching him, for not relying on him in my times of loneliness, but it’s a gentle rebuke.

In John 14:2–3, Jesus states that God’s house

has many rooms and that He himself is preparing a place for me there. And this is an eternal home in God’s heavenly kingdom—not a home that changes merely because of a move to another city or another country. God calls me to have a heart of worship, a heart of prayer, and a heart for God—and with a heart that serves and worships Him in all circumstances, I will always be home.

Joel Chang is a first year intended Econ major and possibly Slavic literature/language and creative writing minor. He loves to play instruments like guitar and the drums, and lived in Russia for a total of seven years of his life.

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Homies, at Home, in Homeostasis

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ne of the fondest memories I have as a child growing up in Indiana was the snow day. I got to miss school, build snowmen, and sled all day long with my younger brother. After a long day of fun, I’d come home cold and shivering. On the other hand, my Texan friend Gabriel had school cancelled because it was extremely hot. He wouldn’t even be able to jump in the pool until the sun went down. And without air conditioning, he would surely be drenched in sweat by just existing. In both cases, the body attempted to maintain a constant internal temperature through the mechanism of shivering and sweating. This incredibly important process of maintaining a stable internal system of the human body is called homeostasis. Whether it’s thermoregulation or chemical feedback loops, homeostasis is able to respond to the divergent environmental situations accordingly and keep the body alive.

Homeostasis does all this—for what? For rest.

The body desires constancy because it longs to be at rest. Take enzymes, for example. In biochemistry, enzymes can only function within a very specific temperature range. Any temperature that deviates, whether higher or lower, from this range can cause the enzymes to denature and stop working, resulting in serious illness, and even death. Homeostasis

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WORDS HAYOUNG DAVID OH

If heaven is our true home,

how and who are we to love? is constantly fighting for the body to be at rest because only at rest can the body freely perform at a high level efficiency. More importantly, however, rest allows the body to live.

Many other aspects of nature mirror this natural desire to be at rest. St. Augustine, in his Confessions, builds upon this idea by writing, “A body by its weight tends to move towards its proper place. The weight’s movement is not necessarily downward, but to its appropriate position: fire tends to move upwards, a stone downwards. They are acted on by their respective weights; they seek their own place. Oil poured under water is drawn up to the surface on top of the water. Water poured on top of oil sinks below the oil. They are acted on by their respective densities, they seek their own place. Things which are not in their intended position are restless. Once they are in their ordered position, they are at rest.”1 If the physical forces that move the body is its mass and water its density to their respective and appropriate positions, what is the instrument in which the human soul finds rest? Augustine continues in his Confessions by saying this: “My weight is my love.

Wherever I am carried, my love is carrying me.” Augustine’s words hold true for every human being. Within each person, there is a natural desire to love something or someone.

And finding this love can carry one to their ordered, appropriate position, resulting in true rest.

But finding the correct object of love isn’t easy in this world. In fact, no one has or ever will find the true object of love through the world. From just a brief glance at modern society, the hyper-consumerist culture preaches that placing love into security, comfort, and oneself will lead to rest. But nothing in this world can bring true rest, as the world and 1 St. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2008), Bk. XIII ch. 9.

its desires pass away.2 Humans have an aching desire to love but when it is misplaced, it only causes the heart to ache even more.

The fact that our hearts yearn for something Earth can’t supply is proof that Heaven must be our home.

If heaven is both our true home and source of rest,3 how does one place their love in order to carry them home and to experience the fruit of rest—namely—purpose, unity, and life?

The answer is to believe in the transformative power of the Gospel. Believe that when you did not want it, did not care for it, and most certainly did not deserve it, God placed his love in you by giving Himself to you in the midst of rebellion. Believe Christ’s sacrifice makes you a victorious child of God. You are free to enter God’s home because you are no longer a liar, adulterer, murderer, and idolator.4 As a response to his love, we are to place our love into God because He is love.5 Make every effort to love Him and His people with the entirety of your heart, mind, soul, and strength.

The wrong love for the wrong person will always result in dissatisfaction and restlessness. Only when the person’s object of love is in the right place, life-bringing rest will follow as a response.

For those of you who are restless, place your love wholeheartedly into Jesus. Come home to dwell and gaze on the beauty of the Lord all the days of your life.6

Hayoung Oh is a third year majoring in Public Health. He enjoys drinking kombucha and biking to the marina.

2 1 John 3:17, New International Version.

3 Hebrews 4:9–11 NIV. 4 1st Corinthians 6:9-11 NIV. 5 1 John 4:8 NIV. 6 Psalm 27:4 NIV.

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ART DAVID CHEN

Unmade Bed

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n more days than I care to admit, I come home to a bed that closely resembles the one depicted in this painting. The symbolism behind this messy bed, however, represents something far deeper than a simple act of laziness.

I find comfort in the very idea that nobody besides myself has to know about how my bed looks. On certain days, it can feel like there is constant pressure to convey an aura of composure to those surrounding me; people must meet the person who dresses nicely, who speaks eloquently, who is always punctual.

Often, it can seem like my proficiency at creating façades gets the better of me, and I end up hiding inside a carefully constructed yet delicate shell that might not represent who I am on the inside. This is why coming home to a messy bed at the end of a long day of preserving my image is a relief. The feeling that overtakes people when they finally “come home” is so adored because home represents a kind of safe haven, a physical place whose borders mark the divide between a world that constantly sets unreasonable expectations for you and a shelter that allows you the security to release yourself from those expectations.

Although seeing my bed can provide me the comfort of home, knowing that God sees what is truly within me is the ultimate comfort that cannot be replaced by any metaphor or substitute in life. While seeing my messy bed removes the layers of sophistication that I’ve plastered myself with, God is said to know the secrets of my heart at all times. Knowing that God already sees through our façades and our fabrications, we are granted the possibility to have a direct and intimate relationship with Him. He does not expect us to conform to pressures that do not benefit us, and we do not have to artificially reform ourselves to please Him; rather, he accepts us as we are, even if we don’t make our beds every morning.

David Chen is a first year undergraduate student at UC Berkeley pursuing a double major in data science and business administration. In addition to painting, David enjoys any activity under the sun, having spent most of his life in San Diego.

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The Pink Room

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WORDS KAREN TREJO

Cristo Jesús. Eres mi plenitud.

Si te tengo a ti, lo tengo todo, mi amado, mi tesoro.

Tesoro. Treasure.

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omething about worshiping God in my native tongue reminds me of home. It’s so much more than just the words, the syllables, the sounds. It’s my lived experiences concealed within these words. The way I felt them erupting from the core of my being during a Sunday morning service. They transport me back to the place where hot fluorescent beams shone light into the darkness beneath my eyelids, with sweat dripping down my face as I screamed “No hay lugar más alto. There’s no place higher than this.”

The drum beat, matching the cadence of my heart. The feeling, feeling like I can’t leave it all on the altar because I’ve already drowned it in my tears and the tide’s rushed it away.

When I hear the songs of people like Marcos Brunet, Jesús Adrián Romero, Marcela Gándara, I can practically smell the meat simmering on the stove. I can hear the tortillas popping and sizzling as my mom holds the spatula in her right hand, and another tortilla in the left. If you remove the tortilla from the oil and don’t wipe off the excess oil with a clean tortilla, you get way more oil and calories than you bargained for.

This music, these lyrics, they make me think of the Squalor House (as my sister and I lovingly named it), where my sister, mother, and I shared a bed until my sister and I were in middle school. We would wake up to Saturday mornings filled with chilaquiles and our mother’s whistling. Groggy and disoriented, we would climb out of bed in our Barbie sleeping gowns. For most of our lives, it was just the three of us at that long, chipped table. As I reached my sophomore year of high school, our table became more crowded when my mother’s sister came to live with us when the Texas Healthcare system didn’t provide coverage for her dialysis.

Our home meant for one person somehow stretched to accommodate six; our kitchen became a laundromat, living room, and bedroom all in one.

And that’s where my earliest recollection of home begins.

Not in the garage that my parents lived in when they still shared a life. Not in the apartment my mother moved us

out to when she had to work late shifts. But instead, in that humble, pink building. This was the first place where I truly felt the presence of God. The blue room was my favorite; originally intended as the laundry area, my mom managed to squeeze a twin bed in there. Her bed was nice; my fondest memories are of me running to her room and jumping into bed while she slept.

There, I would enjoy the silent love that permeated the room.

There was something tangible there, something that my twelve-year-old self could recognize as the presence of God. I knew he was real; I’d come home to find my mom praying on her knees in that little blue room. She’d spend hours there, praying, seeking, worshiping while Terry MacAlmon’s voice rang high on the CD player. I knew that a person wouldn’t dedicate so much time to something that was not real. I just didn’t know how I could reach that same level of dedication.

I had my first experience with God in the pink room, the one my sister and I shared. I remember I was thirteen years old, just beginning to realize that life was full of wonder and boredom all at once. Pastor had given my mom a book called “The God I Never Knew,” and I made off with it when she went to work. It was there, on that flowery carpet, that I read the line: “Most people want to experience a relationship with God. But they refuse to engage with the member of the Trinity whose job it is to take them there. They refuse to engage with the Holy Spirit” (Robert Morris). I was so intrigued by this concept. That night I prayed for the Holy Spirit to help me get closer with God, and for the first time in my life I realized that true intimacy with God was possible. I felt a love so strong and inexplicable that I knew it had to come from a higher place.

And so began my intentional pursuit of God’s presence in my home. After feeling Him so tangibly in a room where someone was actively looking for Him, I decided that I wanted every space I inhabited to be a place that Jesus could inhabit too. Worship became my lifeline; when I finally got my own room in high school, my parents bought me a piano.

I would play that piano with as much fervor and passion as anyone who actually knew how to play it. And I would sing.

I would sing of how the Lord is my shepherd, of how He

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makes me lie down by the greenest of pastures. Through song I would vocalize my prayers, a lot of the Spanish worship songs we sang at church.

Most times I would start out by sitting at the piano, and I would end up sleeping sprawled on the wooden floor. Night after night would pass, each one bringing with it a new experience that would ingrain itself into my heart and into my home. There was no separation between God’s presence and my room; the first permeated the second, and the second gave space to the first.

Looking back on all of those experiences, I’ve come to realize that my definition of the word “home” relates heavily to my encounters with God in familiar places. If I hadn’t felt Him in all those places, I think I wouldn’t have had as much of a fondness for them. And I think that there’s something about it all that makes me feel safe; I think that safety, God’s presence, and home all go hand in hand.

Karen is a fourth year student completing the Public Health major and Education minor. She cares deeply for her friends, family, and first and foremost the things on God’s heart, and has made it her life’s goal to share the gospel in loving and tangible ways. She loves art, writing, reading, and critical reflections on controversial topics.

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f inding home

elseWORDS ASHLEY KIM TAUG

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y personal interpretation of home had always been living in my 3,300 square foot house with my mom, dad, and little brother. For most of my life, my family seemed to fit society’s definition of a normal family—a working father, a stay at home mother, and two very happy kids. My favorite memories were from doing typical family outings, such as going to Disneyland or Chuck E. Cheese’s. My brother and I always believed that our family dynamic was great.

Imagine my surprise when I had discovered inappropriate sexual conversations my dad was having with other women by noticing his phone texts from the backseat while he drove in front of me. As a middle schooler, I had no idea if this was acceptable or what I should do after I started witnessing the conversations. I kept struggling with what the “right” way to approach the situation was. Was I supposed to sacrifice my family dynamic and break our family apart by telling my mom that my dad was cheating on her? Or was I just being selfish because I was scared of the coming familial changes that were going to have to take place?

I finally got the courage to speak to my mom and confess about the situation I was dealing with. That night, I heard her screaming as if she were suffering in excruciating pain. I lay frozen in my bed, incredibly scared that she had died. Luckily, I calmed down and came out of my room to see police officers arresting my dad for attacking my mom, who had confronted my dad about his cheating behavior. After an emotionally traumatic and painful process, my parents eventually got a divorce and bought two different houses that forced me and my brother to adapt to switching between them.

From then on, I had lost my definition of home. This definition had been all I had known for the first fourteen years of my life, and I didn’t know how to handle this sudden change. I no longer even had that home anymore. My parents no longer loved each other and that reflected in their parenting. This period of time was definitely the hardest period I’ve had to encounter in my life thus far; I felt alone, broken, and miserable.

I was finally able to find my new version of home in an aspect of my life that has always been present but has not always been my first priority—God. I always knew that

A l t h o u g h I l a c ke d t h e physical, earthly home I wa s c o m f o r t a b l e w i t h , I c a m e to t h e r e a l i z a t i o n that “home” didn’t h a v e to b e w h a t s o c i e t y e x p e c te d i t to b e .

God was a huge part of my life, but this entire unfortunate family situation became a turning point in my walk with Him. The church youth group, my Christian friends, and my mentors helped guide me through this emotionally painful process. God surrounded me with loving and caring people so that I didn’t feel alone, and they always pointed me toward Him. I was able to realize that God was looking out for me and that I could always turn to Him in times of need. Even though something terrible had happened to me, God allowed me to trusting Him through His grace and provision. Although I lacked the physical, earthly home I was comfortable with, I came to the realization that “home” didn’t have to be what society expected it to be, which could be a perfect family with two parents. My home could be wherever God is, which is everywhere and in every moment in my life.

Over time, I eventually came to terms with the purpose of God’s plan for my life and His intention behind my parents’ divorce. God revealed to me His sovereignty and His comfort for my own personal life. I learned that God places trials in our lives in order for us to run back to Him and be able to realize that we can trust Him. Although I’m not exactly glad that God puts me through hardships, I’ve become more understanding of His reasons and I’ve been able to form a stronger relationship with Him. As for my family, my divorced parents frequently fight to this day. It used to be very toxic for both my brother’s and my lives, and now that they’re divorced, we don’t have to live in such a tense household. God proved to me through a horrible series of events in my life that He had a plan for my future within my family, even if we split apart. Even if it wasn’t what I had ever envisioned or wanted

for my family, I now know that God was and always will be in control and will always point my life in the right direction. Being able to find my home in God and not in things of this Earth really shaped who I am today, and will continue to shape my religious walk as well as my everyday life.

I can’t understand how people walk without God’s guidance in front of them. I wouldn’t have been able to go through this tough time without His love and the loving people He so graciously surrounded me with.

Even though this was definitely one of the hardest times of my life, to this day I am so fortunate and thankful for everything God did to help me and how He used the situation to make me a better person today. It has allowed me to become a stronger, more independent woman of God and I believe I can now use my story to encourage others who may be facing a tough situation in their lives or who may feel alone. One of my life verses is: “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”1 This became one of my favorite verses and it resulted from this difficult family situation that I had. I resonated with it because I felt that I had my own visions of how I wanted my family to be for the rest of my life. However, I had to come to a point where I realized that my own personal plan wasn’t what God knew was best for me and that His plan is the one that will prevail.

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My name is Ashley Kim and I’m a current first year looking to study either Integrative Biology or Public Health and I’m from Walnut, CA! 1 Proverbs 19:21 New International Version.

refugee

WORDS GRACE PARK

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The more I spend time on this earth pining endlessly after things that prove my worthiness of being loved by others,

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s I was waiting in line at my favorite cafe, 1951, to order a mochi muffin and iced latte, I glanced at the wall where they had written down a ldefinition for the term refugee. The 1951 Geneva Convention defines the term as “someone who is unable or unwilling to return to their country of origin owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion.”

The recent Rohingya refugee crisis in 2017 in Bangladesh describes how the Rohingya fled to Bangladesh to escape the violent ethnic cleansing in Myanmar. In 1982, a new citizenship law was passed that stated that the government of Myanmar do not recognize the Rohingya people as ethnic Burmese citizens. This citizenship law in 1982 that declared that Rohingya people are stateless and illegal immigrants in Myanmar pronounced the ill fate of the Rohingya people – they are forced out of the place they have lovingly called “home” for many decades.

What feelings do you associate with “home”? People typically have robust imaginations of what “home” feels like because of their collection of fond childhood memories. So, when they think about “home,” they associate feelings of trust, safety, of laughing scenes and lively conversation at dinner tables, cozy fires, home-cooked food, a family huddled together on couches watching TV. Growing up at “home” was very different for me. My family and I moved around a lot—so we didn’t have a permanent home or stay in a place for a long time. When I think back to my childhood memories, I don’t share those robust imaginations of “home.” Home, to me, felt like a bomb could go off at any moment with my dad’s temper. My parents fought a lot and flung hurtful words at each other, expressing their discontent and hatred, and dissatisfaction in their marriage for one another. I was desensitized by scenes of violence and anger in my household, and I counted the days until I could finally leave home.

In my first semester at UC Berkeley, I discovered Christ. I found a church and fellowship. In these close, intimate relationships, I felt excited to do Christian life with other like-minded Christians wanting to grow in our understanding of God and our relationships with God. However, my desire to go to church conflicted with my parents’ desires for me to focus on school.

They feared that instead of going to law school, which they had envisioned for me, I’d become a Jesus freak and drop my education to go to Biola or some seminary school, after I voiced interest in wanting to stay in the Bay Area and stay involved in ministry at church. My parents wanted to impress the idea to me that there is a “heaven on earth” and that I should focus on the present realities in front of me, such as that if I don’t succeed academically in

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school, I won’t get into a top-tier graduate school like the Ivy Leagues.

So, I felt my Christian beliefs, which has strongly become a major part of my identity, were not accepted at home.

Being both a Christian and a college student at UC Berkeley, I struggle to not fall to conventionalism. College is a time where you can try out new things. College hookups at frat parties and dating apps, partying, drink til you get wasted, and “cheap thrill” activities send out a clear message: “I don’t care what I do with my life! I want to have fun!” When we give into these cravings and do all these things, our own moral compass twists, and we doubt God whether he is real or powerful and ask, “Why does He not stop me?” With this warped understanding of God, we can live life recklessly and don’t consider the consequences of our actions. This way of life describes someone who sees life as filling their physical appetites: #YOLO. My classmates think it’s very strange that whereas most people spend their Fridays partying or engaging in other cheap thrill activities, I choose to be at someone’s home, eating, reading and studying the Bible with other Christians. Questions such as “what is my purpose in life/who am I/who is God/is what I am doing now “worth it?” keep me up at night. Over the years, I realize now how chasing after academic success has left me little to wonder about these spiritual questions.

Living out Christian life on earth is difficult because although the Bible says that I can be secure knowing that my identity is that I am a child of God, other voices in this world that compete with God’s voice tell me that I should prove myself that I am worthy of being loved.

I face days where I feel insecure in my worth and feel I need to do things to gain the approval or love from others. The more I spend time on this earth pining endlessly after things that prove my worthiness of being loved by others, I realize how there is no “heaven on earth.”

Rather, it’s an endless race after the next high or achievement. But in this struggling, I’ve known to differentiate between voices and God’s voice - a gentle voice that reminds me that I am known intimately by Him as a child of God. Mark 1:11 says, “...You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (New International Version). Even before Jesus heals the sick, casts out demons, or begins his ministry, God tells Jesus that He is “well pleased” with Him. Romans 8:22–23 says, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.” So as I continue to wrestle with living out Christian life on this earth, I can not only rejoice that my identity comes from being a child of God, but hope for the day where I can fully know that I am a child of God in

the heavenly abode, my true “eternal” home. Home is where God is.

My only conclusion is that Christians are refugees; we are just temporarily living in this world. While living in this world, we face all kinds of persecution from the people we love, our college campus, the world – and voices that compete with God’s voice—saying we can make “heaven on earth” here in the now, in the shape of accolades, achievement, and success. In my struggle to fight these voices that call me to prove my worth, I don’t satisfy the longing I have in my heart, and that longing only confirms that I am a spiritual body—that I long for something that is greater than my endless pursuits for these things. My home is not here on earth, filling my physical appetites, but in heaven with God. John 14:1–3: “In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.

And you know the way to where I am going.”

All these endless pursuits of wanting to be loved made me desire for unconditional love, the love of the Heavenly Father. God’s sweet voice that says, “...You are Beloved, in you I am well pleased.” I tried to fill the cross-filled hole in my heart by finding my source of love through mediums such as academic success, romance, or accolade, but God’s love for us is bigger than these. His heart is revealed through the marvelous story of The Prodigal Son. I marvel at this story because of how it describes God’s heart for us. The story talks about a wayward youngest son who takes his share of the inheritance and goes off to a far-away country, and rapidly spends his inheritance on cheap thrills, and without money, he works as a hired farmer that looks after the pigs. He recognizes the ugliness of the “pig sty” that he was in, when he desires to eat what the pigs ate, and comes back to his father in hopes of being treated as one of his servants. Luke 15:11-24 says, “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compas-

I realize how there is no “heaven on earth.” Rather, it’s an endless race after the next high or achievement.

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sion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.” The father celebrates because his son has returned. I imagine the father was waiting by the road, expectantly, for his son’s return. The father’s love is described as the heart of God. God’s merciful love and heart for us is revealed in the coming and death of Jesus Christ, in such a vulnerable form as a baby, coming to earth to relate with us and ultimately to die for us. Logically speaking, there was no way we could meet him where he was at. If one being is higher and the other is lower, how can we relate? Even to a higher, holy being as God. Following that logic, it only makes sense that the being that is higher needs to descend to the lower. In a relationship, you need to reveal yourself to the other person in order to relate. That’s what God did. He came to meet us where we’re at, and He did what our amount of works could not produce or do: he gave us a gift of salvation—salvation from our sins and our fallen ways of living. Here on earth, things like nature and beauty in music are just tiny, tiny expressions of who God is. If these are tiny, tiny expressions of who God is, then God must be super majestic! I have robust imaginations of heaven, such as feelings of trust, safety, of laughing scenes and lively conversation with God and His people. I look forward to an eternal home where I can be in heaven forever with God and other children of God. Home is where God is. As Christians, we are refugees, and although we are temporarily living in this world, we can rejoice with the fact that we can soon join our Heavenly Father in heaven one day, where our true home is.

Grace Park is a junior at UC Berkeley pursuing a major in Political Science with a concentration in International Relations and minor in Peace & Conflict Studies. In her spare time, she likes to practice playing acoustic and electric guitar, meeting up/maintaining her relationships with people, and loves spending time at her favorite cafe in 1951.

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t s w o

WORDS JOSH KO

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ies tell M

ovies, one of the latest in a long line of ways we use to tell stories, were made for a big screen, millions of pixels projected to turn the unreal into the real. But this past year had one particular movie that got me, and millions of others, wishing the real was more unreal. Crazy Rich Asians debuted August 15 to a sea of thinkpieces and emotional tweets, becoming a huge box office hit and spawning a new film franchise and cultural marker as the biggest hit to date starring a mainstream Westernized Asian cast, the first in 25 years. But to me and many of my friends, it wasn’t just a funny romantic comedy. There was something special, something different, about seeing an allAsian American cast take center stage after years of being subjected to the roles we’ve gotten so tired of: the demasculinized nerd, the hypersexualized woman, the geek girl with a stripe in her hair, the sidekick. Even though Singapore is a real place with its own host of complex problems, the Singapore of the film becomes a fantastical Hollywoodized paradise where people with black hair not only rule, but are depicted as handsome and beautiful, smart and powerful.

While this is new and exciting for me to see powerful

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Asian Americans on the big screen, it’s only the latest in a long line of aspirational, yet fictional, places where our weaknesses are made strengths and the powerless are given power. Earlier this year was the release of Marvel’s Black Panther, which featured King T’Challa of Wakanda, a fictional African nation that looks like a third-world country but is actually the most technologically advanced, thanks to a powerful metal used to develop all of their buildings and technology. Years before that, readers, and later, moviegoers, were introduced to J. K. Rowling’s world of Hogwarts, another in a long line of stories featuring characters who know they are different yet find a magical world where they do, in fact, belong.

I know a thing or two about what it’s like to feel different. I have never truly felt at home in my own body in my own city. Growing up, I was so used to seeing white faces in the media that at one point, I almost assumed that I was white too. Looking in the mirror one day and realizing how I actually looked like made me feel ugly to not look like what was considered “normal,” as a shy and awkward kid in an insecure human skin. I always felt like I was also never culturally Chinese enough—I didn’t celebrate any Chinese festivals except for Chinese New Year and spoke Chinese only well enough to order dim sum. High school found me, a middle class Asian American kid, surrounded by the poor kids who bussed in and the rich ones who drove—a line of cars with wheels curbed just enough to get out of a ticket. There has always been something about this identity between the margins that has given me a metaphorical cloak of invisibility, holding onto these jarring juxtapositions that keep my heart racing to myself.

The insecurities did not stop there—throughout my life, I have continuously struggled with seemingly simple concepts that sometimes feel very dark and confusing. Am I loved? Am I really fearfully and wonderfully made? Those concepts do not even begin to touch on the sometimes overwhelming deluge of thoughts and anxieties that have crossed my mind on and off, hovering in the background from big life

i have never truly felt at home in my own body in my own city. growing up, i was so used to seeing white faces in the media that at one point, i almost assumed that i was white too. events to intimate moments alone. In attempting to cope, I have found a variety of ways to try and ignore these perplexing questions. There was a time in high school where it would calm me down if I went to Yahoo! and simply scrolled down a seemingly never ending column of clickbait headlines and words on a screen. I never read an article, but it was a way for me to gain some sense of control through some mundane activity and the move of a mouse. The escapism today might manifest more in the form of a YouTube rabbit hole or a Facebook time suck. It’s not the activities that are necessarily worrying, but my motivation for trying to ignore my problems for so long that all of a sudden, I find myself even more trapped. In all this, it’s no wonder that Crazy Rich Asians stands out as a temporary escape where my identity becomes associated with power and privilege, characters becoming sought after and loved.

The tendency to fixate and fantasize and lose ourselves in escapist narratives is not a new one. Imagine: the world’s most powerful empire takes over your land and installs a shadow government with a figurehead king while continuing to impose its own political will. A political movement of extremists, disgusted at the polytheistic culture’s infiltrating their worship of one God, is pushing to incite your people to rebel against the foreign power that has invaded and displaced you. Under the backdrop of these political and religious tensions lies a group of people who find themselves strangers in their own land. The Israelites have become used to living life on the border of home and someplace else. Over hundreds of years, they had been placed into slavery and captivity, deported, displaced from their families, and made to feel as if they could and would never have their own home again. The Roman Empire seemed to add another verse to what was becoming a familiar song.

To make it through this seemingly endless cycle, the Jews constantly reminded themselves of a series

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narratives frame and color our everyday experiences, from our ncoming stereotypes to our outgoing perspectives and reflections. of prophecies predicting a Messiah, or Anointed One, who would unite the tribes of Israel and restore them to power and establish peace through the land. For hundreds of years, they had patiently waited, and their dream of finally facing down their oppressors seemed to gain traction with the arrival of an incredible healer and teacher named Jesus 2,000 years ago preaching, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!”1 As an Asian American, I can relate to feeling like a man without a country, of being trapped between two worlds. It would make sense to be drawn to the narrative of a Savior who rescues us from our ambiguous identities.

Joseph Campbell was a mythologist who conceived the idea of the Hero’s Journey, an archetypal story pattern he proposed after researching countless myths and stories from all over the world. We create all kinds of narratives to help us discern how we see the world. In his writing on drama and poetry, Aristotle declares the “structure” of art as the most important, arguing, “life consists in action, and its end is a mode of action, not a quality.”2 Narratives frame and color our everyday experiences, from our incoming stereotypes to our outgoing perspectives and reflections. At their worst, they become toxic “fake news” narratives and beliefs that aren’t true that manifest themselves into personal and societal cycles of hurt, blame, or self-denial. At their best, they encourage us to look beyond our own petty emotions and temporary pleasures, and they ask us to try and become better people, encouraging others to become the brightest possible light they can be.

It’s in the middle where escapist narratives as popular entertainment fits in. While Crazy Rich Asians and Black Panther may shape new ways of imagining people of color as human—powerful, smart, hurting, looking for love—and allow for people to become more confident in their own identities, they are obviously not the long term solution for untangling my and our cultural baggage. While there have been great efforts of late to try and diversify a media industry that has largely represented dominant experiences and perspectives, wins for inclusion will ultimately have a limit. For all the good the work of increasing representation on screen is doing, there will still be the work to affect institutional and individual restrictions we place on ourselves that limit our self-worth, or our morality. How do we define our souls, and can they be saved? Martin Luther writes, “...since faith alone justifies, it is clear that the inner man cannot be justified, freed, or saved by any outer work or action at all, and that these works, whatever

ding me

1 Mat. 3:2 Holman Christian Standard Bible.

2 Aristotle. The Poetics. Chapter VI.

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their character, have nothing to do with this inner man.”3 Art may help us explore and grow comfortable with our difference, but it will never be able to permanently eradicate our desire to find home—to be completely accepted and unconditionally loved.

And yet, for as much as He admits He is the Messiah to those who ask, under three separate occasions in the book of Mark, Jesus seemed to undermine most people’s view of Him as the Messiah. Instead of offering teases of His battle plan, He teaches and heals the weak and the vulnerable. Most importantly of all, Jesus predicts His own death three times, rebuking those who question Him (Mk 8:32) and invoking the posture and supposed power of being a servant, not a ruler (Mk 10:42–45). This is not the narrative most Jews of the day would have liked to hear, nor the type of blockbuster-friendly story us contemporary audiences would pay $10 to see. However, Jesus did not come to satisfy a narrative, but to fulfill one.

While the life of Jesus might fulfill the ultimate narrative of human history, His ministry still came as a surprise to His followers, many of whom told themselves a story of physical redemption and reclamation of power at the hands of a Messiah. That story was incomplete.

There was a story that had begun years before the Roman occupation of Judea, and the Babylonian occupation, and the Assyrian one, and the enslavement of the Hebrew people by the Egyptians. It was a story that began at the creation of the world, a perfect world where God was in perfect union with his human creations. But after sin entered the picture, we didn’t become the heroes. It was God the Father working in tandem with Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit who took the call to adventure as a call to redemption, sending the Son to die for the sinful and broken people we are and the Spirit to empower our very own hero’s journeys so that we could one day return to a paradise where we are fully known and loved by our Creator. In that action of death on the cross, we find Jesus representing all of humanity, our full existence’s gaining the ability to be redeemed.

As an Asian American Christian still grappling with my brokenness, it is hard sometimes to live in a world muddled by gray moralities and complicated questions of identity, to be in and not of, and to be not completely Asian or completely American. And yet, I am comforted in the fact that for all of the stories we tell ourselves in a given day or a given life, Jesus has given us one where there is no fear in death and no fear in life. We are allowed to be our fullest selves when we turn our eyes up and accept our place as children of an all-powerful God. That is where we feel like and find our home, and where we can put our hope. It’s the seemingly unreal story that was made real.

findi hom

3 Luther, Martin, ed. Harold J. Grimm. Christian Liberty. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1957. 7-8.

by josh ko

ding me

that is where we feel like and find our home, and where we can put our hope. it’s the seemingly unreal story that was made real. josh ko is the ko-executive director of kollaboration sf, a non-profit organization that aims to provide aapi artists with the resources and support they need to work in the entertainment industry. in his spare time, you can catch him catching up on his tv shows and eyeing new foods to try out with his friends.

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Numberless are the world’s wonders, but none More wonderful than man; the stormgray sea Yields to his prows, the huge crests bear him high; Earth, holy and inexhaustible, is graven With shining furrows where his plows have gone Year after year, the timeless labor of stalling ons.

Simon Kuang

The lightboned birds and beasts that cling to cover, The lithe fish lighting their reaches of dim water, All are taken, tamed in the net of his mind; The lion on the hill, the wild horse windy-maned, Resign to him; and his blunt yoke has broken The sultry shoulders of the mountain bull.

Words also, and thought as rapid as air, He fashions to his good use; statecraft is his, And his the skill that deflect the arrows of snow, The spears of winter rain: from every wind He has made himself secure––from all but one: In the late wind of death he cannot stand. 1

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Simon Kuang

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Thou art become (O worst imprison The Dungeon of thy self; thy Soul (Which Men enjoying sight oft with Imprison’d now indeed, In real darkness of the body dwells, Shut up from outward light To incorporate with gloomy night; For inward light alas Puts forth no visual beam.

O mirror of our fickle state, Since man on earth unparallel’d!2

This having learnt, thou hast attained the summe Of wisdom; hope no higher, though all the Starrs Thou knewst by name, and all th’ ethereal Powers, All secrets of the deep, all Natures works, Or works of God in Heav’n, Aire, Earth, or Sea, And all the riches of this World enjoydst, And all the rule, one Empire; onely add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add Faith, Add vertue, Patience, Temperance, add Love, By name to come call’d Charitie, the soul Of all the rest: then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess A Paradise within thee, happier farr. 3

Simon is a third-year EECS major who enjoys music, chess, and philosophy.

1 Chorus from Antigone, Sophocles 2 From Samson Agonistes, John Milton 3 From Paradise Lost, John Milton

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PHOTO SIMON KUANG

prisonment!)

Soul t without cause complain)

wells,

ight;

d!2

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POEM ADRIAN BURNES

An Image of Home The icy hue mists night’s rightful firmament.

Beneath conifers, crawl in a sea of snow.

This hungry, thirsty, delirious moment Teaches me that life is but a painful show.

But behold my weary eyes a faint smoke plumes.

Can it be home? To the starless sky I pray.

My last strength, I enter the glade. There it looms, Lone edifice! Mercy? Does my mind betray?

Fists to the door’s wood. It bleeds. Let me inside, Or throw me in Gehenna1 if I’m not there.

Warm hearth, so close yet far. Torment I abide, But did I earn? Gnashing teeth, you blankly stare.

Perdition

Dying flesh, I fall from my feet. Like mud. Sinking.

A gust slips me further away. Opens the door.

Clement as e’er dreamt, his strong hand worth taking.

At last my longing in quenched. Death is no more.

Paradise An Image of Home

Adrian Burnes is a third year undergraduate student at UC Berkeley studying History. Born in Phoenix and having grown up mostly in San Diego, Adrian spends much of his spare time writing poetry.

1 In rabbinic literature and Christian and Islamic scripture, Gehenna is a destination of the wicked. This is different from the more neutral Sheol/Hades, the abode of the dead, although the King James Version of the Bible usually translates both with the Anglo-Saxon word Hell.

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cloudy vision Why do God’s children look up at the sky? Is it because we’re longing for something more? Do we want to be anywhere else but where we currently are?

It could just be that we find it relaxing to gaze at the clouds and see the fluffy shapes they make. However, is that actually the case or do we actually long to be comforted by one of those clouds?

This is a short story of one of those people that lives in the clouds.

A person who lives in a little town no one knows that’s elevated so that it rests in the clouds on a mountaintop.

However, not all is as it seems through that veil of calm, tranquil, and relaxing mist.

The people who look up to this city can only see a cloud.

However, those same people only look like specks through the cloudy veil.

Most people choose to ignore the specks for they seem insignificant, for those specks seem like nothing but mere dots hidden behind the clouds.

What can be said about these clouds that hide people and make people no longer able to see one another but through a dense fog?

Those clouds, they comfort everyone.

They keep people in their own space hidden from everything.

However, nobody can tell what’s beyond someone’s personal cloud until you go and see the world outside of it for yourself. If you don’t, then you cannot see beyond the drizzly haze that we call life. You will stay in a place you call “safe.” However, your cloud comforts you. It allows you to see only what you want to. In this way, your cloud deceives you. Your cloud wants to make sure you never leave it. And, your cloud is what your judgment is derived from.

With this in mind, how can someone want to stay hidden in their cloud forever?

Hidden from the Heavens.

Hidden from who they truly want to be.

Hidden in a cloud.

With their mind in the clouds.

They’re lost, deceived, unable, and unwilling to find answers Constantly looking for something That they cannot find.

Because the clouds are there to make it harder to see the truth.

Many people will ask, “How can someone find Something they cannot see?” or “How can we know it exists at all?”

However, by listening to that little nagging but persistent voice that makes us able to question the mind, we can understand and answer these questions.

But we must have faith.

We must have faith to listen to that voice that guides us.

If we cannot have faith in that voice, we cannot find what we are seeking.

We cannot find what guides us in this life.

We cannot see what our actions do Because they have no meaning.

They do not help anyone.

They do not represent who we truly are.

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We cannot know our name Our name is Legion For we are many We are a creature Lost in clouds

SHORT STORY MATTHEW ROBERTS

The Spirit guides us, for those who choose to follow can be led Home.

Home to what we search for Home until the end of all days Home where we can know our name Home where we can be with those created Let the Creator lead you home Not the creature

Only One can stand alone Although all may try All will fail He can and we can’t But we can’t be home by ourselves For we need to be there with Another We need to be there with Him He who leads people out of the clouds Through Him we can think with clarity At Home Where He is.

Matthew Roberts is running towards and away from things, but is constantly comforted by God.

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By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.

Proverbs 24:3–4

unknowngodjournal.wordpress.com

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