Stanford Vox Clara | Spring 2012

vox clara

at Stanford

Forum of Christian Thought and Action at Stanford

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Contents

Staff President Tara Guarino ‘12

Features

Editor-in-Chief Kyle Pollock ‘14

12 Origins of Christianity

Designer-in-Chief Luke Knepper ‘14

18 Spaghetti, Waffles, & Jesus

Design Intern Josh Bloom ‘12

20 Elegy

by Natalie Wiesen

by Geoff Tabor

Brittany Bennett

Finance Graham Thompson ‘14

News & Spotlights

RUF Spotlight 11

Public Relations Ellie McCardwell ‘14

by Lizzy O’Brien

Believing Anyway 15

Board of Advisors D.G. Elmore Steve Stenstrom Andrea Swaneyv

by Rachel Coleman

Stanford Gospel Choir 25

by Ashley Buckner

Cover Photo Veronika Kusuma

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Regular Features

Letter from the Editor

33 Get Involved

34 Letter from the President

Prose and Poetry

photo by Veronika Kusuma

For this issue of “Vox Clara at Stanford,” we chose the theme “Origns of Faith.” We encouraged students to write pieces, compose poems, and take photographs that capture the essence of their faith journey.

We were blessed with work ranging from historical narrative to personal reflection, epxressing viewpoints of both certainty and questioning. We are extremely grateful for the opportunity to present you with the Spring 2012 issue of “Vox Clara at Stanford.”

Hosea’s Wife 6

by Morielle Stroethoff

To Hosea’s Wife 8

by Morielle Stroethoff

Believing Anyway 15

by Rachel Coleman

A Move from Belief to Trust 16

by Trent Wiesen

Fellowship 19

by Rachel Kolb

Speak, Prayer 26

by Anonymous

Mosaic 27

by John McDonough

The Origins of My Faith 28

by Glen Davis

photo by Charles Clegg

It’s Raining Outside 30

by Kim McCabe

Vox Clara Our Purpose

Vox Clara seeks to provide a platform for believers and non-believers at Stanford to engage in dialogue that inspires a lasting response to the Gospel message. We believe it is important to address issues of faith in the University community. As Jane Stanford’s words on the wall of Memorial Church warn: There is no narrowing so deadly as the narrowing of man’s horizon of spiritual things. No worse evil could befall him in his course on earth than to lose sight of Heaven. And it is not civilization that can prevent this; it is not civilization that can compensate for it.

No widening of science, no possession of abstract truth, can indemnify for an enfeebled hold on the highest and central truths of humanity. ‘What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?’

We find spiritual truth in Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, who became man, died, and rose again

photo by Robert Knepper

for the salvation of all. Through Him we interpret and understand the world in which we live. Vox Clara seeks to express to the Stanford community that religion is not a set of rules that threatens our freedom or creativity but rather is the hope that pervades our entire lives.

Simply put, we are trying to provide an account of the hope we cherish within us. We do not wish to impose our beliefs but instead to propose our views to everyone at Stanford who is searching just as we are—searching for purpose, for truth, and for Love.

As we seek collectively, we will strive to speak with a clear voice and voyage together, elevating each other’s lives in the process. From different Christian traditions and each with our own experience, we at Vox Clara have come together to explore how faith illuminates life and how life enriches faith. We invite all to join us in this important conversation.

vox nostra

A note on our name

In the words of C.S. Lewis speaking on Christianity, “it is at her centre, where her truest children dwell, that each communion is really closest to every other in spirit, if not in doctrine. And this suggests that at the centre of each there is something, or a Someone, who against all divergences of belief, all differences of temperament, all memories of mutual persecution, speaks with the same voice.”

We at Vox Clara celebrate this voice of Jesus Christ and believe that His is the true voice. It forms the foundation of our hope and strength. For this reason, we have chosen “Vox Clara,” a Latin phrase meaning “clear voice,” as the name for this organization.

Letter the Editor from

Christ reveals himself to people in many different ways.

Some people are raised in the church from a young age and grow up learning God’s promises. Others experience miracles or powerful encounters with God and are forever changed by the experience. As I have grown in Christian community here at Stanford, I have witnessed only some of the vast ways that Christ chooses to make himself known.

My personal beginning with Christ traces back to being raised in a Christian household. My family and I weren’t avid church-goers but Christ was integrated into the way my siblings and I were raised. I can’t really pinpoint a certain moment in my life when I suddenly believed; I just grew up taking other people’s word for it that Christ was real. I didn’t really know Him personally. My concept of being Christian was simply being a good person by society’s standard and doing the right thing. I had faith and believed that Jesus had died on the cross and rose again but that reality didn’t really resonate or personally impact my life in a deep and meaningful way. This attitude characterized my faith throughough high school. I did the right thing most of the time, prayed every now and then (when I wanted something or when things were tough), and read the Bible sparingly. My personal relationship with Christ was much more theoretical and in my head rather than real. It seemed distant to me. I believed in Christ, but I wasn’t committed to Him. God changed my outlook on faith when I got to Stanford.

I got involved with several Christian fellowships on campus and was able to see what focused faith looked like. I saw people whose actions, and way of living even, were based upon their relationship with God. It was the first time I heard people talk to Jesus with deep reverence, as their beloved. It was the first time I saw people really submit themselves to God’s will for their life and let Him direct decisions, even on a daily basis. I saw a humility and grace that attracted me and helped me to understand that I was not living my life the way it was intended to be lived. It was in this time that I realized I was made to be in deep and intimate relationship with Jesus and trust Him with my whole life. It was in this time that I began to fall in love with Christ.

Realizing this was like making a trip to Antiques Roadshow. Just as someone might go to the Antiques Roadshow warehouse with a seemingly non-valuable piece of furniture, I went into college with a faith that was just sitting around uselessly somewhere in the attic of my life. But like an appraiser at the Roadshow properly identifies the real worth of the piece, God showed me what an unbelievable treasure had been given to me in Christ. Much like a piece of furniture does not transform into something fundamentally different in the moment when the appraiser pronounces it valuable, Christ was exactly the same before I had realized His beauty and after. Rather, just my acknowledgment of His real presence changed. Praise be God that His worth and greatness do not depend on any human’s acknowledgement; God is great without us. Christ is always infinitely beautiful and worthy, whether we realize it or not. But oh how sweet it is when God’s beauty captures our gaze.

Experiencing people who were serious and committed to living as Jesus made me realize just how insincere my faith in high school had been. During high school, I had thought I was a “good enough” Christian, but God showed me that

He wanted me to do more than just believe in Him, He wanted me to trust Him completely with my whole life. Even now, I find myself thinking that I am living a “good” Christian life at times, but then I realize that there are so many ways that I still don’t trust in God. I am humbled and reminded that my current faith is still lacking and my knowledge of Him is like a water drop in a vast ocean.

This is one of the awesome things about God: just about the time you think you have everything figured out, He reminds you that you still have a lifetime of walking with Him ahead of you and eternity to sing His praise. This is a beautiful truth though, and a glorious opportunity. It may be a long road that is often challenging but it is so exciting to have the chance to be continually experience Him and to know that we will never reach an end destination on this earth because God’s greatness can’t be fully known and because this earth is not our home. It is such a sweet image, Jesus walking by our side for the rest of our life, constantly, gracefully, and patiently teaching us and increasing our faith. It makes us realize that there isn’t really just one beginning faith throughout all of our lives, but rather a constant renewal and reorganization as layers are stripped away from “us” to reveal the real origin of faith inside all of us: Jesus. 2 Corinthians 4: 16-17 speaks directly to this, stating, “Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison.” Even though life may be tough at times, God renews us with Himself. If only we look to Him, He renews our being, He renews our purpose, He renews our faith, each and every day.

In this journal, you will have the opportunity to read about many origins of faith. Some are inspiring and exciting while others are tough and riddled with questions and bumps along the way. As you read, we encourage you to look to your own faith too. Think of not only where it started (if it has), but more importantly how it should grow and how it should be continuing to flourish. Whether you are a mature Christian, just starting your walk with Christ, or someone questioning Christianity, we pray that this journal will challenge you to find your own origin of faith in Christ and to be seeking to have Him renew it each day.

“And that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth.”

- Ephesians 4: 23-24

Kyle Pollock Editor-in-Chief, 2011-12

Hosea’s Wife

by Morielle Stroethoff

But I do not imagine. I reason. And I find

To me, you are more of a question

than a person.

Did you love him? Your husband. Did you love them all? Or were you paid for it? Did he love you? Or was it an arduous duty? Your marriage. And did you

two possibilities:

1. Questions are like mirrors,

placed around the verse

to show us our own

faces in the story.

She cheated for the gold that dripped through the palms of other men into the jeweler’s

know he knew? That you would cheat.

box, thinks someone, and yet Hosea won her back.

Perhaps there is hope for me. Someone repents

Had cheated. Or both. Did he even know

and sleeps that night.

at all?

2. Questions are

road signs -- set there to remind us of our own stupidity in searching

A multitude of questions

for anything beyond abstract truth

may make up

in a clear cut allegory.

a person, but in a book

I cannot tell why or when she cheated. Clearly, it’s not important. She cheated.

Did you?

too many absent answers makes a person disappear, leaving behind only an abstract concept -- a silhouette of meaning, whose “personhood” is forged in the minds of those who read. You morph into a victim, villain, hero, friend, or

what they please.

And so have I. But how, but why, but when, but where? Irrelevant. The story says He will win me back again. Another prayer.

Another restful night.

And yet, I cannot help but wonder

from whence comes the assurance:

this passage knows my name?

Perhaps you, Gomer, asking questions from that mysterious

photo by Infomatique

void inside your scant contour of facts, you draw us all (yes, me included)

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Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 2

God knows where.

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To Hosea’s Wife

by stale air larger then larger

by Morielle Stroethoff

and a film of sticky rubber tightens across my cheeks.

I am Hosea’s wife.

My fingers clutch the Bible, my lungs take in new air,

“My name is Gomer.”

Were these the words I had to speak?

It seems so. The breath -- a fresh intake, and yet the same fruit-stained exhale voices the same rebellious sentence.

To you, I write these verses.

Running on iced coffee (versus

pure adrenaline), it feels too late for verses.

And yet something in me, spitting out dark verse, says, Yes. From the tight confines of my empty

bed, across the span of twenty-nine centuries, I have to ask if you know what God might be doing to me now. And so

I write to you, the unfocused silhouette of a scapegoat who has endured through those centuries to be translated and re-translated -wife of whoredom, wanton, prostitute, putin, Ehebrecherin, 奸妇 -- and history’s name for you, Hosea’s wife,

that linguistic emblem of your husband’s ownership,

Yes, that was the only answer I could give.

I am a woman.

But you, my story Gomer, you must have felt them too

(these days, we call them hormones) those monthly fluctuations of longing and indifference for a man’s arms and cheeks

and delicate heart.

I’m guessing you did not love them either, that you too only needed to feel their hands on your shoulder, their heads on your knee, and that -- most of all -- you had to be that sacred being they could cling to and breathe their ragged fear into your neck until you saved them with your embrace. Did you too lie curled and stiff beneath a paper quilt, after the end of man’s half-hearted worship and short-lived sacrifice? And was that how he won you back -- your husband -- was that how he seduced you? Pushing you to despair, to a last ditch cry for sanity. For help.

But your shame only stings them

for a moment.

Then they open their mouths to repeat, “I am Hosea’s wife,” and are told they will be seduced, loved, and fed by their eternal Husband. Comforted, they can sleep that night, snug in His intangible embrace.

But I -with the goose-pimpled flesh of my brain twisting close, trying to warm itself by remembering the gentle v of a lover’s ribs against my side, which fit, I remember, almost perfectly into the spaces between mine --

Please tell me this might be His way

of winning me once more.

I know what that faceless visionary,

your husband,

the roar of judgment beneath his voice, I know what he wants me to say:

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MORIELLE STROETHOFF is a senior

photo by Luke Knepper

Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 2

I have a name.

And no, I am not simply a face to fill in your empty outline, penned and preached so loud by men.

I have heard it squeezed through the lips of your oppressors and spat across the burning faces of their congregations.

I am Hosea’s wife. The words try to fly from my mouth, but instead they stretch into a sphere, pushed

until it breaks

studying English with a minor in Physics. She lives and works as an RA in Faisan, where she was lucky enough to live all of her years at Stanford. In addition to Faisan, her favorite things include acting, directing, worshipping with the Reformed University Fellowship, reading Hosea with her Bible Study friends, and playing ultimate frisbee.

Gomer!?!?

To you, I write these verses.

This conflict: insomnia versus

hope. And though your husband’s verses,

condemn so much in me, each solitary verse says, “I know your name.”

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RUF Spotlight

by Lizzy O’Brien

RUF serves students at Stanford by giving a well-developed, heart-felt witness to the person and work of Jesus Christ. We long to cultivate mature relationships among students that manifest themselves in a love for others, a heart for service, and a deep intimacy with the Living God.

As God deals with us through His Word and through each other, we hope to see the Kingdom of God advance beyond the campus of Stanford into the community at large. We invite you to be a part of God’s work in, with, and through RUF at Stanford.

Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) is a national ministry that seeks to “build a community on the college campus that reaches students…with the message of the gospel and equips them to love and serve Jesus and his Church.”

RUF Stanford meets on campus every Tuesday night for large group at 9:15pm in room 300-300, where we worship, have time for fellowship and listen to a

message delivered by campus minister Britton Wood.

We are connected to Grace Presbyterian Church, a local church community that is part of the Presbyterian Church in America, but students who attend RUF come from many different kinds of faith backgrounds. Students can get rides to Grace Presbyterian Church every Sunday morning at 9:40am.

One of my favorite parts of RUF has been spending time with the Wood family, since most of us are far away from our own families. They welcome students warmly into their home and their lives (with two sets of twins, their house is always filled with fun and craziness).

There are plenty of opportunities outside of large group to meet people, seek Jesus, and get more involved: we organize small groups, weekly lunches, service projects, and time to just hang out.

Some memorable annual traditions include the RUF retreat in the fall, Disco Skate night, tailgates, broomball, bonfires, dinners at the Woods’ house, and intramural sports teams (especially when we win championships!).

RUF seeks to be an environment where students can be open and real with their questions and doubts. Since the fall of my freshman year, I have come with worries and struggles to find answers.

It has been instrumental in my growth over the last four years to be mentored and discipled by upperclassmen, the Woods, and the awesome RUF interns.

In turn, I am learning from them how to disciple others. I have always been met with patience, kindness, love, and, most importantly, with the truth of the Gospel.

I am so grateful to have experienced such love and friendship in RUF that has deepened and expanded my understanding of who Jesus is.

photo by Steven Puente

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Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 2

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Origins of

by Natalie Wiesen

Christianity What is the Kingdom of Heaven?

The Kingdom of Heaven is the real place where God is King, where He reigns, and where His will is always done. It is the place where his subjects obey the laws, statutes, and principles of the government established by Him. It is a real place, right here alongside this earthly reality, that is hidden by a thin veil from our sight right now-- though it is the more real reality of the two, for it is the place where God and all that is eternal dwells. As CS Lewis says, we are not physical bodies with a soul, we are souls with a physical body. The intangible essence of our personality and personhood that fills our body is the more real and primary part of us than our bodies, just as the heavenly reality is more real than the physical reality, even now.

I like to think of the Kingdom of God / Kingdom of Heaven as an actual city, as I believe it will one day be. This city is filled with the light and physical presence of its hero and King, God himself. The people who live in the city are people who first and foremost love the person and presence of God, and who secondly love everything about the way this city is run--the government if you will. What characterizes this government? Well, many things! To begin, they are happy that everything revolves around the King and that He gets all of the glory, not them. They are happy that the old stuff of their flesh cannot dwell in this city: the selfishness, pride, lust, greed, love of money, anger, jealousy, fear of man etc that always tried to rear its ugly head is no longer even present or alive. The new stuff of the Spirit of God in them is all that is left of them: selflessness, humility, true divine kind of love, kindness, gentleness, self control, joy, peace, patience, faithfulness, compassion, mercy, fear of and respect for God, etc. All

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of the people who live in this city, from every tongue, tribe, and nation, possess this quality of character and now speak in a common language. Now think of going to a city where every single person who lived there, in addition to the awesome presence of the King, possessed this kind of character. What a joyous, loving, peace filled, delightful place it would be! Then add in the fact that the Creator of the Universe is also there, and you see why the writers of Scripture have a hard time describing what this city of God will be like.

What was the first-century Jewish expectation of what it would look like for the Kingdom of God and heaven to come to earth?

The first century Jews expected a Messiah who would come to set up the kingdom described above on earth. It would be marked by the Messiah becoming the earthly King and a complete physical and spiritual renewal of all of creation. There would be no more death, pain or suffering, sin, injustice, or evil. Israel would be restored as a nation from their oppressors, and all of Israel’s physical enemies (namely Rome) and spiritual enemies (Satan and his demons) would be triumphed over.

God would also bring judgment on all.

The Messiah would usher in a “new age.”

Scripture distinguishes between only two “ages”, or “time periods”, that mark history: those two words for “age” in the Bible are translated as “the present age” and “the age to come”. The present age is marked by sin, suffering, death, evil, and injustice, while the age to come is the triumph over, renewal, and redemption of all of those things. So they expected the Messiah to bring the “age to come”, while leaving the “present age” completely behind in one fell swoop.

Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 2

There were several people in the first century, along with Jesus, who claimed to be the Messiah. They were all crucified, which marked the end of their movement because a crucified Messiah was no Messiah at all. Death at the hands of the Romans was proof that they were not the hoped for Messiah after all. So when Jesus was crucified because of his claims to be God, because of the ways he challenged the “powers that be”, and because of the religious leaders jealousy and hatred of Him, the disciples were astonished and dismayed. Their hopes were dashed. They were depressed and afraid. They had been so sure that He was the One, and they had staked their lives and livelihood on that belief. Their life as they knew it was over.

Much to their surprise, they saw Jesus a few days later in a physical body. It appeared that he had been raised from the dead, but they had no paradigm or categories for how to interpret this fact. What did this mean? Did this mean that he was indeed the Messiah after all? the One whom they had believed in? God incarnate? But what about the Kingdom they had expected?

In Luke 24, it tells of Jesus’ appearance to his disciples. It says of Him: “And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself...

While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds? Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.” When he had said this, he showed them his hands and feet. And while they still did not believe it because of joy and amazement, he asked them,

“Do you have anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate it in their presence. He said to them, “This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms.” Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures.

He told them, “This is what is written: The Messiah will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, and repentance for the forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.”

So it seemed that the “present age” and the “age to come” were now existing together.

It seemed that Jesus had a two tiered redemption plan that they had expected to be one. He came to bring the first fruits of His Kingdom, marked by spiritual renewal first, which would grow gradually to be consummated finally with his return at a future date (like when Jesus likened the Kingdom to yeast working through dough and a mustard seed growing into the biggest tree). This spiritual renewal would include grace, forgiveness, reconciliation with God, the establishment of his body, the church, every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 1), etc. but would not completely abolish death, injustice, suffering, or evil...at least not at the moment. But not to lose hope! These would still be triumphed over at the consummation of the Kingdom.

So now read an excerpt from 1 Peter 1:3-12 in the light of this two tiered redemption plan: All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is by his great mercy that we have been born again, because God raised Jesus Christ from the dead. Now we live with great expectation, and we have a priceless inheritance—an inheritance that is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And through your faith, God is protecting you by his power until you receive this salvation, which is ready to be revealed on the last day for all to see.

So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your

faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world. You love him even though you have never seen him. Though you do not see him now, you trust him; and you rejoice with a glorious, inexpressible joy. The reward for trusting him will be the salvation of your souls. This salvation was something even the prophets wanted to know more about when they prophesied about this gracious salvation prepared for you. They wondered what time or situation the Spirit of Christ within them was talking about when he told them in advance about Christ’s suffering and his great glory afterward. They were told that their messages were not for themselves, but for you. And now this Good News has been announced to you by those who preached in the power of the Holy Spirit sent from heaven. It is all so wonderful that even the angels are eagerly watching these things happen.

It is also interesting that when Jesus stood up in the synogogue in his hometown of Nazareth, he read from Isaiah 61:1-2: The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor...

But when you look at Isaiah 61, you realize that Jesus stopped reading mid sentence.

The very next phrase in Isaiah 61 says, “and the day of vengeance of our God”... followed by, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion— to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

So it seems like Jesus had in mind this two tiered redemption plan when he read from Isaiah 61 in Nazareth, evidenced by the fact that he stopped reading mid sentence right before he got to the part of God bringing judgement and vengeance.

But how were the Israelites to know about this two tiered redemption plan? That is why John the Baptist, who knew better than anyone that Jesus was the Messiah, doubted this fact when he was thrown into prison. John sent his disciples to ask Jesus if he was the Messiah. Why was he doubting?

Because if Jesus was the Messiah, why was he in prison? Wasn’t Messiah supposed to bring judgment and justice?

Even today, we sit with this tension and question: if Jesus is really Lord of all, powerful and mighty, with all authority on heaven and earth, why is there still suffering and pain?

Because a resurrected Messiah bringing

So what happened to Jesus and why did Christianity start? only the first fruits of the Kingdom was not at all what the Jews were expecting of the One to come, it is important to realize that there was zero incentive for the disciples to make up the story of Jesus’ resurrection, start Christianity, and give their very lives for the sake of this “good news” that they were traveling around sharing. If the disciples had made up Jesus’ resurrection, they would not have died for the sake of this gospel, for no one dies for a lie knowing it is a lie. If they had made it up, they would have obviously known they were lying and making it up, and why in the world would they have done this? They were persecuted everywhere they went, they were poor, beaten, imprisoned, the object of riots, hungry, tired, etc. Paul says it plainly in 1 Corinthians 4:12-14, When we are cursed, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure it; when we are slandered, we answer kindly. We have become the scum of the earth, the garbage of the world—right up to this moment.

Pretty much every biblical scholar, whether a friend of the Christian faith or an enemy, would agree that the disciples clearly thoroughly believed that Jesus had raised bodily from the dead and appeared to them. Now ask yourself, is there any way in the world that they would thoroughly believe this, and give their lives it, unless Jesus had in fact raised and appeared to them? I would argue that a non-Christian is faced with the burden of arguing/proving why the disciples were lying. Christians are often put on trial for believing in the resurrection, but what about the burden of disproving the resurrection. I think it takes more faith to believe that the disciples just made it up.

There is a fabulous passage in Acts 5:3439 that addresses this notion that the birth of Christianity is one of the strongest apologetics in and of itself because there

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is no reason why it would have started unless Jesus actually rose from the dead and appeared to the disciples: But a Pharisee named Gamaliel, a teacher of the law, who was honored by all the people, stood up in the Sanhedrin and ordered that the men be put outside for a little while. Then he addressed the Sanhedrin: “Men of Israel, consider carefully what you intend to do to these men. Some time ago Theudas appeared, claiming to be somebody, and about four hundred men rallied to him. He was killed, all his followers were dispersed, and it all came to nothing. After him, Judas the Galilean appeared in the days of the census and led a band of people in revolt. He too was killed, and all his followers were scattered. Therefore, in the present case I advise you: Leave these men alone! Let them go! For if their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God. The truth is, as Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:3-8: That Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, and then to the Twelve. After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, and last of all he appeared to me also...

Paul goes on to say, But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead. But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost. If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied. But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

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Jesus rose and that is why Christianity started!

What is our hope and mission in the meantime?

Our hope in the meantime is that Jesus truly is Lord and King of all Creation, and He is redeeming all of Creation. He will be victorious, and His Kingdom will be consummated one day. He will overcome all suffering, sin, injustice, evil, Satan, and death. We will all be resurrected and given new bodies (1 Corinthians 15 is one among many passages that talks about this) to dwell and reign with Christ in the city of God where there is a complete renewal of and marriage of the heavens and the earth (Revelation 21). Our hope is that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us, (Romans 8:18). This passage goes on to say, For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to 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 to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

body, the Church, declaring the gospel to those around us and to the ends of the earth with our lives and our words, purifying ourselves (as 1 John 3:3 says, All who have this hope in him purify themselves, just as he [Christ] is pure.), loving and serving others, obeying all of Jesus’ commands and living like Him in this world, studying, teaching, and obeying the Word of God, and more, ALL BY THE POWER OF THE HOLY SPIRIT, for apart from Him we can do nothing (John 15).

Natalie Wiesen is an adviser for

the Cardinal Life community on campus at Stanford. Born and raised in Denver, Colorado, Natalie did her undergrad at Stanford from ‘02-’06, where she studied Human Biology, and was a member of the Women’s Varsity Gymnastics team. She is currently getting a Masters in Counseling (Marriage and Family Therapy, including Biblical and theological studies) at Western Seminary. Natalie and her husband Trent (‘04) now live in Palo Alto and find great joy in exploring the world with their two young children, Ellie (2 yrs.) and Caleb (7 months).

Most of all, our hope is that we will get to be with our bridegroom, the Lord Jesus Christ, and that we will be set free once and for all from our sinful nature, as 1 John 3:2 says, We know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. What is your greatest hope as a follower of Jesus? Is it in line with the same hopes that the New Testament writers had?

Recall the passage from 1 Peter 1 above which puts forth our eager expectation and hope for Christ’s return.

Our mission in the meantime is to colabor with Christ in his mission to this earth, serving as ushers and conduits to let His Kingdom come and His will be done on this earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10). That includes building his

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photo by Brian Wright

Believing Anyway

by Rachel Coleman

Abraham was first named ‘father’ and then became a father because he dared trust in God to do what only God could do: raise the dead to life, with a word make something out of nothing.

When everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he couldn’t do but on what God said he would do.

Romans 4:17-18 The 2012 Justice Conference encouraged people to live out their Christianity with radical faith. Attended by over four thousand participants, this conference confronted issues of injustice stretching across the world. Christian organizations of all denominations were offered a space to gather together with each other to teach and learn about Christian initiatives across the globe. Upon arriving at the conference center, I remember feeling a tad overwhelmed. Part of the mission of the conference was to call attention to the pervasive presence of injustice around the world; therefore each organization that represented its vision for the future also needed to frame the specific injustice it countered. The many tales of misery and cruelty and suffering blended together that first day.

However, I also remember the reassuring feeling of Christian community infused in every conversation and prayer. The Justice Conference was simultaneously inspiring and convicting. It highlighted so many examples of Christians who resolutely put their trust in God’s promises. Despite daily confronting a bitter reality––the helplessness of girls who were sextrafficked, or the bondage of a family of slaves working to pay off their debt in a brick kiln, or the despair eroding the spirits of those housed in the immigrant detention centers, or the omnipresent feeling HIV/AIDs––the men and women serving God in these different NGOs still manage to hope. The still manage to see the potential for God’s kingdom to come down and take root in the world.

Instead of accepting the status quo, this

incredible community of Christians models themselves after Abraham, seeking to live in pursuit of God’s reality, not merely enduring the unjust reality of the present world.

There were moments at the Justice Conference that actually felt like heaven.

I experienced an open gathering of people committed to living their lives for God and celebrating the struggle of bringing His kingdom to Earth. Each NGO did not operate in isolation, but could compare ideas with its companion organizations, and share stories of both successes and failures without fear of judgment. There was a deep-seated continuity and commitment inherent to the organizations. It reminded me of what Bertrand Russell says about different types of passion. He observes that: “Zeal is a bad mark for a cause. Nobody has zeal about arithmetic. It is not the vaccinationists but the anti-vaccinationists who generate zeal. People are zealous for a cause when they are not quite positive it’s true.” The Christian brothers and sisters I met at the Justice Conference were certainly passionate about their work, but were not fanatics; they lived in the real world and dealt realistically with the problems that they faced.

Yet, simultaneously there was also an element of urgency. Injustice is very much a reality and Christians are compelled by their faith to take a stand. I heard from renowned Christian speakers including Francis Chan (author of Crazy Love) Walter Brueggemann, John M. Perkins, Miroslav Volf, Richard Twiss, Maddy

Delone, Stephan Bauman, and Shane Claiborne, all of whom contributed his or her perspective on systemic issues like poverty, or sex-trafficking, or immigration reform, by intertwining the realities of current problems with Christian solutions and a call to action.

This summer I will be interning at one of the organizations represented at the 2012 Justice Conference––The International Justice Mission. It is my prayer that my passion will not burn brightly, then fade away, but rather be a sustained flame for God’s work. Though the reality of suffering can often seem grim and impossible to change, I choose to put my trust in a Living God who conquered sin and death. Not to say that I will overnight transform from my control-freak self into a perfect tool for God to use, but rather that I want to be like Abraham. “When everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he couldn’t do but on what God said he would do.” It is this submission to God’s kingdom that the Justice Conference framed so beautifully, and that I want to incorporate a little more in my life each day.

Rachel Coleman hails from Manchester, Maine, and is a sophomore majoring in Comparative Literature. She is a Residential Writing Tutor in Toyon Hall, and an officer in Testimony A Cappella.

This past winter quarter Rachel taught a one-unit student-initiated class called “Interfaith@Noon” that focused on the theme of Welcoming the Stranger, and looked at how different religions perceived immigrants and how then those beliefs shaped immigration policy.

She is extremely excited to work at the International Justice Mission this summer!

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A Move From Belief to Trust As I look back at the beginning of my relationship with Jesus, I recognize that how I came to BELIEVE in Him and how I came to TRUST in Him are two separate things. I was raised in a home with parents who believed in Jesus, and from an early age was taught that it was because of Jesus’ life, death, and rising from the dead that I, and anyone who desired it, could enter into relationship with God as He intended it. Having grown up learning about Jesus, believing in him was never an issue. However, as I moved through high school and into college, I found that trusting Him with control of my life would prove to be far more difficult.

Like most of the people who end up at Stanford, I was ambitious, determined and competitive.

I had a healthy confidence in my own abilities, and hadn’t yet encountered much in life that I couldn’t do on my own. I wanted Jesus for the security I believed him to offer (eternal life, etc…), but had a number of areas of my life, things I wanted to do, that I didn’t care for his opinion on.

I was on course to achieve my dreams, and reveled in the freedom of not really being accountable to anyone as I built a little kingdom where I had all the power.

By God’s grace, I wasn’t permitted to continue in my rebellion indefinitely.

During winter quarter of my freshman year my grades took a turn for the worst, I was sidelined in my sport due to a potentially career ending injury, I lost a relationship that I had allowed to define me for a number of years, and I began to hear rumblings of family problems back home. In the course of a few weeks I became painfully aware that there was much about life that was outside of my control. More alarming to me than my inability to control circumstances outside of myself was

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the realization that I was incapable of being the person I wanted to be in the midst of it all. Rather than being free to do as I pleased (as I previously imagined), I found that I was a slave to my desires and a slave to perceptions of those around me. Either in an effort to gain the approval of others, or because I lacked the self-control to do otherwise, I would do things, think things, and say things that were totally incongruous with who I wanted to be. I felt powerless to change, and over time began to see the consequences as I struggled with loneliness, insecurity, and depression.

Finally, with circumstances continuing to worsen, I reached the point where I was desperate for change. I was sick of the sin and brokenness in my life, and was ready to admit that I needed help. I had tried things my way for a number of years, and found that there was only emptiness and inner turmoil in my pursuits apart from God. I still vividly remember the day I confessed to God that I had a rebellious heart and wanted to turn back to him. I was ready to trust him with my life, and for the first time in my young adult life, I asked him for help.

Almost immediately, God answered my prayers by surrounding me with people who were seeking him and could encourage me as I did the same.

I picked up the Bible for the first time in years, and as I did, God began to show me things about myself, and to teach me little bits of what life should look like in His kingdom. One of the first things he showed me was that he had been at work in my life all along, and that is allowing me to become aware of how broken I was apart from Him was actually the most merciful thing he could have done at the time. Because of my awareness of how broken I was, His forgiveness and promise of new

Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 1

by Trent Wiesen

life were beautiful to me in a way that they had never been before. I began to believe that with Jesus things would actually be different.

As I look back on that time, I am acutely aware of the grace and sovereignty of God. He made me aware of my brokenness, brought me to himself by his kindness, and began to reveal himself to me by his Spirit. Since day one, it has been grace on His part that has brought victory in my life. At each stage of faith, as he has revealed more of Himself, there has been a sense of really seeing him for the first time, like a puzzle that begins to take shape with each new piece. I am beginning to suspect, however, that unlike a puzzle, there will be no end to the depth of love that I will find as I move deeper in relationship with my creator.

“By God’s grace, I wasn’t permitted to continue in my rebellion indefinitely.”

While it remains that His grace is sufficient, scripture teaches me that I need to be diligent to lay hold of that for which Jesus has laid hold of me. I am no longer free to conform to the pattern of this world, but must be transformed in every area of my life, allowing my mind to be reshaped in accordance with the governing principles of life in God’s kingdom. I must seek Him with all of my heart to lay hold of life in His kingdom, throwing off everything that gets in the way of my fellowship with Jesus—His fellowship and presence is sweeter than anything else. I must take every thought captive and make it obedient to him, intentionally cultivating a heart that is soft towards his leading. While I must be disciplined

photo by Tara Guarino in doing all of these things, I do them with an utter dependence on Jesus, who alone can enable me to do so.

At present, God continues to teach me that his purposes go far beyond the saving of your life or mine. We’re told that he has a plan to restore all of creation, and that He desires for all (not just some) people to be reconciled to relationship with him. The realization that this life is not about me is a tremendous relief. I continue to find that there is great joy in being a very small, yet mysteriously important, part of His mission for this world. I am no longer responsible for carrying the weight of maintaining my own squalid, little kingdom, but am instead free to live a life surrendered to God’s loving reign.

The more we see of God, the more he lifts our eyes to see the world around us.

He gives us a vision for the restoration of all things, the starting point from which we begin to minister to those that God has put around us. For my

wife and I, we approach ministry on campus trusting that as much as we care for the students, faculty, and staff that call Stanford home, God cares for them infinitely more. The same ocean of love that God has for me, he has for every single person who has ever or will ever live. To that end, He is constantly speaking, constantly wooing, constantly revealing himself to the students at Stanford, longing for them to return to Him. While he is the one who will do the work of drawing students to himself, God invites us into the process. We are privileged to come before God and cry out to him for his blessing in the lives of students at Stanford. As is true anytime we repeatedly ask God for his best in the life of another, he will do a miracle in enabling us to love them like he does. As that supernatural love grows, God will give us opportunities to put that love into action by selflessly giving of ourselves as he gave of himself for us. Our primary effort then, is to be attentive to God’s leading in our lives,

and seek to be present and available to be used by God as he showers on students the same grace He showered on us in our time of need.

As we look back, we are aware of God’s hand at work in our lives at every juncture. As we look forward, we trust that it will be the same. As we create space in our lives for him to work, he will lovingly reveal himself to us. He is already at work in the lives of every person we encounter, so we can move confidently forward depending on God for today, and for each and every single day that is to come.

Trent Wiesen is an adviser for the Cardinal Life community on campus at Stanford. Born and raised in Goleta, CA, Trent did his undergrad at Stanford from ‘00-’04, where he studied International Relations and Spanish, and was a member of the Men’s Varsity Water Polo team. Trent and his wife Natalie (‘06) now live in Palo Alto, and find great joy in exploring the world with their two young children, Ellie (2) and Caleb (7 months).

Forum of Christian Thought and Action at Stanford

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Fellowship

spaghetti, waffles, and Jesus

by Rachel Kolb

by Geoff Tabor As Stanford students, we often pride ourselves on our ability to compartmentalize everything in our lives: our schoolwork, our extracurricular activities, and our social lives. What we do in the seemingly secular parts of our lives tells a considerable amount about us from a Christian perspective.

In the Stanford mindset, we often crave order, knowledge, and regularity to some degree. Having practical timemanagement skills is a wonderful tool to have for college and for life in general, but I do feel that if this mindset is carried out with the fullest of intentions, it may carry some negative baggage in terms of our faith and our relationship with Jesus.

Imagine trying to compartmentalize God the same manner in which we approach our schoolwork and other activities. Imagine trying to conquer, corner, and define the God that created the Sun, the aurora borealis, trees, the ocean, sleep, dreams, and our bodies.

Imagine trying to confine the God who sent his Son into the desolate place which we call our Universe to single-handedly carry the sin of all humanity on his back and die with it.

That task not only seems foolhardy in theory, but seems impossible. If that is true, then why do we try to limit God in our everyday lives? By “limit” I am implying that we section-off certain times of our week to spend with God. We may go to church Sunday morning or Sunday evening, and go to certain student groups at a designated time of the week, or set aside quiet time during the day for Him, and that gives us the structure we crave. Don’t misinterpret this; all of those things are wonderful

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ways to hear God’s Word, connect with others in fellowship, and grow spiritually. We should continue to keep striving to attend and participate in all of these activities, as they are a healthy way to hear God’s wonderful plan amidst his beautiful creation. With that said, I feel that many of us (myself included) sometimes begin to think that these times we artificially section-off are the ONLY times we can grow closer to God, thus my feelings towards the notion that compartmentalization can pose some threats to how we seek Jesus in our everyday lives. Jesus was not an elitist and is not one today. He never will be. Jesus has enough time for all of humanity. He is, after all, the God of love, stunning power, and miraculous miracles. Jesus is there for us 24/7. If Jesus isn’t an elitist, why do we treat him as such? Is Jesus is available to permeate our lives every day, why don’t we approach him that way? Jesus is working in our lives every day of the week, in both the most triumphant parts and the darkest, most ugly corners. We seek a God who sat with beggars, talked with prostitutes, and walked the streets speaking a message of love.

Let’s think about faith in a context we can all relate to: food. If we do choose to follow God in a way that allows us to be affected by his love every day of the week and every hour of the day, we have to eat our “spiritual spaghetti”. By that, I mean that our relationship with God must permeate everything in our life. No part of our lives is off limits to Jesus. Friday and Saturday nights are times in our lives God can work just as much as Sunday morning. When I eat spaghetti, I pour sauce all over the

Vox Clara, Vol. VI, Issue 2

plate, and everything is connected. It’s messy, but it’s certainly a good messy.

When I eat waffles, however, I can pour a little syrup in the squares on the top of the waffle, and compartmentalize the syrup. I can neatly place everything where I want. We need to eat spiritual spaghetti, not waffles. The loving, brilliant, stunningly complex God that we serve deserves nothing short of spiritual spaghetti. God’s word does not merit waffle status, but rather a permeation of our being in everything we do.

Fitting into the broader theme of “origins”, coming to this realization of distinguishing spiritual waffles and spaghetti renewed my relationship with Jesus Christ. I no longer viewed Jesus as a stop at a gas station to fuel up on faith for the week, but rather a strong foundation beneath my feet that would always stay the same and be the same loving God, regardless of what earthly endeavors I may encounter.

Geoff TABOR is a senior from Ar-

dmore, Oklahoma. He is double majoring in Political Science and History. He is a member of the Stanford Track and Field team where he throws the discus and shot put. He is also a farmer by trade, and enjoys spending his time off from school back home in Oklahoma working on his family’s cattle farm with his Australian shepherd named Wolfie.

Fellowship. That is one word that the church is founded on, from Paul’s exhortations in his letters to early Christians, as well as a word that I’ve long admired in the abstract but struggled with in concrete personal application. Fellowship, or sharing in the body of Christ in balanced harmony, sounds wonderful. For me, as someone who was born deaf and has always struggled with communication with hearing people, whether Christian or not, it can seem like a pipe dream that clangs harshly every time I expect it to make an appearance.

For a while I’ve grappled with my disillusionment with the concept of fellowship, or of sharing joys and tribulations with other Christians. Yet part of this dissatisfaction stems from my preconceptions of what the word itself actually means. It is tempting to take fellowship to mean something similar to good heart-to-heart conversation, or predominantly verbal exchanges with fellow believers in which we come to some understanding of each other or of our Christian faith. My hearing loss makes those group heart-tohearts extremely difficult. At founded times it’s been tempting to buy into the idea that fellowship in its proper form may exist for other people, but not for me. Regardless of circumstances, I suspect that every believer must hear some variation of this voice whispering in his or her ear at some point.

Fellowship, in fact, can mean many things beyond the concept that I grew accustomed to while growing up, embodied in the standard announcement at the end of worship that everyone would be meeting in the fellowship hall after classes for a potluck and some good old-fashioned Christian bonding time (read: small talk). The idea that fellowship needs to stem from mass congregation and verbal conversation is, I think, narrow-minded and misguided.

Ultimately, our fellowship with others, as well as the various ways we apply the concept to our lives, rests on the bedrock of our faith.

Fellowship with others is a reflection of private fellowship with God, and has this relationship as its primary source. To offer personal testimony, again: some initially daunting experiences that I have encountered both within and outside of the church have turned into unexpected opportunities to experience His presence, irrespective of whether or not I feel “connected” with external events or interactions. For instance, I remember going to a Good Friday service a year ago in which I showed up, determined to sit in the front row, fixate on the speaker, and lipread to my fullest ability. The church wasn’t providing a sign language interpreter for me, but I still wanted to participate. I walked into the building to find people seated around a large wooden cross in the center of a completely dark room. This then led to a service based on verbal readings of scripture read over a microphone, which resonated as a disembodied voice in the blackness. Not good news for someone dependent on sight and not sound.

not with a sense of anxiety and exclusion, but of peace and security.

Please, Lord, I said silently, my chest seizing in panic as I realized that I faced an entire hour of sitting, literally in the dark, disconnected from those around me. Was the service going to be accessible for everyone except me? It’s Good Friday. Your words are floating out of range, but let me still feel you.

Hey. Want to have coffee and chat, just you and me? Whatever happens, it will be well with my soul – because it’s well with my faith.

For a while my mind raced, stuck inside its own barriers. But as I forced myself to breathe, I found that the darkness still lent itself to the kind of meditation that ought to come with Good Friday. God was still there. He was in me, I realized, not in this external voice that I couldn’t understand. Didn’t I know these scriptures, after all? In the echoing chambers of my mind a monologue appeared, which turned into prayer. I walked out of the service

Rachel Kolb is a senior and an English major from Albuquerque, NM with an enduring love of the outdoors, literature, and spicy food. She is an avid member of the Stanford Equestrian Team and enjoys travel, reading, and thoughtful conversations in her spare time. After graduation this year, she plans on staying at Stanford for a coterminal M.A. in English.

Likewise for other “fellowship” gatherings in which my deafness makes true participation difficult. I sit through a dinner or Bible study with the Christian friends I’ve met at Stanford, appreciating the efforts they make to get me up to speed on the pieces I inevitably miss, but still feeling disgruntled by my inability to engage with them as I imagine Christ wanted Christians to engage with each other. Later that night, I repeat to myself the phrase that, I believe, He teaches us all to say at one point or another. It is well with my soul. Let it be well with my soul. It takes practice, but eventually I disconnect myself from circumstances and find peace in His presence.

Working toward peace with God, regardless of the circumstances, and having things be well with my soul, have then opened doors toward letting me embrace the mindset of pursuing fellowship with others. In my case, this is not the same as a fellowship potluck “Fellowship. after service, or even a casual group outing. Knowing myself, That is one word that the church is knowing Him, and finding on, from Paul’s exhortations in his letters to peace allows me to seek out opportunities with the fellow early Christians.”

Christians I want to get to know.

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E l e g y Brittany Bennett

“For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.”

1 Corinthians 15:52 The morning of the funeral, her five-year-old niece asks her what happens after we die.

Hannah tosses the question over her shoulder as she walks across the brick flower planter in the backyard. Her small brown face serious, she slowly places one black patent leather shoe in front of the other, her arms jutting out as she tries to steady herself.

Reese watches her from the swing set, feeling a strong, sudden urge to grab her off the ledge before she falls. She imagines it, a slip of the foot, a brush of the toe against the wobbly brick before her niece tumbles to the ground.

“Hey,” she says, “why don’t you come on down from there?”

Hannah tilts her head, trying to decide whether she should listen.

She has just met her aunt for the first time two days ago, and she is still considering how much she is required to mind her.

Although Reese just turned twenty-five, her niece still treats her like an overgrown teenager: worthy of her admiration, sure, but not quite respect. It doesn’t bother Reese too much. Since she left home seven years ago, she’s realized how much she hates the Southern custom of raising kids to approach adults with fearful deference. Respect, her sister calls it.

“You still ain’t said yet,” Hannah says.

Reese pretends not to hear her, digging the heels of her black sneakers into the dirt as she slows the swing. The metal bar groans under her weight, the chains straining.

Afterward, Reese lingered in the bathroom doorway while Melanie examined his dirty diaper for signs of dysentery, or typhoid, or whatever side effect she expected Winterfresh to cause.

“Lord, Clarice,” Melanie kept saying. “You gotta be more careful.”

Reese felt guilty as she watched her sister worry over the heavy Pampers—it was her gum, maybe she should be the one rooting through the blue sparkling poop—but she knew her sister did not want her help. Melanie never asks her for anything.

In the backyard, Reese pushes her shirtsleeves to her elbows. The sun swings low in the blue-gray sky but she is already stewing in the Louisiana summer, the muggy heat. Hannah finally tires of her game, hopping safely onto the ground. She wanders over to Reese slowly, her arms stretched as she follows the crack of the sidewalk to the lawn.

“Mama said, ‘the outside goes in the ground and the inside goes to heaven with Jesus.’”

“Then that’s what I say too.”

“What about…” Hannah pauses, staring up at the sky. “Your bones?”

“Ground,” Reese says.

“What’s your mama say?” she finally asks.

“What about…your guts?”

“Not tellin’,” Hannah says. “Not until you say first.”

“Ground.”

“I say whatever your mama does.”

“But you don’t even know what she said!”

“What about…” She pokes Reese’s chest, her skinny finger piercing the ankh necklace that hangs in front of her heart.

“Don’t matter,” Reese says. “She’s your mama. She’s right.”

She doesn’t actually believe this, but she’s learned the path of least resistance: agree with everything her older sister says, especially when it comes to her children. Her sister already thinks that she is an unacceptable guardian because the day before, Reese left her suitcase in the room where her nephew Alex napped. Reese didn’t realize she’d done anything wrong until the two-year-old waddled into the living room, blue flecks plastered to his lips.

When he had woken up, he decided to rummage through her bag; he had eaten half a pack of chewing gum before anyone had come to get him.

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“Heaven,” Reese says.

* No one called when Great-Aunt Esther finally succumbed to her lung cancer. Instead, Reese received a text message from her sister while she sat listlessly in her car during the morning Los Angeles traffic. As soon as her phone rattled in the cup holder, she grabbed it. It was three weeks after Zadie’s wedding and she thought it might be her—she didn’t know why Zadie would call, she just thought she might—but when she glanced at the screen, all she saw was a text from her sister: Great-Aunt Esther just passed. Send flowers. XO Mel.

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When Reese arrived at the PR firm where she worked, she spent the morning scrolling through florist sites, the afternoon browsing for airline tickets instead. No one expected her to come home for the funeral. She had not been to visit once since she left for college, and no one thought that she would make the trip from California to mourn the passing of an elderly, distant relative.

Even Melanie told her it didn’t make sense.

“No need for you flyin’ all the way out here,” she said over the phone, while Reese rummaged through the closet for her suitcase. “It’s not like y’all were close.”

The overnight bag she’d packed for Zadie’s wedding toppled from the shelf, and Reese hugged it, rubbing her thumb against the zipper.

she looks now: the tattoos etched across her forearms, the nose ring, and her hair now short and curly, racing stripes buzzed into the sides. When she came to help dress the children earlier, she felt her sister staring at her, her Oxford shirt rolled up at the elbows, her high-top sneakers, the black jeans that hung off her narrow hips. Her bowtie, especially. As a half-naked Alex tried to wriggle out of her grasp, Melanie just pursed her lips at the black bowtie.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

Reese glances up. “What?”

“You’re gonna kill yourself,” Melanie says. “Look what happened to Great-Aunt Esther, bless her.”

“Maybe I want to see you,” she said.

“Great-Aunt Esther was seventy-five—”

“Do you?”

“Still,” Melanie says. “You gotta take better care of yourself, Clarice. Look at you.”

“And the kids.”

Melanie just sighed.

“You don’t wanna see me?” Reese said.

Reese glances down at the smoldering cigarette pinched between her fingers and flicks ashes at the dry patches of grass, ignoring her trembling hands.

“You can’t think of a better time to come home? I mean, really, Clarice.”

“Maybe I miss you,” Reese said. * After her niece skips inside the house for breakfast, Reese swings slowly, smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t eat much lately; she spends her lunch break smoking on the bench behind her office, picking at a bag of chips. A terrible habit, she knows. She’s naturally thin and gangly, like a teenage boy, and she can’t stand to lose any more weight. Besides that, she’d promised Zadie that she’d cut back on smoking this year. Every time she shakes a Newport into her palm, she remembers the promise she’d made when Zadie called to wish her a happy New Year.

“You coming inside for some breakfast?”

Melanie pokes her head through the door, wrapping her flannel robe tightly around herself. Reese doesn’t know why she’s wearing that robe—it’s nearly eighty degrees outside already— but it’s just another detail that makes her sister seem so much older than her thirty years. Tired.

“Oh, I ain’t hungry,” Reese says.

“You gonna be later. Picky as you are, you don’t know what Pearl and them’s gonna be servin’.”

“I ain’t picky.”

“You know you always been a picky eater. Unless California changed that too.”

Reese smirks at her, before blowing a ring of smoke toward the sky. She knows her sister is still getting used to how different

* During the drive to the church, her sister catches her up on the latest developments around Westlake: marriages, divorces, pregnancies. Reese nods, pretending to listen as she stares out the window. It still surprises her how different things look. The sign in front of St. Margaret’s is yellow and battered; the saucer on top of Westlake’s Coffee Cup Diner now tilts at a precarious angle; outside her window, she sees the hulking gray outline of the Conoco refinery where all the men in her family have worked since they started hiring Black people. Its metal spires seem even taller as the plumes of smoke float toward the sky.

Small and sleepy, she tells people, whenever they ask about her hometown. Nothing notable ever happens in Westlake. Folks get married, have babies, and die.

“How was your wedding?” Melanie says. “The one you just went to, I mean.”

“Beautiful,” Reese says.

She chews on her thumbnail, glancing out the window at the large green overhead sign as they approach the town limits. Welcome to Westlake, it reads cheerfully. As they pass, she glances in the mirror to read the back. Y’all come back now, hear? * The dance floor twinkled with yellow diamonds of light dangling from the chandelier. During the reception, Reese leaned against the wall, drinking champagne as she watched Jack dip the flower girl. Earlier, he had come by to introduce himself. Heard so much about you, he’d said, pumping Reese’s hand. She tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. She hated his grip, his clammy palms. Mostly, she hated how ordinary he was.

Tall, skinny, and pale, with wiry brown hair. Brown eyes hidden behind glasses. A smile that never showed his teeth. She drained

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her glass, watching Jack spin the flower girl in circles. All this time, she’d been wondering what Jack would be like, and he was exactly Zadie’s type. Nice. In love with her.

Forty-five minutes passed before Zadie finally wandered over, before she reached Reese on her rounds throughout the room.

Reese smiled, tossing up a wave as Zadie hiked up her dress, maneuvering around tables and chairs.

“Boy, you look fancy!” Reese said. “Never seen you look so fancy.”

She could be awfully friendly after a few glasses of champagne.

Zadie gave her a little smile. In her long white gown, she caused a stab of longing that Reese could only numb with more champagne.

“You havin’ a good time?” Reese asked. “It’s your wedding, you should be havin’ a good time.”

“I really wanted to thank you for coming,” Zadie said. “It means a lot...”

She trailed off, staring at the floor. It was probably the same speech she’d given all of her guests, but she couldn’t finish, like the words felt so false dribbling out her mouth, she couldn’t even find the energy to continue. Reese leaned her head back against the wall, staring past Zadie to the table where Jack was posing for a picture with a family, a toddler in his arms. Plain Jack, who Zadie loved.

“Y’all gonna have babies?” Reese said. “Y’all should have some babies—” Zadie blushed. “Jesus. Are you drunk?”

She reached for the near-empty glass in Reese’s hand, but she yanked it away, peering down into herself, like she was searching for something. Then Reese smiled up at her.

“Aw Zadie,” she said, “I’m just lonely.” * On the walk to the church, Hannah hangs onto Reese’s hand and asks her about heaven and hell. How do you get there, she asks, as she swings their arms while they walk through the gravel parking lot toward the tall tan church. When is it too late to be good? How does God pick the people to go to heaven? What do people do in heaven? How long do you stay in hell? Do you burn forever? Reese tightens her grip on her niece’s hand as they near the entrance. She pretends not to notice the stares from relatives gathered near the church steps as they greet Melanie with hugs. She reads their faces as eyes pass over her, confusion slowly fading into flickers of recognition. The other one.

“I’m gonna be good from now on.” Hannah tugs Reese’s hand, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to burn forever.”

Inside the church, Reese kneels beside her sister in the pew, folding her hands in front of her. Beside her, Melanie prays a rosary, while Hannah holds her beads. On the pew, Alex hums happily to himself over the slow droning organ playing softly

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photo by Natalie Uy in the background. Reese glances around the sanctuary at the stained glass windows, the gold basins of holy water, the wooden crucifix behind the altar. She hasn’t been to mass in years but the memories rush back to her, the smell of the incense, the wafer thin pages of the missalette. On the back wall, the plaque dedicated to the church saint, who she wrote a report on in the fourth grade. St. John Bosco, the patron saint of schoolchildren.

Reese tries to think of a prayer, but her mind feels blank, like she’s fifteen again, moving her lips wordlessly during prayers.

Her mother and sister were devout Catholics, but she had always felt like a fraud during mass; when she and her mother ran into Father Gold at the grocery store, she shrank away, studying the cereal boxes, the milk expiration dates, the price of tomatoes.

She always felt that if the priest drew nearer, he would know that she was faking it. He would sense it, her disbelief. * There are patron saints for bankers and barbers and basketmakers. Barren women and beggars and Boy Scouts. There are patron saints for gas station workers and gardeners, gravediggers and grocers. Patron saints for Madagascar and Mexico City and Maine, for mariners and marriages. There are patron saints for learning and laboring, for lost things, for lost causes.

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There is St. Kateria Tekakawitha, the patron saint of exiles; St. Francis, the patron saint against dying alone; St. Dwynwyn, the patron saint of lovers.

She sings the last word, batting her eyelashes. She’s precocious, that one.

“No, not my boyfriend.”

There is no patron saint for the brokenhearted.

“You don’t have a boyfriend?” Hannah asks.

*

“Maybe I do,” Reese says. “Or maybe I don’t.”

After the service, Reese waits outside in the van with Hannah while Melanie changes Alex in the church bathroom. It’s still warm and muggy—early afternoon and her shirt is already clinging to her back. Beside her, Hannah rests her head on her shoulder, toying with the ankh necklace that hangs from Reese’s neck. Zadie bought it from the de Young Museum gift shop because the King Tut exhibit was Reese’s favorite. Reese bowed her head as Zadie slipped it over her neck, thinking about the Egyptian tomb paintings they’d just seen, where the ankh appeared at the fingertips of gods and goddesses. The key of life, the placard said, held to the nose of a dead pharaoh to give him everlasting life. The key of life, she thought, loving the brush of Zadie’s fingertips against her skin.

“Auntie!” Hannah says, her small fists balled up in protest. “You have to tell me!”

“Where’d you get this?” Hannah asks. “Your boyfriend?”

“Why?” “Because you’re my auntie. You have to.”

Reese smiles. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

Hannah reaches out her pinky, finally satisfied when Reese links fingers. Then she rests her head back on Reese’s shoulder.

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“Aren’t you in love with someone?” she asks.

Reese swallows, watching her niece play with the strips of leather around the wooden ankh. The day after Zadie’s wedding, the necklace broke. It fell off of Reese’s nightstand, wedging between the headboard and the wall. When she gave it a tug, the rawhide necklace snagged, ripping in half. In the kitchen, Reese felt like crying as she dug through the drawers for scotch tape. It was a sign, she thought, wrapping strips of tape around the leather.

Everything she gave me is breaking. * At the reception, Reese rocks on her cousin’s porch swing, sipping a glass of whiskey while she watches her niece and nephew play tag on the lawn. When Melanie went to help in the kitchen, Reese offered to watch the kids. Not because she thought anyone might snatch them, but because she’d rather sit outside watching Alex yelp as Hannah chases him than sit on her cousin’s plasticcovered couch, listening to relatives talk as they fan themselves with church programs.

“You mind?”

A white nun stands on the porch, a pack of Lucky Strikes in her hand. Reese shakes her head. She didn’t know that nuns were allowed to smoke—maybe only once they escaped from Mother Superior’s watchful eyes. The nun eases onto the porch swing beside her, and it creaks under her weight. She’s a large woman, big and broad-shouldered, with spiky gray hair peeking under her black habit.

“Were you close to Esther?” the nun asks.

The nun squints at her. She’s probably trying to imagine it, mentally tacking on long, voluminous hair, scrubbing the ink from her forearms, erasing her slouch, her clunky shoes, her bowtie. She’s probably picturing it, another world where Reese could have been beautiful like her sister. In a different world, where she never left home, she might have picked up a job at the grocery store where, during a late night shift, she reconnected with a boy from high school who worked at the oil refinery now. A wedding, a reception at the YMCA, a honeymoon to San Antonio. Babies, she thinks, shaking a cigarette out of its pack. She and Melanie sipping coffee at the kitchen table, while husbands watched the Saints game and babies crawled around on the carpet.

“You’re too young for all this used to talk,” the nun says.

“Things just change,” Reese says. “That’s all.”

“Esther and I used to think we’d live forever.”

“Don’t you still believe you will? After death?”

“You a Catholic?” the nun asks.

“Used to be,” Reese says.

The nun flashes her a smile, blowing out another stream of smoke.

“Oh, sure,” she says. “We’ll see each other again someday in glory.”

“Nice thought,” Reese says.

“She’s my great-aunt,” Reese says.

“We worked together at the school. Our Immaculate Heart,” the nun says. “My oldest friend.”

Reese sips, unsure of what to say. She’s ashamed to admit that she knows next to nothing about her great-aunt. She only saw GreatAunt Esther at major family events—she remembers her as quiet and stately, forever old.

“I’m sorry,” Reese finally says. “For your loss.”

The nun takes a long drag, blowing her smoke toward the shifty rafters.

“Pardon?”

“That one day, all the people we love will come back.”

A beautiful idea, she thinks, taking a shaky drag of her cigarette.

Latches on caskets will swing open and all the bones will climb out of their graves, dancing to God’s trumpet, and everyone will meet their loved ones in the sky, all those who’ve gone. Those who have been taken and those who have left will remember us, and in the end, they will all find their way back. Reese lies against the swing, rubbing the necklace that hangs in front of her heart, her own silent prayer. Bring them all back to life.

Sta n fo r d

Gospel Choir The Stanford Gospel Choir (SGC) is a biblically based organization whose purpose is to minister through various forms of gospel music. SGC brings the gospel of Jesus Christ through song to the Stanford community and surrounding areas. We seek to encourage other people through singing uplifting songs. Our practices are on Thursdays from 7:30pm to 9:30pm and all students, faculty and members of the Stanford community are invited.

To learn more information, please contact Ashley Buckner abuckner@stanford. edu, Tajah Tubbs ttubbs@stanford.edu or Jessica Anderson ja2010@stanford.edu.

“You from around here?” she asks.

“I used to be.”

“How can you used to be from somewhere? You are or you aren’t.”

I love SGC because it allows me to connect my friends, my faith, and music in a way I never have before. It’s amazing to be able to share my faith with the same people I can laugh and mess around with, and we have such a good time together.

- Casi Lumbra, Secretary SGC is family. Its about coming together in song to reach out to our campus and community.

- Doris Sempasa, Vice President

Stanford Gospel Choir is a gem within the Stanford community. Whether they are sharing personal testimonies or praising through song, performing at community events or hosting their own showcases, SGC always demonstrates humility and joy as they offer their artistic talents as worship.

-Brittany Bennett, Senior

SGC means family, and a little piece of what I miss from home. It means fellowship, laughter, and music making.

- Erica Grimes, Financial Officer

Ashley Buckner is a senior

“I just haven’t been back in a while,” Reese says.

“Those your children?”

“My sister’s.”

“The little girl looks just like you.”

“I used to look like my sister.”

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Brittany Bennett is a senior English major from Oceanside, CA. In the fall, she’s joining the University of Michigan Creative Writing program in fiction.

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SGC is a safe haven and open space for Christians to fellowship through song and ministry, and an opportunity for those who have no exposure to Christianity to learn about the gospel.

- Jessica Anderson, Director

by Ashley Buckner

SGC is a family, which has allowed me to grow spiritually throughout my time at Stanford. I love being able to sing praises with my friends.

- Ashley Buckner, Co-President

majoring in Public Policy and minoring in Psychology. She was born and raised in Roseville, CA. In addition to singing in the gospel choir, Ashley spends her time as an RA and working at the School of Education. She also enjoys running and being a member at Abundant Life Christian Fellowship.

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Speak, Prayer Anonymous

And the Lord Almighty set down His will in word but His children forgot that it was meant to be heard The ministers and the teachers the deacons and the preachers forgot to say it’s the voice the conscious choice to raise up in praise to the end of your days that’s what He wants not theological taunts I won’t let it happen the rocks will cry out if ever I don’t shout the greatness of the Name every moment I complain is a loss for God’s gain

A sweet note in His ear only hope in what we fear it’s for worship that we’re made rejoicing and accolades recognition of His glory we want to add our stories to His ever-shifting face omnipotent creator cry out now and never later to wonders of our Maker we the clay and he the potter molding us His sons and daughters help us hear what You have spoken help us grow when we’ve been broken let us follow You not to the letter but always to the Word.

Mosaic

On Turning and Seeing the Mosaic on Stanford’s Memorial Church

by John McDonough I walk alone, away from sandstone blocks Stacked in unyielding lines beneath hard, red, Rain-soaked tiles, beneath charcoal clouds led To this place. By what? A wide lawn, slippery, mocks My unlined steps, while water soaks my socks And a pair of bicyclists, socks dry, ahead Of me holding hands, floats past. Unmoored, unsaid, I walk alone, away from handsome rocks.

But a sturdy, sportive breeze launches my hat— I turn back in pursuit, then freeze and stare: A rabbi robed in royal blue extends Both arms as if in greeting. Could it be that One toward whom all lines point, lifting steps where Steps decline…is also my best friend?

It’s the tongue that confesses the transgressions it redresses the commitment it makes the communion it takes the prayers it sends the broken it mends spoken word that it forms to defy earthly norms proclaiming salvation over cursed separation connection with heaven not on earth as we’ve been blinded by the sound it’s falling all around muteness and nothingness in the face of God’s holiness

John McDonough is a resident of the San Francisco Bay Area. and a graduate of Stanford. He studied storytelling and received a B.A. in English literature and creative writing in 1984. He has written stories, plays, and poems, and has co-authored a musical.

He is delighted to be part of this issue of Vox Clara. photo by Ed Bierman

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The Origins of My Faith I grew up in an Episcopal church. If you are not familiar with the Episcopal church, think of it as Catholic lite. The liturgy is largely the same, although an outside observer of my childhood church might have noticed that we had married priests and that we did not acknowledge the authority of the Pope.

The Episcopal church is a liturgical church, which means that there is a standard script governing the actions of the priest and the congregation. The temptation in a liturgical setting is to put your brain on autopilot and disengage from the service, and this temptation proves overwhelming to many children. And so like so many others raised in liturgical churches, I did not actually understand the central message of Christianity. The ceremony was too opaque to me. In retrospect the gospel was there, but I missed or misunderstood it. As a result, I had the notion that Christianity was about being nice and following the rules. And the rules were pretty simple and mostly involved not being violent (except perhaps in self-defense or in war), not stealing, and confining any sexual activities to marriage. Also not mouthing off to your parents.

And so throughout my childhood I thought of myself as a Christian because I was in a family that went to church.

But I was not a Christian in any sense that would have been recognized by the apostles or by Christ Himself. I was certainly a good kid, if such a thing is defined as not doing drugs, getting good grades, completing chores. There wasn’t any observable rebellion or wickedness.

But I was not deliberately following Jesus and I certainly did not place my trust in him; in fact, as I think back I can clearly see that I was a sinner, by which I mean

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that my life revolved around myself.

This all became clear to me one day when I heard an energetic youth minister preaching. Somehow that message moved me to place my faith in Jesus. I’m actually not sure why. I recall that the message was about David and Goliath, but I can’t reconstruct what happened in my head in response. I only know that before that message I was not a Christian and after that message I was. I had gone from thinking of Jesus as an abstraction to thinking of Jesus as a living (albeit heavenly) person with whom I could have relationship.

Since I have forgotten the reasoning that led me to convert so many years ago, it is fortunate that the causes of my conversion are of little consequence to my present relationship with God. Faith is like love. The things that draw you to someone are rarely the things that allow you to build a life with them. The reasons I am happily married to my wife today are quite different than the thoughts that caused me to flirt with a cute girl back in college. In the same way, the things that keep me a Christian are quite different than whatever impulses flitted through my brain in response to that sermon so many years ago.

With that in mind, then, here are the three chief reasons I still believe: because of the truth of the gospel, because of the beauty of the gospel, and because of the power of the gospel.

First, I remain a Christian because I am convinced that Christian beliefs are true and rival beliefs are false.

Islam, Mormonism, Hinduism, a t h e i s m , philosophical pluralism – all of these widespread beliefs suffer from fatal flaws. The Christian message, on the

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by Glen Davis other hand, has passed every inspection I have offered it. I have asked (and have been asked) probing questions about the resurrection of Jesus, the reliability of the Bible, the existence of God, the nature of the Trinity, the relationship between science and faith, the conduct of the church throughout history, sexual ethics, and why evil and suffering are permitted.

In every case I have come out at the end of my investigations with deeper faith than I began with.

Of all the questions I have asked, the one which sustains my faith the most concerns the resurrection of Jesus. As the apostle Paul told the Corinthians, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile.” Christianity stands or falls upon this doctrine. If you become convinced that His body rotted in a tomb, then the New Testament must be patchwork of delusions and deceptions. If, on the other hand, Jesus stepped out of his own tomb then everything He said about God, morality, heaven, and hell are of the utmost importance. I have spent years thinking about this, and I am convinced that the best explanation for the rise of Christianity is the bodily resurrection of Jesus from the dead, and that He can therefore offer us credible promises of personal resurrection and eternal life.

Second, I remain a Christian because I find the Christian faith to be beautiful.

Believing that Christianity is true is necessary but not sufficient for Christian faith. As the apostle James said, “You believe that there is one God. Good! Even the demons believe that—and shudder.”

You can believe the central claims of Christianity and still dislike it.

I don’t know how to persuade you of the beauty of Christianity. Have you ever

photo by Luke Knepper tried to persuade somebody to like your favorite song? These things are beyond our conscious choice, and there are some people who find the gospel story repellant.

Some people don’t find Christianity attractive and God grants them permission to reject Christ. In our culture, however, dislike of Christianity is far more common than informed disbelief would warrant.

Many people who have a revulsion towards Christianity are actually recoiling against a caricature of the real thing, as if the unwholesome image that they conjure could possibly have fueled some of the greatest works of art ever produced.

Clearly they do not see with the eyes of Bach or Dostoyevsky, they do not perceive the same glory as Eliot or Rembrandt.

Christianity is beautiful, and its beauty is all the more compelling because it is true. I am not a man given to tears, but meditating upon the wonder of the incarnation or the majestic horror of the cross has led me to weep on more than one occasion.

Third, I remain a Christian because the Christian faith has power. This power comes in two forms. First there is the power of living a life based on reality. When we live a life based on false premises we inevitably suffer, but truth sets us free. And the truth of Christianity is the greatest truth

which brings the most freedom. In my youth I imagined that I ought to be the center of my life. Upon conversion I realized that unless God was the center, everything else would be askew. When I lived as though I was the center, the state of my soul was much like an ancient model of the solar system: filled with epicycles and other strained attempts to make a geocentric system work.

And then, in Christ, I experienced a heliocentric revolution of sorts. Just as the analysis of the orbits becomes simple when the Sun is placed at the center, so does the analysis of life when the Son is placed at the center. As Lewis famously wrote, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.” Much of the power Christians experience comes from simply dealing with reality as it is.

But that is not the only or primary form of power Christians receive. God is real and He acts. This is the meaning of the Christian word “gospel”—an old word meaning “good news.” The good news is that God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves. He can set us free from pride and self-centeredness, He can give us divine guidance when we do not know what to do, He can bring miraculous

healing when we have no other hope, and He can transform our character to be more and more like Jesus. This isn’t merely the power of understanding a concept – this is the power of divine intervention.

I have experienced this power on many occasions, and for me to deny it would be intellectual dishonesty and extreme ingratitude.

And so that is both the origin and the trajectory of my faith. It began in a moment I did not engineer and could not have predicted, and it has grown through the years as I reflect upon the truth, the beauty, and the power of the man named Jesus. If you do not yet share my faith I hope that you decide to investigate Jesus, and that you find Him compelling, attractive, and liberating.

Glen Davis pastors Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship, a group which meets Wednesday nights at 7:30pm in 370-370. He has written more extensively about reasons to consider Christianity on his website – if you are interested please visit glenandpaula.com and click on “Read Glen’s Essays.” You’ll find actual arguments with footnotes and everything.

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It’s Raining Outside It’s raining outside. I guess that’s pretty typical around this time of year. Perhaps it’s winter quarter that makes it feel like I want to stay inside; all of the papers, the projects, the readings couldn’t possibly leave time for me to be outside, could they? I feel like I can’t make up my mind anymore, not that I’ve ever been able to do that to begin with.

Every night when I wonder whether I should brave the cold drizzles and drops and venture out into the darkness, it’s the rain that makes me hesitate until I realize something quite profound: it’s also raining inside. Sometimes I feel like it’s a weather pattern I can’t escape. Outside is the physical two-to-one ratio of hydrogen to oxygen, but in my mind is the dreary, dull drizzle that evenly coats my thoughts.

Yet, despite this inner tug-of-war between all five senses and my mind, I always find myself in the middle of the street, inhaling the nostalgic smell from summers spent dancing in the rare Colorado rain, trees dripping chilly dew from their slick palms onto the flesh of my own, splashing onto my tongue as I watch it fall from beneath the moonlight and tune my ears into the plucking of drops huddling together to create puddles in the night.

I like to look gently and intently on these holes filled with water and smile, as they remind me about how I came to faith in a roundabout kind of way.

Being a Christian never seemed like a big deal to me. I was baptized and raised believing in God, but not really knowing His love, or the good news that Jesus brought. Sunday meant looking nice, lighting a candle at church in my acolyte robe, and waiting impatiently for the old man with the suit to spare us from further boredom by ending with a benediction.

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by Kim McCabe

This is what being a Christian meant to me: a lukewarm existence. And then I remember.

universe had finally gotten over herself to ask for help from a God she thought never listened.

It was raining in my room that night two years ago. No picturesque starlight, no scenes on an antiquated roll of film from a dusty box up in the attic. My pillowcases had never seen so much rain pour from my swelling eyes. The whole earth was crumbling as I trembled out of control and the sun would never rise the same way again. I was broken.

Then came the peace. A coolness like an IV seeping water throughout my body, the first moments of my entire life where I felt safe, stable, okay. It flooded my entire being, breaking down all dams constructed by tragedy and misfortune.

My heart no longer ached, my lungs filled with precious air, and I laughed at how quickly things turned around; I had received Grace by simply asking and it was enough to change my entire view of God, to change my entire life.

I look back in my almanac of life at these moments that happened far too often.

Rain in my heart when I was broken up with and felt unlovable, when I didn’t have lunch money, when my brother left me forever. Too much time spent sitting at the edge of my bed crying “why?” furiously thrashing about because God left me, because there must have been better people out there to save.

I curled myself up in a ball sobbing not because of a single, defining moment, not even so much because life wasn’t happening the way I had hoped. But because I was lost. All of my spirits, all of my dreams, all of my hopes for betterment were down with me in a well of tears too deep to climb up and my voice was too quiet for anyone to hear my cries.

I had gone astray; I had wandered from the flock and there was too much rain to see even two feet in front of me.

Then came the words. The high-pitched, crackled pleas smothered in a shower of tears. “God. If you’re even there, please help me.”

The independent, stubborn girl with far too many college applications to complete to care about the Creator of the

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He stands with me in the deepest of holes, in the emptiest of glasses, in the most frightening of storms. I see now that He didn’t start this two years ago on that lifechanging evening, but He’s been here all along; I had just been too lost to see.

You’ll find me in the middle of the street, palms skyward and eyes deep. Rain trickling down my cheekbones with the tears of happiness, and a deep breath of clarity and hope. Rain cleansing my bleeding soul, my itchy scabs, my wounded heart. Rain renewing my battered spirit and all of my despair. Rain reminding me that I have no reason to worry, no reason to be afraid because my God is standing right next to me, enjoying every second.

photo by Luke Knepper

I still smile when I think that a lifetime of being a Christian never showed me what these few seconds of peace did, that my tank would be immediately refueled by a fierce passion to follow God. If God can take years of pain and make it all go away in an instant, what else can He do? Since the renewal of my faith, I’ve experienced God’s healing physically, emotionally, and spiritually from nothing but His unceasing Love pouring into me like a broken faucet. I’ll follow Him with my whole heart and all of my life, and He saves my life over and over again.

My God is one that listens. He hears my cries when I am at my worst. My God is one that holds me as His child. His arms are the strongest and most protective in which I’ve ever been wrapped. My God is one that does not leave.

Kim McCabe is a sophomore from Littleton, Colorado.

She enjoys being involved in the Native community as well as being a member of Intervarsity Christian Fellowship at Stanford. Though she is fascinated by just about everything this life has to offer, she especially loves her family, her friends, and taking extraordinarily long walks at night.

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The Augustine Project

Want to get involved?

Vox Clara was inspired by The Augustine Project, which is a growing movement to establish Christian journals at colleges across the country.

The Project’s goal is to be a “thoughtful witness to [Christian] faith in the modern university,” knowing that “Truth cannot be pursued in a vacuum.”

The Augustine Project was founded by Jordan Hylden, a graduate of Harvard University.

Interested in submitting an article or other content?

Vox Clara is currently accepting all types of student submissions, including research articles, opinion pieces, interviews, short stories, book reviews, poems, and photography & art (please take into consideration that journals are typically printed in black & white). We feature this content and archived material on the online version of our journal.

The deadline for articles for the Fall 2012-13 issue is November 5th. We will still accept submissions after this date but they may be postponed to a later issue.

Other Member Journals Include: • Ichthus (Harvard)

• Religio (Duke)

• Revisions (Princeton)

• Wide Awake (University of Virginia)

• The Beacon (William and Mary)

• The Fish (University of Chicago)

• To An Unknown God (Berkeley)

• Logos (Yale)

• Closing Remarks (Brown)

• Apologia (Dartmouth)

• The Pub (Wheaton)

• The Stand (UC San Diego)

We welcome any and all submissions.

Please submit your work to submissions@voxstanford.org.

Questions | Comments | Sponsor | Get Involved www.voxstanford.org | info@voxstanford.org

Vox Clara at Stanford is a chapter of Vox Clara, a Christian non-profit dedicated to building a network of Christian organizations on college campuses across the country that produce publications and host speaking events and conferences for college students. This national organization grew out of Vox Clara at Stanford, its first chapter. For more information, please visit www.voxclara.org.

The Augustine Project: theaugustineproject.blogspot.com photo by Luke Knepper

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Letter

from

the

President

The current and past Vox Clara staff would like to thank Tara for her work, dedication, and never-ending enthusiasm over the past three years. To say it was a joy to work with Tara would be an understatement. As president, she kept the team focused and motivated, providing the driving force behind all aspects of the journal. Her leadership is nothing short of inspiring. She is graduating from Stanford and starting a doctorate program at Fuller Theological Seminary.

May the God of peace equip you with everything good for doing his will.

Hebrews 13:20-21 So often with significant relationships and eras in our lives, we think back nostalgically to the moment of beginning.

As Stanford students, we remember the moment we submitted our application, the moment we read “Congratulations” at the start of the acceptance letter, and the accumulation of moments that made up Admit Weekend, NSO, or the first days of classes. We might remember being introduced to the person who has become our closest friend, or reading a book that radically transformed our beliefs and perspective. Whatever the case, beginnings feel significant.

The same is true about faith, but at least for myself I find that it’s difficult to pin down a particular point of beginning.

Growing up in church, this seemed problematic: I had no grand experience to point to as the moment when I first met God, no evidential turning point to share with inquisitive adults or—as I grew older—skeptical peers. Perhaps you had a different experience altogether.

Perhaps God first broke into your life with a pivotal event, conversation, or even vision that transformed you from Saul to Paul. The Bible tells of numerous figures who met God this way, but for myself as well as many Christians I know, the “aha moment” has remained perpetually elusive.

That is, until I began to let God teach me how to redefine my assumptions about what an “aha moment” might look like.

As I grew to know and love God more, He sharpened my vision to perceive the pivotal events that were occurring all the time. New beginnings are inherent in the process of pursuing God, and He is inviting us to recognize the flashes of light from Heaven that are present in our own lives (Acts 9:3).

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During my time at Stanford, these flashes of light have come in truly remarkable ways. Through mentors, friends, communities, academic opportunities and calls to service, God grew my faith in such extreme and astounding ways that I hardly feel like the same person who entered Stanford as a freshman during the fall of 2008. I could never have orchestrated these chance occurrences and serendipitous meetings that came to so radically alter my world and my identity. I know that I echo the sentiment of innumerable Stanford students who have also experienced God working in bold strokes during their time on campus. We may not be able to pin down our first encounter with God, but we can surely point to all the times and places He has revealed Himself throughout our relationship with Him. As a graduating senior, I have grown increasingly focused on remembering each of these flashes of light in my own life—it doesn’t seem right to leave Stanford without a clear understanding of what God has taught me during the last four years. As it happens, my act of remembering is important to God too.

In the book of Joshua, the Israelites must cross the Jordan River in order to enter Canaan, and God enables them to cross on dry ground by stopping the flow of the water. Whether God accomplished this via a natural occurrence or direct action, the point remains that He intervened with a miracle of timing and location. So He continues to intervene with us. Chance occurrences and serendipitous meetings bear the marks of His fingerprints and challenge us to consider how He is summoning the waters in our lives.

And what message does God call Joshua to share with the Israelites after they

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have crossed the river on dry ground?

“’Go over before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan.

Each of you is to take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever’” (Joshua 4:5-7).

Just as the Israelites were called to take up stones as physical signs of God’s faithfulness and power, so too are we called to remember the miraculous work that God does in us. Regardless of the origin of your faith, God has command over the waters of your life, and He is intent on making Himself known to you through flashes from Heaven.

Whatever those flashes look like, you are to remember them. And testify to them. And name God as the source and provider of your miracles.

At Vox Clara we believe that God’s greatest miracle was sending His son Jesus to break into our world, die on the cross for our sins, and then rise again, giving us the promise of eternal life with Him if we’ll just reach out and accept His gift. Jesus requires no climactic beginnings from your faith, but a relationship with Him as your icon, creator, sustainer, authority, death defeater, reconciler, and sin-sacrifice is all you will ever need to remember (Colossians 1:15-20).

Tara Guarino President, 2011 - 12

photo by Valdiney Pimenta

Thank you for reading Vox Clara. It is our sincere hope that you come away enlightened about aspects of Christianity.

Whether you are a skeptic, seeker, or believer, we encourage you to continue exploring the faith. We leave you with these closing thoughts.

“Faith is reason grown courageous.”

- Sherwood Eddy “Faith indeed tells what the senses do not tell, but not the contrary of what they see. It is above them and not contrary to them.”

- Blaise Pascal “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

- Hebrews 11:1 “A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell.”

- C.S. Lewis Forum of Christian Thought and Action at Stanford

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