Telos Fall 2011 Issue

TELOS

06

A WILLIAMs Journal of Christian Discourse

Is a r py a em shr o te i l l , a cal ac shi l, a f i ve a s tl e eld f lo hea , a p o f t we r rts eac rut y f l h, a ip- o e si ne gn n h f lop , bro a our , r ke n i d e gla - a rles ss nd s h kno a t ors b, ag e, ma rke db yw a r.

fALL 2011

cha os

TELOS {Contributors}

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

EXECUTIVE EDITOR

SENIOR EDITOR

Inez Tan ’12

Rachel Durrant ’13

Effua Sosoo ’13

Jamie Baik Megan Bantle Bianca Brown Esther Cho Emily Ciavarella Satyan Devadoss Chloë Feldman Emison Kelsey Ham Elizabeth Hwang Pinsi Lei

Emily Loveridge Si Young Mah Caleb Miaw Sugi Min Andy Morgosh Frank Pagliaro Nykeah Parham Christopher Riegg Steven Servius

{Thanks}

SENIOR EDITOR

JUNIOR EDITOR

Frank Pagliaro ’14 Elizabeth Hwang ’13

JUNIOR EDITOR

Bianca Brown ’14

We are indebted to the Cecil B. Day Foundation, the Chaplain’s Office, the Dean’s Office and College Council.

{Definition}

Telos is the Greek word for “purpose,” “goal,” or “fulfillment.” For us, telos represents a direction that can only be found through God.

{Purpose}

JUNIOR EDITOR

JUNIOR EDITOR

LAYOUT EDITOR

Emily Loveridge ’14

Amanda Su ’14

Alyssa Barlis ’13

The Williams Telos is a journal dedicated to the expression of opinions and perspectives informed by the Christian faith.

{Contact}

Email williamstelos@gmail.com with comments, questions, donations, or submissions.

LAYOUT EDITOR

LAYOUT STAFF

LAYOUT STAFF

Si Young Mah ’14

Esther Cho ’13

Jamie Baik ’14

Cover photos by Sevonna M. Brown Sevonna Brown ’15 is from Saginaw, MI. Her work reflects the simplicities of everyday objects, events, and people.

All pieces in The Williams Telos are reflections of personal opinion, interpretation, and understanding of the Christian faith, but do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the Telos board or the publication as a whole.

t h e WIL L IA MS

BUSINESS MANAGER

BUSINESS STAFF

Michelle Almeida ’13 Marcel Brown ’15

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TELOS Fall 2011

t he WI L L I A M S

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inside

TELOS 03

Letter from the editor

REFLECTIONS 04

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Sry Jesus I gtg

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What’s in a name?

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Limiting the unlimited

Emily Loveridge explores her true identity.

Sugi Min looks forward to experiencing the rich spiritual heritage of Jerusalem.

Megan Bantle challenges us to listen intently for God’s call.

Steven Ellis, or, Emily Ciavarella’s reminiscences about a high school crush.

SCRIPTURAL STUDIES 06

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Fall ’11

Love transfused Christopher Riegg redefines the meaning of a miracle.

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Leaving the boat Bianca Brown investigates faith being put to the test.

Rock or sand?

Caleb Miaw delves into the concept of building a firm foundation.

KELSEY HAM

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t h e W I L L IA MS

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TELOS

ART 13

Revealed

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Venice

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A house on rocks

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Swift Sunrise

By Pinsi Lei.

By Pinsi Lei.

By Kelsey Ham.

By Satyan Devadoss.

ESSAYS 25

The second Adam Esther Cho relates Noah to the first man.

CHLOĂ‹ FELDMAN EMISON

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What has this world come to?

Steven Servius searches for living faith in contemporary culture.

Ask Elizabeth Hwang follows Job in question- ing God.

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POETRY 10 When city hearts meet kingdom come

By Andy Morgosh.

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Revelation

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Thoughts on Subiaco

By Nykeah Parham.

By Frank Pagliaro.

Letter from the editor “There is something in us that demands the redemptive act, that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored. What we have forgotten is the cost – the price of restoration.”

—Flannery O’Connor As someone who was once movie-illiterate, I was very happy to get into a class on Hollywood cinema this fall. Every Sunday night, my classmates and I have gathered in Bronfman auditorium to watch a classic film. Accustomed to peering at my laptop screen alone, I’d forgotten how much better movies are when watched with other people. It’s incredible how much we take our cues from those around us, whether for joy, sadness, or fear.

In light of recent campus events, a moment that lingers with me is from The Godfather Part 2, when a senator from Nevada sneers at Michael Corleone, the head of a powerful Sicilian crime family, saying, “I don’t like your kind of people. I don’t like to see you come out to this clean country in your oily hair – dressed up in those silk suits – and try to pass yourselves off as decent Americans.” Before long, hatred between the various ethnic and national groups erupts into violence. In the movie’s tensest moments, the silence in the room was palpable.

Coming out of that showing to find the email from President Falk announcing that classes were canceled was surreal. Just the day before, a disembodied message had been discovered in Prospect Hall: “All n–– must die.” It was then that I realized how completely I had put the incident out of mind. I felt overwhelmed again the next day as I talked with my friends and listened to the clamor of voices all trying to decide how we ought to respond.

We live in a world of chaos, of pain and suffering. We recognize it most clearly when something breaks the calm surface to reveal the turmoil beneath, when we feel as though we’re losing our grip. It’s when the world we knew, the campus where we felt safe, shatters.

According to the Christian worldview, chaos resulted when the perfect relationship between man and God was damaged as mankind chose to sever its relationship with God through the act of disobedience. Subsequently, all of creation fell into disarray, and sin and pain entered into the world. In this issue, our writers and artists contend with the consequences of that fracturing.

Elizabeth Hwang grapples with questions of suffering, Christopher Riegg recounts a brush with serious illness, and Nykeah Parham reflects on violence in her neighborhood.

Thankfully, there is more to the Biblical narrative than chaos and suffering – there is the hope of restoration. Christians believe that Jesus’s death and resurrection atone for sin, so that anyone who chooses to believe might be brought back into a right relationship with God. As we ourselves are restored, we’re able to bring healing to our surroundings, both to our relationships with others and to the larger systems and institutions around us.

As much as I enjoy a good movie now, I know that any sense of resolution will fade once the lights come back on. In the same way, the glimpses of peace we experience here are but a shadow of the peace we will have in heaven. And that’s more satisfying than a Hollywood ending.

Yours faithfully, Inez Fall 2011

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Sry Jesus I gtg

by Megan Bantle

Listening for God in a noisy world

I was inside an elementary school, passing through noisy classrooms and bumping into little people as I walked down the hall. I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket and pulled it out to see who was calling. The screen read “Jesus” in big bold letters. I flipped the phone open and pressed it to my ear, but the hallway was too loud for me to hear anything. As hard as I tried to listen, I couldn’t make out the voice on the other end.

I knew that I had to hear what He was trying to say – I had to find out why He had called – so I started running through the halls to find a quieter spot. I finally found a room that was not as noisy, but I still couldn’t make out what He was telling me.

The voice on the phone was high-pitched and squeaky, and no matter how intently I listened to His voice, I couldn’t understand Him. I went outside of the building and stood there alone, trying to figure out why I couldn’t hear Him. I pulled the phone away from my ear and realized that it was on the wrong setting! I quickly punched a button and started listening. The voice was not the one I expected to hear; instead, it was the voice of my grandmother. I realized she was praying.

I listened to her prayer and I was filled with an all-consuming sense of peace. Then I woke up.

Life can get really noisy. Noise is not limited to sounds; it

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“Instead of giving up on the phone call, God stayed on the line until I was able to figure out what I needed to do to hear Him properly.” includes the many things that clutter up our brains as well.

As college students, we deal with noise every day. Classes and sports and rehearsals and meetings and parties and midterms and relationships and parents and games and practices – it can all be rather exhausting. I have recently discovered iCal to help me keep my life straight: I have blue boxes for home, green boxes for classes and orange boxes for extracurriculars. But Jesus doesn’t get a colored box. I squeeze in going to church, praying, and having Bible study, but sometimes I feel like I just don’t have time.

I feel very blessed to have had a dream that was enlightening in so many ways. Not only did God show me how obnoxiously busy my life was, but He also showed me what it was doing to my relationship with Him: ruining it. Jesus was calling me up personally and I couldn’t hear Him! That is one phone call I would never want to miss, and yet for every day I let my Bible sit on my bedside unopened, I’m just ignoring Jesus’s call. Fortunately, as He often does, God provided a solution. Instead of giving up on the phone call, God stayed on the line until I was able to figure out what I needed to do to hear Him properly.

My grandfather, a cancer survivor of five years, has recently gone into remission. Thank God he is doing well now, but the past few months have been very stressful for my family, and particularly for my grandmother. My grandmother, my Mimi, is the most important religious figure in my life and my greatest role model. She is a brilliant nurse and a wonderful influence on every member of my family. It was through her guidance and teachings throughout my childhood that I was baptized two years ago. While I know that she is strong in the Lord, it has been difficult for me to watch her and my grandfather struggle with his illness so much this fall. After having this dream, I realized that not only was God aware of my concerns, but my Mimi was also aware of the spiritual and emotional support I needed. I went to visit my grandparents (who live close by) the day after having this dream, and I found out that my Mimi had been praying for me early that morning. God not only showed

“God gave me the best message I have ever received – a peace of mind – and as surprising as it may seem, he did it via text.”

JAMIE BAIK

me that my Mimi was okay, but also that she was praying for me and my spiritual health while I was at school. God gave me the best message I have ever received – a peace of mind – and as surprising as it may seem, he did it via text.

It is easy to fill our lives with noise: the clickity-clack of writing a paper on a computer, the heavy bass of a party, the buzzing of a cell phone. It is easy to allow these things to distract us from what is important. But when Jesus rings, will you be able to hear?

Megan Bantle ’14 is from Adams, MA. Her biggest interests are journalism and photography.

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Leaving the boat Motion as the realm of faith

by Bianca Brown

They were headed in a direction they knew was wrong. Starry skies had long since given way to a tumultuous blanket of fury, and the ferocity with which the wind whipped up the sea made it impossible for them to continue rowing to Capernaum. Exhausted, dirty, drenched, and disobedient, the twelve disciples of the Teacher, the Rabbi, now feared they were losing their minds. This day had drawn on for what seemed like

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an eternity, and now their weakened hearts slid down to their toes as they discovered that sea-ghosts did haunt the waters of Galilee: the figure walked calmly on the water’s surface, moving towards them too quickly, too easily, while the wind screamed at the waves to devour their little fishing boat. What a pity – just hours earlier they had performed miracles far greater than dodging an angry tempest, yet now the storm threatened to

BIANCA BROWN

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capsize their boat and sweep their bodies into the bowels of the churning, wet inferno. * * * Men, women, and children had covered the hillside. It had to have been 19,000, 20,000 people at the very least – the chaos overwhelmed them.

They desperately needed a break, all of them. News that John, the rugged John, the invincible John, the prophet from the wilderness had just been beheaded – murdered – hit Jesus and His disciples hard. They deserved that desolate place to rest and mourn. They needed that time – not a long, demanding stretch of time – but the multitudes nevertheless had that spot-on radar that can rudely rip into any plan that contains even a hint of rest. Yet Jesus had compassion on them, the out-of-control, the perpetually needy. The disciples struggled to understand how Jesus could lovingly see them as “sheep without a shepherd.” [1] Sheep have it in their nature to stray, and Jesus lived his days tirelessly teaching and caring for others. After that particular day’s events came to a quiet close, the crowds left with bellies full and hearts content, fed by the words of the King.

Feeding 20,000 people should have afforded Jesus and the disciples the luxury of quiet and space. Yet instead of a quiet close, they were walled in by chaos. If the masses had just left, they could’ve shared the miraculous events of the day with their relatives who had stayed at home, who hadn’t seen how the baskets Jesus blessed had churned out ten loaves to replace every one that was taken out. His meal-making was even to the point of overproduction – they hadn’t seen that much food in one place in their whole lives! It seemed unreal that all of those fish could even fit in their sea. [2] Impossible.

And it was completely unplanned. When they heard the man Jesus was around, a disturbingly huge crowd had formed within minutes, seconds, as crowds do – one of those typhoon crowd systems, collecting size and intensity as it moved. Aggressively massive amounts of people poured in from whoknows-where, probably spanning at least the next couple of towns over in diameter. Even if you weren’t planning on going, the violent surge of people swept you bodily away into its midst. Unfortunately, no eye of calm existed in the center.

Would Jesus teach some more parables like He had done in

{

other towns? As soon as He came ashore, He didn’t pause for a second before going up to the family walking down the hill.

They struggled to lift a decrepit old man whose leg was twisted at an awful angle. Passing by people who averted their eyes and drew back, offended by his deformity, the family reached Jesus

“Obedience to God’s call will take you into realms that no amount of natural strength can attain.”

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with surprising ease. When the crowds saw how Jesus received the rejected, they started to move again, with those cradling injured limbs, bearing painful sores and open boils fighting their way to the front. This scene continued for hours. Jesus kept healing and healing and healing, and everyone stayed to watch.

They didn’t even notice the day growing older until they were straining their eyes to see Jesus.

They couldn’t remember what exactly He said in His prayer, or exactly what kind of basket he used, but when they saw the food being passed out, one fish was a dream, let alone the five they each ended up eating. [3] Some couldn’t recall what a full stomach felt like, and this food was delicious! This miracle food wasn’t anything like the stale bread that often reached their tables at home.

When Jesus and His disciples started to move towards the boats, the crowds weren’t about to let them leave. Here was a man who had fed them, healed them; they were ready to rebel.

They could revolt, overthrow Herod and those puny Herodians, shake off the obnoxious Roman rule, Roman constriction, here with this man, this man who could lead their coup, who could permanently provide them with food! How could they just let Him go? Yes, He would be their king; the crowds were possessed with the temptation of attainable rebellion.

But the time was not right. [4] * * * Earlier that evening, the disciples had finally reached the boats and started to push away from shore, as Jesus instructed, when Jesus disappeared into the belly of the expectant crowd once again. Peter had been unwilling to leave Jesus to the mercy of the crowd, but he knew better than to doubt his Rabbi’s ability to work more than one miracle in a day. Jesus instructed the disciples to go before Him, and with faith in His words Fall 2011

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they set off.

After they rowed for hours, darkness had completely fallen, and still, no Jesus. The winds began to bat them around, for this was not an ordinary lake, but an inland sea capable of quick and violent storms. 680 feet below water level, the Sea of Galilee often fell victim to winds that gathered speed as they rushed down the surrounding hillsides. Nestled against the mountains, the disciples realized they were helplessly caught in a large bowl of water, the winds stirring with a vengeance.

9:00 PM... 10:00 PM... 2:00 AM... 3:00 AM...

Unusual. The regular storm would have come and gone by this point, but nine chilling hours after the disciples had set out, they were still painfully at the oars. Surrounded by the headstrong crush, their lives seemed to hang in the balance. Fisherman lore often attempts to interpret the hunger of storms, but the disciples were completely at a loss as to what the murderous waves were trying to say. They continued forcing their boat towards Capernaum, but they were going to a place they shouldn’t have been going. [5] Words that sounded surprisingly familiar broke through the scream of the wind. The ghostly figure on the water had nearly reached their small fishing boat when it said, “Take courage. It is I.” [6] The figure they mistook for an apparition, traveling with no vessel under its feet, was their Jesus. He had prayed for them, He had seen them. He always sees His own.

Maybe Peter thought that he’d rather be in the waters next to Jesus than in a Jesus-less boat with the others. He asked Jesus for permission to go to Him. His desire was to go to Christ. [7] His request was to go to Christ. He asked and then he waited,

{

“Consider your posture. If you’re static, if you’re sedentary, if you’re sitting in the boat, consider stepping out.”

and Jesus’ answer came.

Jesus said, “Come,” yet he didn’t construct a gleaming outline of a path through the waters. Jesus motioned for him to walk, yet didn’t ask the spraying swell to conveniently harden before him. Jesus answered Peter’s request, but he didn’t produce a floor-plan, a blueprint, a detailed how-to-walk-on-water pamphlet.

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Walking on water isn’t about miracles. We walk on water to get to Jesus. Peter had seen His face, the face of One who had never given a false promise, never laid down an impossible demand without offering to show the way. There was not a trace of doubt to be found amongst the lines of sincerity in His Master’s kind face. He had said, “Come to me.”

Maybe Peter was thinking about Moses crossing the Red Sea, or Joshua and the feat he pulled off at Jericho. His mind might have strayed to David, as he strode confidently into the valley of Elah to take down the bully Goliath, or Esther, who approached the King of Persia at his court – an invitation to lose everything. Peter could have been thinking of Daniel, and the lions that turned into pillows at his feet. As Peter trained His eyes on that face, his legs couldn’t help but move forward with confidence. His heartbeat, a steady metronome, was not the beat of a crazed man on a wild trajectory. The water felt firm under his feet.

Obedience to God’s call will give you access to realms that no amount of natural strength can attain. He had seen the storm, he had felt the wind. The wind was yowling the whole time. It never stopped even as Peter concentrated wholly on Jesus.

But then he stopped. His focus must have fallen. Natural circumstances crept their way back in. Perhaps a wall of water momentarily obscured Jesus’s face from Peter’s gaze. A wall of water, a barrier not meant to be crossed. Water, designed to be walked upon? The wind howled in his ears, mingling deceptively with the disciples’ voices, for a moment unheard, but growing ever clearer, more urgent, even worried. His pulse started to take off, and the night sky seemed to fall in around him, suffocatingly thick, threatening to swallow him if the wa-

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ters didn’t take him first.

Jesus didn’t rebuke Peter for stepping out of the boat. When Jesus says, “Come,” you come. Peter’s only option was to get himself out of that boat, with his argumentative head or without. He was “one of little faith” because he had forgotten that all the powers of Heaven were at his disposal. He had forgotten that trusting in Jesus didn’t mean you could trust Him halfway.

He had forgotten that Jesus had called him to step out, and that He would see it to the end. [8] If he had continued to keep his eyes on Jesus, he could have walked across the Atlantic Ocean. [9] Brothers, sisters, what were the other eleven disciples doing in the boat? They were fine. There was nothing wrong with the boat, there was nothing wrong with being in the boat. God built the boat, God gave them the boat. The boat wasn’t leaking. Remaining in the boat is not equivalent with “the sinful decision” in this situation. Remaining is staying in a place that doesn’t invite God to move us forward. Satan uses comfort to hold believers in dangerously irrelevant stasis, undermining their relationship with the living God. I’ve known some dear saints who’ve done more than walk across water. By the grace of God they’ve pulled themselves out of bed and returned to the workplace, an ambassador for His name; they’ve decided to claim the peace of Christ and have forgiven those who’ve hurt them deeply. Consider your posture. If you’re static, if you’re sedentary, if you’re sitting in the boat, consider stepping out. Consider the Savior who calls you, who yearns for you, who actively seeks you. If God asks you to walk on water this very day, know that He who calls you is faithful; He will surely do it. [10] ________________

Exodus 3:14 that his name is “I AM.” This is a phrase that the disciples would have immediately understood. Jesus links Himself with the God of the Old Testament who miraculously delivered his people again and again.

[7] John 17:3.

[8] Philippians 1:6.

[9] This thought is taken from a sermon by Pastor Ray Pritchard in July 2009. http://www.keepbelieving.com/sermon/2009-07-10-Walk-on-WaterPete!/#comments [10] 1 Thessalonians 5:24.

Footnote References: 2)http://gracethrufaith.com/childrens-stories-for-adults/feedingthe-5000/ 6)Pastor Ray Pritchard, http://www.keepbelieving.com/sermon/2009-0710-Walk-on-Water-Pete!/#comments

Bianca Brown ’14 is a Long Island native, but is looking forward to the residence being prepared at her permanent address.

[1] Mark 6:34.

[2] The desolate place was located near a town called Bethsaida, which is usually translated “house of fishing” and denotes their proximity to the Sea of Galilee and the town’s major industry. Beth is Hebrew for house, and sayid literally means “box lunch,” and so some interpreters take the name of the town to mean “House of the Box Lunch.”

[3] Acts 27:35 – After [Jesus] said this, He took some bread and gave thanks to God in front of them all. Then He broke it and began to eat.

[4] In John 6, Jesus expresses His sensitivity to the timing His Father had for Him. [5] John 6:16 They were heading toward Capernaum, even though Jesus explicitly told them to go to Bethsaida. John’s record is very brief at this point but he tells us the distance that the disciples had already rowed before Jesus came to them (6:19) and points out that they were attempting to make for Capernaum (6:17) when they had been specifically instructed by Jesus to row to Bethsaida (Mark 6:45).

[6] Matthew 14:27. The phrase “It is I” is the Greek version of God saying in

EMILY LOVERIDGE

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When city hearts meet kingdom come

by Andy Morgosh The city of my heart is being torn down, Ravaged by an eternal king, And I am but a passive observer.

With battering rams of guilt And persistent armies of sorrow, He orchestrates the great takeover.

I stand and watch.

No weaponry is superfluous; My condition necessitates this destruction, Yet this cognizance affords no solace.

Amidst the breaking I am unsure Whether I should cry out in agony Or pick up a sword and join.

My heart is torn.

It is a surreal separation of self, Like a patient observing his own operation, And I cannot look away.

Surely He wouldn’t enter the dusty alleyways And secret corridors and dark corners – There are places in there too dangerous for any man to go.

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But it is too late.

I watch, drenched in pain and sorrow, as the army of light floods into those houses whose doors I’ve bolted and windows I’ve locked up.

The worst part is, I can’t even see the king.

His forces work ruthlessly, tirelessly – I am the only one left exhausted.

Still, He keeps His distance.

One glimpse could remove the pain Of a thousand blows to my small city, A million years from reformation.

I emit a feeble shout of protest from deep within But it is drowned out in the cacophony.

I resolve to keep quiet.

It was me, after all, who let Him in.

Andy Morgosh ’12 is from San Diego, CA. He likes mental math, impersonations of Montana farmers, skiing big lines, and spending time in one of the neatest things there is: nature.

Steven Ellis, or, How a pair of blue eyes led to spiritual awakening

by Emily Ciavarella

My love life has always been chaotic. Chalk it up to plain human nature or my status as an all-girls school “lifer” (from first through twelfth grade I never saw a boy in a classroom); either way, my romantic history is one giant narrative arc of incompetence. I’ve gotten to the point where even in the throngs of romantic entanglement (be it a crush, a hookup, or a relationship) I notice the absurdity of the situation. Don’t worry: I won’t give a play-by-play account of all the silly boy drama I’ve had in my life.

Instead, I’m going to focus on one particular saga: Steven Ellis[1], my passionate unrequited ninth grade love interest, and the first evangelical Christian I ever really knew.

I met Steven Ellis at a summer theatre program between ninth and tenth grade. When I considered his blue eyes, soft and brown hair, gentle laugh, beautiful singing voice and thoughtful disposition, I

couldn’t help but be completely smitten. It also didn’t hurt that he was one of the few boys I knew at this point in my life. Steven Ellis was a knight in shining armor, and I had to get to know him. I was awkwardly friendly, always striking up conversations with him. I soon learned he came from an Evangelical household. Perfect! It was something I knew nothing about, so I had an excuse to ask him lots of questions.

I was not prepared for the deep philosophical discussions that followed.

Steven was not “religious;” he disliked the term because it emphasized a social construct rather than a personal relationship with God (and my inner voice cried, “Swoon—such a rebel!”). He described nights he spent agonizing about his faith, moving back and forth between despair and fulfillment (and I thought, “He’s so sensitive!”). Once when we were having lunch together, just the two of us in the cafeteria, I asked him JAMIE BAIK

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how his faith had affected his life. He told me, “One day I hope I won’t be able to order a sandwich without God present in my decision.” I continued to eat my own sandwich, albeit in small, nervous bites (I knew I certainly hadn’t consulted Jesus on my choice of PB&J).

At the time I did not consider myself a Christian; I preferred the label “secular humanist.” I was intimidated by his fervor and commitment, yet his openness and respect for my beliefs kept me talking. I spouted my ninth grade philosophy with almost as much fervor, but with far less commitment. When he asked me where my morality came from, I told him that I simply loved humanity and found it both beautiful and wonderful. We had talked about this for a while when he suddenly said, “I think that these thoughts and feelings are God tugging

“He suddenly said, ‘I think that these thoughts and feelings are God tugging at your heart.’” at your heart.” At the time, I found his comment presumptuous and disconcerting, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued by such a poetic diagnosis. That phrase echoed in my head, along with his mellifluous voice and kind laugh.

One day, I decided I could contain my passion for him no longer. I walked straight up to him after a singing workshop and declared in my most romantic voice: “I like you.” No embellishment, just the facts. His response? An equally unadorned “Okay.” He then proceeded to avoid me all day, and sent me an instant message that night saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t see you that way.” Even more tragically, I learned shortly thereafter that he had set his sights on someone else: a perky little thing named Courtney who, when I said something about “femininity,” asked if it was a real word. His rejection brought me many nights of crying, flailing around, and general angsting. This romantic drama was so well known at the program that, in a truly

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bizarre moment, one of the hippie acting instructors told me that I was too mature and “centered” for Steven anyway at this point in time. As we grew older, we went our separate ways. He went to a state school in New Jersey to study acting, I found other boys to obsess over, and that was that.

Even without Steven, though, I continued to ponder Christianity. I began poring through the Bible, reflecting on what I read and what I felt. Slowly, I started to experience this emotional and intellectual connection with the Scriptures. After I read a chapter, I would think to myself, “This makes sense,” and I would feel a great sense of security and peace. I began to believe in God. I write this now not as a secular humanist, but as a Roman Catholic, and I feel that “this-makes-sense” feeling every time I take Communion. I wouldn’t say that I’m looking for God to tell me my lunch order, but I now share Steven’s longing for a stronger relationship with God. Before, I was too confused and infatuated to truly appreciate Steven’s words; thankfully, they never left me.

Last Ash Wednesday, I sent Steven a Facebook message telling him about my baptism into the Catholic Church and hoping his life was going well. He responded by first thanking God that he, an ordinary sinner, could do some good in unexpected ways. He remembered our conversations and told me to never stop pursuing the truth and asking questions. Our feeble attempts to catch up beyond this exchange faltered; still, I think we had said everything we needed to say. Steven Ellis was not the first and certainly not the last boy I’ve angsted over. Still, I’ll remember his words and his faith, even long after I forget about his dreamy blue eyes. ________________ [1] Name changed because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Emily Ciavarella ’13 is a Theatre and Philosophy major from Short Hills, NJ. Her last name is pronounced “SIH-vah-REL-la.”

Revealed

Pinsi Lei ‘12 is an Art History and Psychology double major from Guam. She enjoys taking pictures of things that catch her eye.

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Love A close brush with death My sneakers beat a staccato rhythm on the asphalt, carrying me home through the November rain. The evening’s basketball practice had been grueling, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I had just become a member of Canby High’s 6A freshman team. After hours of exhausting drills, I only felt elated. Death could not have been further from my mind on the night that I almost died.

When I woke up the next morning, my knees buckled and I literally fell out of bed. When I began to see double, Dad rushed me to the emergency room. Doctors issued diagnoses ranging from multiple sclerosis to a brain tumor. My lifespan lurched up and down like a kite in a tornado. Hours passed, punctuated by MRI after MRI. At two o’clock in the morning, I was admitted to the hospital’s intensive care unit.

By sunrise, we had an answer. A life-threatening disorder called Guillain-Barré Syndrome was causing my immune system to attack my nerves and brain. Guillain-Barré inflicts paralysis that is often permanent – and if it reaches the lungs, the disorder is potentially fatal. Since rogue white blood cells were causing the paralysis, my blood needed to be replaced with blood from a donor before they wreaked further havoc.

One nurse anesthetized me. Another helped me climb unsteadily onto a gurney. We laughed and joked – they, sympathetically, I, nervously – as they wheeled me under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights, through hallways that seemed to stretch for miles, and into a silent white operating room. A surgeon connected me to a centrifuge and the procedure began.

Few experiences are as strange as watching your blood leave your body. Mesmerized, I saw ounce after ounce follow a thin, translucent tube into the machine. The whir of the centrifuge eventually lulled me to sleep. When I awoke, my heart was

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pumping another person’s blood. Someone I had never met had saved my life.

The doctors said that months of recovery lay ahead, but my family ensured that I was never alone. They moved into a trailer in the hospital parking lot and spent time with me at every opportunity.

I vividly remember closing my eyes while Mom read from the Book of Psalms, listening to The Wealth of Nations on tape with Dad, and holding my brother Josiah who had been born in the same building just three weeks earlier. We celebrated Thanksgiving around my bed, grateful for one other.

Soon we received another reason to be thankful: I was healing with astonishing speed. Thanks to prayer from hundreds of friends and relatives and superb care from the ICU staff, I walked out of the hospital two weeks after I had arrived. Providentially, my neurologist was one of the nation’s few experts on Guillain-Barré Syndrome. He had served in Uganda during his

“Every passing hour is irretrievable, whether it is well-spent or not.”

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transfused

by Christopher Riegg

younger years and witnessed several miraculous healings that were medically inexplicable. Shaking his head, he told me that divine intervention was the only reason I was walking at all.

This brush with death taught me how to leave a mark on the canvas of life. I was introverted before my illness. The care that I received when I could offer nothing in return showed me the selfishness of withholding friendship because I was afraid of the risk involved. Since then, I have discovered a new appreciation for my family and their unconditional love for me, and a new desire to be a friend to those who are lonely as I once was.

My illness also reminded me of life’s transience. I had given little thought to my goals and plans in life because I naïvely assumed that I was guaranteed time for them later. Guillain-Barré shattered this illusion. Since I was twelve or thirteen, I have had a clear vision for working in the legal system to defend free speech. In the wake of my illness, I realized for the first time that if I wanted my life to count for more than a 9-5 shift and a paycheck, I needed to intentionally dedicate myself to changing the world around me. Every passing hour is irretrievable, whether it is well-spent or not. Guillain-Barré showed me that I cannot stop time’s relentless march. I can only determine the legacy that I leave behind.

That November, I saw my responsibility to love others unconditionally and resolved that I would leave a legacy of friendship. Slowly, I learned to look for the good in those around me.

Once I decided to do my best to show love to others, my eyes were opened to the opportunities that had been in front of me all along. I worked to deepen my relationships with my four brothers and sisters and thanked my parents for their patience and generosity. I looked for the lonely kid in the corner, took time to get to know the homeless men I met on the way to class, and worked at an orphanage for mentally disabled children in San Vicente, Mexico. I can’t point to a single moment when I learned to love, but I know that today, four years later, I am a changed person.

The pessimists in life tell us that love is irrational – that we are only motivated by our own interests – that selfless sacrifice cannot exist. I live because the pessimists are wrong. The devotion of my family has made me who I am, the generosity of a donor I will never know has saved my life, and the friendship of my Creator has given me purpose. I am grateful to God for giving me another chance to leave my corner of the cosmos better than I found it. Miracles, after all, shouldn’t be wasted.

Christopher Riegg ’15 is a student from Canby, OR. He hopes to study political science and economics.

CHRISTOPHER RIEGG

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But me he caught—reached all the way from sky to sea; he pulled me out Of that ocean of hate, that enemy chaos, the void in which I was drowning.

They hit me when I was down, but God stuck by me.

2 Samuel 22:17-20

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PINSI LEI

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Revelation

by Nykeah Parham

Too afraid to be scared, Too confused to even care.

A car drives by; a few shots fired, one man down, One heart, one mind, one body, one soul, one crown LOST. Away from it all.

I pray that heaven isn’t too far, Too far to keep Him away To let we who watch fall astray and lose faith.

Does anyone see this?

Can anyone hear this?

Tears stream down my face.

Maybe life IS a race That no one can win.

Too many sins that are broken, Too many lives – stolen.

Maybe those demons that stalk us Will never turn to dust.

They’re only here to take away from us.

And that puts hate right here.

Hate is too LOUD to hear.

Hate isn’t what we fear – It’s love.

LOVE conquers all, no matter what people say.

LOVE doesn’t let you fall, or fade away.

Now the cries have faded, but the sadness lives on, In our hearts, in our minds – We all know what’s going on.

Nykeah Parham ’13 is an English major and Africana Studies concentrator from Los Angeles, CA. She loves exploring how ethnic culture and Christianity work together to form identity.

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Rock or sand?

On tests of faith and firm foundations

by Caleb Miaw “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.

And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of – mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.” {Matthew 7:24-27, ESV} Jesus’s chief concern in this picture, which appears at the conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount, is to warn His listeners against the danger of a lack of obedience, of being content with listening to the gospel instead of putting it into practice.

These words, then, are not addressed to people who have no interest whatsoever in the kingdom of God, but for those who have been listening and enjoy listening to its teachings. Is our response just to praise Jesus’s teachings, to say with so many others that it has such exalted morality, that it is the ideal life that all ought to live? He does not desire such praise; He desires practice. “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.”

This statement, then, is also a perfect definition of faith.

James captures this spiritual truth in his Epistle: “Faith apart from works is dead” (James 2:26). Just as love is more than an emotion, faith is more than intellectual assent. Like love, faith is rooted in concrete action. However, if we are to fully grasp the spiritual truth that is taught here, we must examine the picture in detail. It is a dangerous thing, of course, to press the details of any picture too far, and yet, surely Jesus does not present this striking image to no purpose.

First, let us look at the two men and the two houses. Both men desire to build a house, a house in which they can live

with their families, dwell at ease, and enjoy themselves. Jesus states that there is no difference between these two houses except in the foundation, so we can go one step further and suggest that the houses have the same design. The doors, the windows, and the chimneys are in the same position, with the same design and pattern – the two houses are apparently identical. Although the difference between the two houses is not obvious, it is nevertheless fundamental, for the most important thing about any house is ultimately its foundation. The significance of this difference is revealed by the coming storms. They are inevitable and inexorable, and in view of that, nothing matters more than the foundation.

“Although the difference between the two houses is not obvious, it is nevertheless fundamental, for the most important thing about any house is ultimately its foundation.”

Second, let us look at the storms – the rain, the floods, and the winds – and, without pressing the details too far, let us suppose that each represents a specific type of test that confronts any house. Perhaps the rain represents circumstances that come to all of us – disappointment, frustration, illness, loss, etc. These things are unavoidable and when they come, they test our foundation. Perhaps the floods represent worldliness, Fall 2011

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the way of the world, “the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions” (1 John 2:16). If we have any interest whatsoever in the kingdom of God, worldliness will come and test us. It assumes many forms, coming with mighty power and seeping in subtly, unobserved and unsuspected. Perhaps the winds represent Satanic attacks, such as periods of darkness, denial, or doubt. He attacks violently, blowing and beating against the house, trying to knock it down, and Christians throughout the ages have suffered from the power of such attacks.It is not so much that the Christian wants to forsake his faith, but that Satan’s power can be so great that the Christian hesitates and wonders whether his or her foundation will

“Just as love is more than an emotion, faith is more than intellectual assent.” endure. Finally, of course, comes death itself. Some must endure the rain, others the floods, and others the winds, but all must face death. Whether it comes suddenly or gradually, we must all meet it, and it will test, to the very foundation, all that we have ever built.

Nothing but a firm foundation will enable our house to stand.

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Here is a very simple test: What happens to us when the rain falls, the floods come, and the winds blow and beat against the house of our life? How do we stand up to these trials? Can we count it all joy when we meet trials of various kinds, because we know that the testing of our faith produces steadfastness (James 1:2-3)? If we are not prepared for these certainties, then we are fools, and our beliefs will be of no use; indeed, they will collapse in our moment of greatest need.

The Christian message of who God is (and who we are in relation to Him) is meant to prepare us to endure these tests.

A.W. Tozer writes, “A right conception of God is basic to practical Christian living. It is the foundation [of ] the temple; where it is inadequate or out of plumb the whole structure must sooner or later collapse.” Although knowing about God is a necessary precondition to know Him, the breadth of our knowledge about Him is no gauge of the depth of our knowledge of Him. The process of turning our knowledge about God into knowledge of God is quite demanding, but simple enough to understand. We must turn each truth that we learn about God into a matter for meditation before God, leading to prayer and praise to God. We must call to mind, dwell on, and apply to ourselves what we know about the works, the ways, the purposes, and the promises of God. It is an activity of holy thought,

KELSEY HAM

consciously performed in the presence of God, under the eye of God, by the help of God, as a means of communion with God. We clear our own mental and spiritual vision of God, commit ourselves to His interests and identify with His concerns, and let His truth make its full and proper impact on our mind, heart, and will. We are humbled as we contemplate God’s greatness and glory; we are encouraged and reassured – comforted, in the strong, Biblical sense of the word – as we contemplate the unfathomable riches of divine mercy and grace displayed in Christ Jesus. And as we enter more and more deeply into this experience of being humbled and exalted, our knowledge of God increases and with it, our peace, our strength, and our joy.

God help us, then, to put our knowledge to use, that we may truly know God. Would you like to live this life of grace and glory, of knowing and being known by God, and of letting that knowledge transform and renew your life? Is that your supreme desire, your great ambition? Those who desire to live this kind of life, the Christian life, are not content with who they are – they say,

“O, that I might be like the men and women who sacrificed and suffered everything for His sake. O, that I were more like Christ Himself.” Note the nature of this test. It does not ask whether you can live the Christian life; it asks what you would like to be, what you desire to be.

Not only that, you realize that you can never live the Christian life perfectly, but your desire and effort are to that end. You remember that Jesus teaches in His Sermon: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you” (Matt. 7:7). You desire, you pray, and you strive to be like Christ and to know Him now. You want to live a life that intends complete obedience, without any reservations. Offer yourself to God as fully and completely as you know how, and in response to your surrendered act of will, He will accomplish a deeper work of grace in you. Not many are willing to live like this, but those who do experience the power of Christ’s resurrection and live transformed lives. Any person who can face this question and honestly say “Yes!” is like the wise man who built his house on the rock.

“However luxurious or comfortable a house may be, it has no value whatsoever if it suddenly collapses when the storm come.”

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On the other hand, if you find your answer unsatisfactory, there is but one inevitable conclusion: you have been like the foolish man who built his house on the sand. However luxurious or comfortable a house may be, it has no value whatsoever if it suddenly collapses when the storms come. These storms come to the wise and the foolish alike. Everything that we build in this world, every preparation that we make, everything that we rely upon – everything will be subjected to these tests. Do not trust in or live for anything that cannot stand the storms.

We need houses that can stand, that have a firm foundation.

What we need to know about our foundation, therefore – be it our worldview, our identity, our status in life, or our prosperity – is whether or not it will endure life’s tests. Will your foundation enable you to stand in the darkest and most critical hours

of your life? My sincere hope is that you can sing, from the depths of your heart, that hymn of Edward Mote’s – My hope is built on nothing less Than Jesus’s blood and righteousness; I dare not trust the sweetest frame, But wholly lean on Jesus’s name.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand; All other ground is sinking sand. ________________ I have drawn heavily upon the work of D. Martyn LloydJones (Studies in the Sermon on the Mount) and J.I. Packer (Knowing God), to whom I am much indebted.

Caleb Miaw ’11 is currently on staff with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship at Williams. He enjoys exploring the complex simplicity of life (and faith) with others.

KELSEY HAM

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What’s in a name?

by Emily Loveridge

Who am I? I answer to many names and have even more that I give myself as the situation warrants. To my brother a decade older than myself, I am “Em”, “Babe” or “Em & M” (a play on my first two initials), his first pupil, his annoying tag-along, and his very huggable little sister. To my friend Jessica, I’m the “AMALIE!” who always shouts back “YESSICA!”, who makes funky birthday presents, who is the bearer of fruity snacks, and who has an evil laugh. To my Williams Christian Fellowship buddy, I’m the “E Lover!” who randomly crashes in her room, shows up every Thursday to watch Doctor Who, and leaves stuff in her fridge. To my high school teachers, I’m “Emily,” “Miss Em,” “Em’ly,” “Emi,” or “Loveridge!”, the girl who always knew the answer, acted in every play, and who constantly had her nose in a book. To myself (and I do talk to myself ), I am often “Emily Michelle!” as I remind myself to do or not to do something, as I’m falling over or rejoicing over some internal victory.

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“How do I sort this all out?

How can I pinpoint what my primary identity is?”

The times when I have to be two different things at once just complicate my already confused identity. When I try to be the hostess to a bunch of friends at home, the “high school friend” Emily, and at the same time remain the little sister to my siblings who are home; or when my parents visit me at college and I add “daughter” to the list of things I am at Williams; or when I’m at a friend’s party, and the confidante she’s used to shrinks into the girl who’s uncomfortable in a group of people she doesn’t know--I don’t know how to deal. My mind, alreday divided to begin with, shrinks from the challenge of being even more things at once.

And yet at the end of the day, who am I? When the door shuts and the lights go out, who am I left with? Am I the confident, put-together-yet-humble girl whom my high school teachers saw? Am I the flake who doesn’t know how to manage her time? Am I the wacky, arguably-most-sane-of-thegroup, silly member of my high school friends (code-named “The Scourge”)? Or am I the sleep-deprived, falling-apartemotionally-and-physically, can’t-think-straight girl who shows up in class after the occasional all-nighter? “To thine own self be true” is Shakespeare’s advice from Hamlet, but who is my “own self ” when it can’t be defined by a single name?

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“My mind, already divided to begin with, shrinks from the challenge of being even more things at once.”

How do I sort this all out? How can I pinpoint what my primary identity is? Honestly, I still don’t really know. I don’t have it all figured out. However, I do know where the fundamental part of my identity should come from: Christ. Jesus is the lover of my soul, my savior, my creator. I must strive each day to be more like Him and more as He tells me I should be.

Years ago at a Christian camp I was given a list entitled “I am.”

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The list is composed of several identities outlined in the New Testament. I keep this list above my desk as a daily reminder of who I am to be. I am “a child of God” (John 1:12), “holy and dearly loved” (Colossians 3:12), “a dwelling place of God” (1 Corinthians 3:15), “God’s workmanship” (Ephesians 2:10).

Each of these identities, these “I ams” should have a bearing on how I live and how I act each day. But the identity I’ve found in Christ and that I try to claim the most isn’t actually on the list -- it’s the one I’ve have yet to add. I am a sinner, unholy, unrighteous, unworthy of love, saved by the grace given me by God. In short, I am redeemed. That is where I must place my focus. The hard part is convincing myself of that truth daily, and making that truth the answer when someone asks who I am.

Emily Loveridge ’14 is from Loyalton, CA. She enjoys hot coffee, good television shows, and the occasional day spent skipping.

The second Adam

Comparing two patriarchs of the Old Testament

by Esther Cho Within the first ten chapters of Genesis, the earth is created in the time of Adam, and destroyed and recreated in the time of Noah. The accounts of Adam and Noah both parallel each other and diverge in their use of repetition, terminology, and narrative structure. Close examination reveals the carefully juxtaposed differences within the matching narrative framework.

More specifically, both stories contain a pattern of reversed processes which lead to the same results. The development and the effect of this pattern delineate the relationship between Adam and Noah, presenting Noah as a much weaker and flawed Adam – a figure more like a human and less like God.

“Noah does not replace Adam, but retains his flaws and mistakes.”

The sky is created when “God made the expanse, and it separated the water which was below the expanse from the water which was above the expanse. And it was so. God called the expanse Sky” (Genesis 1:7-8). Here, the formation of heaven and the seas hinges on the separation of water. This process of creation strongly resembles the later process of destruction in the form of the Flood. “All the fountains of the great deep burst apart,/And the floodgates of the sky broke open” (Gen. 7:11). The separation made between heaven and the seas is revoked as the floodgates break open. Illustrated with strikingly similar vocabulary, the story of destruction seems to retell the story of creation in reverse. This inversion, however, is incomplete. There is a grammatical difference between the two: in the creation story, God is the subject of the sentence, taking an active role in carrying out the action verbs “made” and “called,” whereas in the Flood story, the subject changes to “fountains” and “floodgates” that “burst apart” and “broke open” respectively. This change in syntax excludes God’s agency from the process of destruction. In fact, God is entirely absent from the text throughout the course of the Flood. Why?

According to Genesis 1, the fundamental means of creation is speech. As God literally speaks the world into being, the act of speech becomes more than an instruction – it becomes the mark of creation. Thus, it would make sense for God to cease speaking while destruction occurs. God is excluded from the syntax; His absence signifies His disengagement. After the Flood, “God remembered Noah and all the beasts and all the cattle that were with him in the ark, and God caused a wind to blow across the earth, and the waters subsided. The fountains of the deep and the floodgates of the sky were stopped up, and the rain from the sky was held back” (Gen. 8:1-2). Here, God “remembered,” as if He were not intellectually attentive before and thus had to reengage Himself with the world. When God restores the earth after the Flood, causing the waters to subside, the text again uses the terminology of creation and reiterates the process. From the destruction of the earth rises its recreation, and it is only through this reversal that Noah emerges as the second Adam.

As a result of the Flood, Noah becomes the only patriarch of humanity, just as Adam was. The two opposite processes yield the same effects for Adam and Noah: God blesses them to “be fertile and increase, and fill the earth” (Gen. 1:28, 9:1); God gives them the authority to rule over all animals (Gen. 1:28, 9:2); and they are both called to be “the tiller[s] of the soil” (Gen. 3:23, 9:20). There is, however, one difference – their diets. For Adam, God designated as food both fruits of trees, and after the expulsion, vegetables. For Noah, God extends the boundary of food to animal flesh. This succession of diet from fruits to animals represents the gradual deterioration of man’s relationship with nature. Fruits, from seed-bearing trees, are the most natural source of food. Vegetables require tilling of the soil, which intervenes slightly with the natural cycle. However, meat involves killing animals, violence against nature. This change of diet reflects how humanity transitions from being God-like to being more animal-like. Hence, while the overlap between the two characters reinforces Noah as the Fall 2011

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Adam figure, the differences in their diets reveal that Noah is more human and thus more removed from God. For Adam and Noah, consumption of fruit leads to disastrous consequences. When Adam eats the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden, he realizes his nakedness and covers himself. When Noah drinks of the wine from his vineyard, he becomes drunk and uncovers himself in his tent. Through this reversal of covering, Noah is presented as the continuation rather than the incarnation of Adam. Adam’s consumption of the forbidden fruit gives him carnal knowledge, which Noah inherits – unable to “know” nakedness again, he can only undo the covering of nakedness. This indicates that Noah does not replace the figure of Adam; rather, he retains Adam’s flaws and mistakes. Thus, the inverted process is necessary for Noah to echo Adam’s consequences of shame and curses.

Once again, there is a revealing difference between the two narratives juxtaposed within similar plot structures. In Adam’s account, Adam wrongs God and God curses him. In Noah’s account, his son Ham wrongs him when he “saw his father’s nakedness and told his two brothers outside.” (Gen: 9:22), and Noah curses Ham. Here, God’s curse contrasts sharply with Noah’s curse in its magnitude and characterization. God curses Adam to toil the ground for food and succumb to death, which has universal implications for humanity, whereas Noah only has power over his own children when he curses Ham’s son, Canaan, to be a slave to his brothers. Moreover, God shows mercy to Adam after the curse to ease his pain and provides relief by clothing him. Noah, on the other hand, does not provide any relief to Ham, failing to live up to his own name which means “comfort” (Gen. 5:29). This difference accentuates Noah’s flaws in comparison to God’s perfection, intensifying the distance between them.

Speaking of distance, where is God throughout the passage on Noah’s drunkenness? The text avoids mentioning God after He blesses Noah, and by describing the next series of events with a rapid string of verbs, effectively blurs the relative chronology of Noah’s drunken episode and God’s disappearance.

Nevertheless, the absence of God revisits the silence of God during the destruction of the Flood. While His creation was being undone, God distanced Himself from the world and

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hence had to “remember” Noah, which implies intellectual re-engagement. This also resembles how God is portrayed as away when Adam ate the forbidden fruit and how His presence is reintroduced by Him calling out to Adam, “Where are you?” (Gen. 3:9), which denotes linguistic re-engagement with Adam. In light of both instances, during which bad things happen when God is away, the very absence of God in the text suggests that Noah’s drunkenness was a “bad thing,” comparable to the destruction of the Flood and Adam’s consumption of the forbidden fruit. This characterizes Noah as a flawed figure, already foreshadowed by the introduction of Noah as “blameless in his age” (Gen. 6:9), which expresses suspicious relativism of blamelessness during the time when “the earth was filled with lawlessness” (Gen. 6:11). Such strong implications again portray Noah as a figure far removed from God. Throughout Genesis, the narratives of Adam and Noah follow a particular pattern within two larger frameworks involving the Flood and the fruits: there is a reversal of process that renders similar results. These results construct parallel narrative structures that illuminate the differences, and the juxtaposed differences between either Noah and Adam or Noah and God characterize Noah as an impoverished figure of Adam, more human than God-like, compared to Adam. Before Adam, God says, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness,” (Gen. 1:26) which begins the history of mankind. After Noah, men say, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves” (Gen. 11:4), which usurps the language of the heavenly host. In response, God says, “Let us, then, go down and confound their speech there, so they shall not understand one another’s speech” (Gen. 11:7), which scatters men all over the world in order to set a clear divide between God and man. What happened in between to shift their relationship? The answer to this question lies in the gaping distance between divinity and humanity, revealed through the close examination of Noah alongside Adam within a mere ten chapters of the Bible.

Esther Cho ’13 is a Psychology and English double major from Queens, NY. She hopes to one day walk past a motion sensor undetected.

What has this world come to?

Chaos in our culture

by Steven Servius

Looking at the past twenty years or so, many Christians would agree on how corrupted and perverse each generation has successively become. Sin is the breaking of God’s laws, the prioritization of personal pleasure over the commandments of God. Galatians 5:19-21 warns Christians against such sins as hostility, sexual immorality, jealousy, anger, selfish ambition, and envy, but the culture that we live in today seems to have a growing insensitivity to sin as time goes on. Today’s PG-13 movies contain the sexual content and foul language that, ten years ago, could’ve only belonged in R-rated movies. PG movies that young children watch now contain “only” a few cuss words, as if limiting foul language makes it appropriate for developing minds. Even shows that are created for young children have cast away cartoons with light-hearted, innocent themes in favor of shows based on more adult topics, oftentimes filled with layers of sexual innuendo.

I don’t believe that sin has become worse in this world, let alone in this country, because sin has always existed and has enslaved all of mankind throughout the course of history. What I do believe is that American culture has become increasingly open to sin, exposing young children to it so that they may “grow up” faster. It seems that many have forgotten Jesus’s warning in Matthew 18:6 that says, “But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” We should take Christ’s words to heart and strive to instill younger generations with wholesome truths, instead of making them mature too quickly and become well acquainted with a lifestyle flooded with sin.

This chaotic world that I speak of has been overtaken by the pursuit of pleasing self over the Creator. It’s a world where instead of boldly claiming that what you believe is in fact the one and only truth as the Bible says, many shy away from proclaiming the Good News to those around them. Many have chosen to throw away faith for some deceptive human philosophy that Paul warns us about in Colossians 2:8, that imprisons our souls instead of liberating them. Instead of being foreigners to this

sinful world as described in 1 Peter, many have chosen to conform to it despite the command in Romans 12:1-2.

As the lukewarm attitude spoken against in Revelation 3:1516 becomes increasingly popular, chaos ensues. It’s impossible to accept such behavior when Psalm 101 says, “I will not look with approval on anything that is vile. I hate what faithless people do; I will have no part in it.” This is why I can only encourage those who claim to be my brother or sister in the faith to live out what they claim. Each word of God should be heard and each command obeyed, as He intended. God’s Word is not up for revision for us to pick and choose at will the parts that we would like to follow. Upon realizing the wrongs of a sinful and lukewarm lifestyle, one should turn away from it and jump wholeheartedly into a life fully devoted to Christ. One should step out of his or her comfort zone and place complete trust and obedience in God. Heed the instructions of Matthew 6:31-33 which say, “So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”

When I observe the society we live in and see the chaotic culture of sin that is popularized by the media, I find that the only guide through such chaos is the Word of God. I always look at Philippians 2:14-16 for hope in these times. I look at the command given to us to “do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.

Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain.” Only through a close relationship and submission to God can the chaos that exists in this culture be battled. The Gospel has the power of salvation, which can save this world that’s spiraling into chaos.

Steven Servius ’15 is from Stuart, FL. He enjoys football and hopes to go into Christian ministry either as a pastor or foreign missionary.

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A house on rocks Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. {Matthew 7:24-25, NIV}

Kelsey O. Ham ’12 is a Biology and Religion double major from Bozeman, Montana. Among her favorite things to do are taking photos, watching mountains, drinking coffee, and meeting new people.

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Limiting the unlimited

Challenging personal beliefs

by Sugi Min Growing up as a pastor’s kid, learning about different religious traditions or alternate ways to find spiritual meaning in life was quite foreign to me. My entire understanding of spiritual life centered on what I learned from my dad: from going to church weekly to hear his sermons, hearing him teach about how and what to pray, and having family Bible studies. The truth he preached was my truth. Whenever I had questions of morals or theology, I deferred to his authority as he guided me through my interactions with God. I hesitated to challenge that authority because there was no one else to help guide me in searching and learning about God for myself, and my unresolved religious questions had no immediate consequence.

Coming to Williams and attending church in Williamstown on my own was my first real opportunity to mold my own spiritual life. Even though my entry mates and I tried to find a church, among many here in Williamstown, that provided the least unfamiliar worshiping experience from our home churches, the church community we finally settled into at Community Bible Church still provided a new worshipping tradition from what I was used to. Though we profess the same Christ’s love, our method of prayer, or leadership within the church, was different from what I grew up with. However, my exposure to the beauty in experiencing and connecting with Him in a diverse way just began there.

For the first time, living and engaging with others who had different conceptions of spirituality or belief, even within the realm of Christianity, seriously challenged my notion of one obvious truth. Long conversations with entrymates about Biblical inerrancy and completeness forced me to question whether the beliefs I held on to were any more legitimate than theirs. At this point in my spiritual journey, where I am constantly sur-

rounded by people with such various conceptions of spirituality and truth, I cannot leave these questions on the backburner.

Are we limiting our understanding of God by creating artificial religious definitions of who He is and how He communicates with us? Does He intend to have the same relationship with you as with me? These unresolved questions constantly affect my day-to-day actions and interactions. Yet I also realize this grappling and questioning is okay, because it allows me to recreate my own relationship with God and develop a more fluid spirituality that is not rigid or limited by the defined religious notions we subscribe to.

This Winter Study, I will have the opportunity to travel to Jerusalem to learn more about how people develop spiritual meaning in a city so deeply rooted by three major world religions. There is probably no other place on Earth with such dynamic religious communities and history. I look forward seeing the integration, or perhaps the lack thereof, of these multiple religious traditions in forming their identities and I hope that it sheds some light on my ongoing challenge of the rigid notions behind spirituality. It may ultimately provide more provoking questions than satisfactory answers. But even if that is the case, I am solaced by the realization that I’m not looking for my spiritual life to be an end in itself. Constant grappling and questioning makes me realize the wonderful complexity that is our relationship with God, and that makes it worth questioning.

“Long conversations with entrymates about Biblical inerrancy and completeness forced me to question whether the beliefs I held on to were any more legitimate than theirs.”

Sugi Min ’13 is an Alchemy major from San Diego, CA. He gives a great back massage.

Fall 2011

29

Ask

Tackling a difficult story with difficult questions

SI YOUNG MAH

Even though I have called myself a Christian my entire life, I didn’t start reading the Bible on my own, outside of group settings, until the fall of my sophomore year at Williams. It had always been one of those “that would be nice” ideas sitting in the back of my head, but that semester I hit a place where my life needed divine intervention. I was caught in a cycle of stress, worry and work. My exhaustion and lack of time kept me from reaching out to the only lifeline I could be sure of – people who I trusted and loved. It was at this point that I turned to God, not out of curiosity or obligation, but out of desperation.

I have a semi-traumatic history with Bible study, which was part of the reason why I hadn’t started reading it independent-

by Elizabeth Hwang start with the Gospels, which otherwise would have established a solid and familiar path towards understanding Christ.

Instead, I chose the book of Job. Vaguely familiar with its narrative, I had never read beyond the first chapter but knew that Job’s problems were much greater than mine: Not only had he lost his family and his home, but he was also rejected by the only people left in his life. Thus I began with Job in the hope that reading about his plight might make mine seem more endurable. It didn’t.

Reading Job did, however, transform my understanding of God. Previously, I had always found it difficult to imagine a God whom you could talk to, debate with or approach in a

ly earlier. Beginning in elementary school, every so often my mom would be inspired (again) to enforce a mandatory Bible study time for her three reluctant kids. This would have been fine if we hadn’t started with one of the four Gospels (usually Mark, my mom’s absolute favorite) every single time. This happened many, many times. It wasn’t until I reached high school that we actually kept at it long enough to finish the canonical Gospels and move onto Acts. Hence I couldn’t bring myself to

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The Williams Telos

personal way. Before God had seemed to me as nebulous as the cloud He used to guide the Israelites out of Egypt. A few weeks into reading about Job’s struggle with God, I realized that I was allowing my feelings of ignorance and helplessness intimidate me into thinking that God’s perfection made Him unapproachable – who was I to think I deserved an audience with Him? I felt like the shy high school girl crushing on the perfect guy all over again. But here was God speaking directly to Job,

an ordinary man with no particularly important role in Biblical history, for pages upon pages. For the first time, because I trusted that God valued my worth, I found it easier to communicate my feelings to God and this process began to instill confidence in myself.

But Job wasn’t done with me quite yet. That spring, I enrolled in a political theory class in which we discussed the problem of evil and suffering in Job. One of the crucial questions that arises in Job is why an all-powerful and benevolent God would allow for evil and suffering, especially when, as in Job’s own story, it seems arbitrary to us. While the class gave me insight into the book as a whole, I failed to find any personally satisfactory answers from our discussions. Instead, I began to question God the same way Job had, even going one step further to question my faith as well. “Why?” I railed alongside with Job. Why was there rampant injustice and evil and despair? How could Jesus sacrifice himself for our sins but condemn those unaware or unconvinced of Christianity to hell?

Overwhelmed, I began to feel as though I couldn’t measure up to the expectations of Christianity and wondered whether I ever would. There was, and is, no easy solution to my feelings of inadequacy. But time has brought me patience, and now when I feel lacking, I strengthen my resolve to meditate longer on the Bible and think more deeply about Christ and Christianity rather than become disheartened by my lack of knowledge. I also know that I am not alone. If I can conquer my weaknesses, it is only because the support I receive from both Christians and non-Christians who care deeply about my life in Christ and my happiness.

My most recent return to Job was this fall. Unlike the first two readings when I had somehow wandered into Job, this time I went back on a mission to answer a question that had been tugging at me from the beginning: Why did God claim that it was Job’s friends who had “not spoken right” about Him? Why hadn’t God also accused Job, who had railed against Him for most of the thirty chapters? The advice his friends gives (you

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must have done something wrong, listen to your elders, etc.) seemed reasonable, whereas Job’s pride approached arrogance when he accuses God of injustice and utters demeaning phrases to his friends: “But now they mock me, men younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs” (Job 30:1).

As I puzzled over their arguments from the beginning of the book, I read God’s exchange with Job wherein God offers no explanations but rather demands, in summary, “What do you know of order and justice on this earth? Who are you to judge my creation?” If God berates Job, and in effect all humans for their lack of knowledge, then how would we be able to defend God from our own position? Job’s friends offered long, poetic speeches arguing on God’s behalf, but God requires no defense from us – only our faith in Him. And that – true faithfulness – was what Job exemplified as he expressed his longing to reach heaven, even in the midst of his suffering and complaining. The realization that I did not need to defend God to others since He could defend Himself lifted a burden I had been unconsciously carrying all along. I didn’t have to worry any longer about always having the “right answers” in order to be a true Christian. I could wrestle through problems such as evil and suffering through my faith, instead of against it, and focus on discussing God with others without the anxiety of trying to defend God or my faith in Him. There is some irony in the fact that I found peace through Job, a book about a man whose life is thrown into chaos and suffering. Yet even Job, whose questions remain unanswered, finds peace at the close. We may not all find our Jobian “happy ending,” but Job’s life shows how it is human and natural to question a God we cannot understand – and that our relationship with Him depends on our faith alone.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to imagine a God whom you can talk to, debate with or approach in a personal way.”

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Elizabeth Hwang ‘13 is Biology and Chemistry double major from Westchester. She enjoys discussing philosophy and watching not-too-scary movies, preferably not at the same time.

Fall 2011

31

Thoughts on Subiaco

by Frank Pagliaro

Brought up from the crowded world By the gut of a sputtering beast We climb a lone mountain Rising to Rome’s east.

“Escape that cauldron of speech,” My dear brother murmurs, “Cross the bridge and leave yourself,” But loud earth clutches firmer The noise, the noise, the noise, The endless explosions of sound, Merchants grope at shoulder-slung purses And aliens sniff out coins like hounds.

Who can devote himself, amidst the turmoil?

What power lies outside the world?

As we make our trek, our pilgrimage; In my heart, earth’s flag remains unfurled.

Nursia’s saint bids me welcome Before the dawning of the night And the fleeting West falls silent As I follow him in flight.

Before my eyes, a rocky haven rises Pushed from the skin of earth herself. ’Midst rolling green and ancient red Quiet chants sound from mountain’s shelf.

The garden The rose The beginning The end Crux sacra sit mihi lux, Non Draco sit mihi dux!

Et dona nobis...

And the satisfying revelation, the epiphany: To serve the divine, I serve the rioter “Be in it, not of it, and grow the flower in your soul,” And then He’ll grant a world that’s quieter.

Frank Pagliaro ’14 is from Cape Cod, MA and is active in the Williams theatre community. During a pilgrimage to Rome, he visited the Monastery of St. Benedict on Mount Subiaco, where he was inspired to write this poem.

Fall 2011

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Swift sunrise

SATYAN DEVADOSS

TELOS FA L L 2 0 1 1