Category: Opinions

In recent months the word “hope” has appeared repeatedly to me in books, conversations, and chapel talks. I am thinking primarily about Dean Jordan’s chapel series on the topic and conversations with friends struggling with their faith. My reaction to these encounters with hope in the context of Christian faith has been one of frustration and confusion.

I refer to two definitions of hope. The first definition I discuss is hope as a conviction that life has some deeper meaning, as this seems closest to the idea of hope that most often comes up in relation to Christianity. The attitude appears to be that Christianity has a monopoly on meaning, manifesting itself in sayings like “Christ is our only source of hope” and “How could life have any meaning without Jesus?” This attitude is nonsensical. There are millions of atheists, agnostics, Buddhists, and Muslims who have managed to find meaning elsewhere, just as there are multitudes of totally hopeless Christians.

Also, why does life need to have some deeper meaning? Is it not enough to simply accept life for what it is? It takes an unhealthily inflated sense of self to believe that an individual needs to have some cosmic significance in order to be happy. This inflated sense of self and identity leads to a host of other issues, including a compulsive need for affirmation, an obsession with monitoring oneself, and an insatiable craving for recognition. I have often found that the only way in which the Christian faith does give meaning to anyone at all is in addressing these symptoms of self-absorption, yet even it rarely satisfies, as evidenced by Christians struggling with the same major psychological issues as non-Christians.

The second definition I will discuss is of hope as an expectation for positive things to come. In the temporal sense, Christianity certainly fails to provide this sort of hope. Christ promised persecution, division, and poverty to his followers. Of course, that’s a radical reading, but so is prosperity gospel teaching. It seems as though the consensus amongst mainstream believers is: “The Christian life is a better life, except for when it is not.” Same for prayers. “God answers prayers, except for when he doesn’t.” In other words, your life here on earth will be more or less the same with or without God. If it is better or worse, it will be based on your personal discipline and adherence to Biblical wisdom. Therefore, Christianity offers no more hope of earthly satisfaction than any other creed that imposes behavioral regulation. Buddhism offers about as much hope of this variety. Probably even more, since it extensively addresses the problem of suffering.

As for eternal hope of this sort, Christianity does not have a monopoly on paradise. Many world religions have promised a blissful afterlife to obedient adherents. Perhaps Christians do have an advantage over atheists, but atheists don’t care. That advantage only exists if heaven is real. Otherwise, Christians are merely delusional. If one values hope over sanity or rationality, I suggest he or she simply invent a contrived belief system that can provide more hope of every variety. Eternal hope is not as relevant as many pretend it to be.

The average Christian, at least in my experience, does not seem to live in an eternally-minded way. Take, for example, the many bright young students here at Houghton preparing for medical school when prolonging life means delaying heaven. Why study environmental science when the Earth will inevitably pass away? Why study the cosmos when souls are so much more important than stars? Should we not all be tirelessly devoting ourselves to making an eternal impact? Why even study extra-biblical material when that is the primary document in which the Master of Creation revealed himself?

As a final note, the purpose of this article is not to list objections to Christianity, though I would happily do that in an alternate forum. Rather, it is to argue that faith is not some sort of mental tool to give life significance. It is an actual set of beliefs about the nature of reality, which should result in one losing oneself rather than continuously seeking to build oneself up. And if you do find that Jesus is merely a tool in your mental or spiritual health toolbox, rather than a historical human being that called you to lose your life to find it, perhaps you should reconsider what you actually believe.

Tyler is a sophomore majoring in math.

What is home? This question was posed and discussed by President Mullen the first day of classes, and prompted a lot of reflection in my own heart about how the Holy Spirit has been convicting me about what I call “home.”

As I moved out of my childhood “home” and into my Grandma’s house for college during my freshman year, I began to develop a crisis. I spent most of my time at college, slept and “lived” at Grandma’s, grew up where my parents live, studied abroad a semester in a place where I grew roots, and then lived at a camp every summer. With so many places and people, what did home mean to me?

I fell into the party of students President Mullen described in chapel who are disappointed after coming here because Houghton did not meet the glorious and romanticized picture of “home.” For me, that picture had been painted in my head by my family since infancy (Go Highlanders!). Struggling with my physical insecurity of a place to call “home,” I examined my loneliness and confusion. This search began with identity. By knowing where my identity lies, I thought I could figure out where home was.

What was that identity? My identity, I know for certain, is that I am a child of God and a servant in His glorious Kingdom. He identifies my worldview, influences how I make decisions, and determines what I choose to believe in or act upon. Feeling like a nomad of sorts in this world, I eventually came to the conclusion that my “home” is in heaven with Jesus, so wherever Jesus is, that is where my home is here on earth.

I feel “at home” when I am in the presence of my Savior and in a place of deep fellowship with His followers. But even in isolation, my “home” is ultimately located in my relationship with Christ. I once read of a missionary who was imprisoned in solitary confinement for a year. When he was released and people asked what it was like, he responded, “It was like a honeymoon with Jesus.”

May even in our loneliest moment, Jesus be home! “Home” can be wherever I am, whether that be at Houghton, my grandmother’s, the town I grew up in, Africa, camp, or anywhere else on this earth. My earthly home is found in my relationship with Christ and His church. To be “at home,” I think, is to draw near to Jesus and the foot of the cross. The closer one is to Jesus, the more at home they will feel in Him and with others.

In an article I was recently reading regarding Billy Graham and his stance on racial issues, I came across this quote, “The closer people of all races get to Christ and his cross, the closer they will get to one another.” This concept, I believe, carries into our Houghton community. The more emphasis that is placed on Jesus and surrendering our lives to Him at the foot of the cross, the more united Houghton will be in relationships with the Savior and with one another. Billy Graham also said, “History shows that the thought of Christ on the cross has been more potent than anything else in arousing a compassion for suffering and indignation at injustice.” With all the chaos, hurt, and other issues plaguing this campus, I keep drawing to the conclusion that the answer to all of this lies in Jesus Christ and the gospel, as simple or profound as that may sound.

I long more than anything for Christ Jesus to be glorified at Houghton College. I hope we may be a body of believers whose identity, passions, purpose, and “home” will be found in Jesus and His work at the cross of Calvary. By being at home in Christ, we will adopt as a body this Calvary love that crosses all barriers.

Aubrey is a senior majoring in inclusive childhood education and intercultural studies. 

In the 21st century, people enjoy things that are tragically beautiful. People take to the idea of “ending the stigma” around mental illness like a dog to water, but not always in a healthy way. I’m here to talk about those times when people take “erasing the stigma” too far. Using language about mental illness in a casual way can undermine the experience of those with mental illness and create unhealthy cultural norms.

I often hear people casually throw these sentences around: “Wow, I had water for lunch today. I’m literally so anorexic.” or, “Pretty sure I just bombed that chemistry lab, I’m so depressed.” Or even better, “I cleaned my room for two hours today! My OCD gets the best of me all the time!”

Society has turned mental illness into something that’s creative, sometimes even edgy. Suddenly, everyone and their mother has anxiety, depression, anorexia,  or OCD. They’re convinced that having some sort of mental illness will aid them in making friends or help them fit in. I recently stumbled across something called “The Hunger Blogs” and soon was sucked deep into hours’ worth of high contrast, black-and-white photos of collarbones, hipbones, and exposed ribs. For those who are unfamiliar, “pro-ana” sites are websites that advocate anorexia. Pro-mia sites are sites that advocate bulimia. These sites consist of groups of people that are brought together because of the one thing they have in common—eating disorders. People post tips on how to keep their illness hidden. How to lose weight fast. This is what they call “thinspiration,” and it made me sick to my stomach. These sites intentionally encourage mental illness, but cultural ignorance can have a similar effect. As somebody who was born and raised in Asia, I have seen some crazy beauty standards that do nothing more than promote eating disorders. I really don’t think that a healthy person’s waist should disappear behind a sheet of A4 paper.

Since when did associating ourselves and others with something that is so painful become a normal thing to do? Having a mental disorder is not beautiful, it’s real. It’s all consuming, it’s draining, it hurts. Some people who genuinely suffer from these illnesses find it nearly impossible to talk about them.

Let me break it down for you. Just because you cried when Marley died in Marley and Me does not mean you have depression. You do not have anxiety because you get nervous 30 minutes before your Western Civ exam. You do not have PTSD just because you were elbowed by a boy one time in seventh grade. Just because you didn’t sleep well one night does not mean that you’re an insomniac. You do not have OCD because you are slightly more organized than most people, you do not have anorexia because you skipped a meal, and you do not have bipolar disorder because you’re PMS-ing.

Depression is not beautiful. Having your hair fall out because you aren’t eating anything is not classy. Panic attacks are not fun. Constantly falling asleep in class and having permanent dark eye circles because you haven’t slept in days is not adorable. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that depression looks nothing like how Hannah Baker made it look. It’s feeling yourself slowly spiraling out of control, with no clue how to fix it, and living every day in a war zone. It’s sleepless nights, medication that makes you feel like a zombie, under-eating, overeating, and that intense feeling of dread whenever you even think about stepping on a scale. It’s making plans, cancelling them last minute and losing friends. It’s the crappy feeling of being too much, yet not enough.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think walking around every single day feeling like there’s a fifty pound weight on my shoulders is enjoyable. I don’t think being ready to give up before the clock even hits 8 a.m. is beautiful. Pain equals pain, and pain isn’t pretty. So please, stop romanticizing mental illness before it becomes an even bigger problem in society than it is now. Our words and our actions have more of an impact on others and on ourselves than we know.

Celine is a sophomore majoring in psychology and political science.

“I get what they were saying, but they shouldn’t have said it like that.”

This comment captures the general sentiments of many white Americans when confronted with a subversive speaker or writer, especially when they discuss issues surrounding race. Many tend to sympathize with the message being conveyed, but even more find their methods to be repulsive, and because of that, attempt to discredit the overall message being shared.

Remember when Colin Kaepernick and countless other black athletes kneeled during the playing of the national anthem at sporting events? Rather than commenting on police brutality, asking questions about how the prison system has disproportionately affected people of color, or responding to the general systemic racism that still exists in the United States today, much of the response coming from conservative, white America seemed to be: “Why do they have to kneel during the anthem? Can’t they see that they’re disrespecting their own nation?”

Just last week, we welcomed a Native American speaker, Dr. Mark Charles, who spoke to us about horrific acts of violent oppression against countless Native American tribes, and how he believed many white people, and many respected white political figures and theologians were complicit in the removal of Native people from their homelands. The general response was not disgust with these horrific acts or the condemnation of the centuries-long genocide of various Native American tribes. Rather, comments ran more along the lines of “He took that statistic out of context. Why did he sound so angry?”

Thinking through these responses to both Kaepernick and Charles, I have come up with a question of my own: In what ways can people of color speak up that will get conservative white people to listen?

In all honesty, it feels like a hopeless cause. When racial minorities peacefully protest, they are seen as ungrateful and un-American. When violent riots occur in the streets of Baltimore, the protesters are called “thugs” (which, by the way, has been used in the same ways and contexts as the word “nigger”). When speakers like Dr. Charles present a case for how America has not lived up to “liberty and justice for all,” he is chastised for twisting facts to make them fit an agenda.

Is there any way in which racial minorities can speak up in a more convenient and digestible way that would be easier for the average white American to hear?

The answer, in short, is no. There is simply nothing convenient about racial justice. There is nothing about systemic racism that is easy to digest. There is nothing easy about mass incarceration or police brutality. There is nothing convenient about America’s history of removing indigenous people groups from their homelands to build a white civilization. It is hard to hear that the nation you grew up revering has given an unfair hand to racial minorities.

If this were easy, our history would not be plagued with over 200 years of slavery, laws calling for the removal of Indian savages, over half a century of Jim Crow laws, internment camps, or stop-and-frisk policies that seem to allow for the racial profiling of black men in urban areas. If this were easy, we would not ha

ve to contend with the fact that many of our parents and grandparents still remember and lived through racial segregation. If this were easy, a black student on this very campus would never have received a note last spring saying, “You don’t belong here, nigger.”

We cannot ignore history and we, as the body of Christ, cannot be the ones to ignore the present realities of racial injustice in America. As a person of color, I will continue to use my voice until tangible change is made. Yes, we have taken many steps forward since the days of slavery and racial segregation, but there is still much to be done.

Unfortunately, I know that there will be many who are angered by this article. Even more unfortunate is the reality that few will actually engage me in a face-to-face conversation about racial reconciliation. For many, this will not be enough to take a step back and recognize that we have a serious problem with racial inequality in America. Some may disagree with one thing I say, and discredit this entire piece. It feels like a hopeless cause.

But we are not called to hopelessness. We are called to faith, hope, and revolutionary love, and I have hope that things can change. However, we can only improve if we practice active listening. Don’t just seek to discredit statements made by people of color. Instead, make an attempt to understand not only the statistics, but also the personal testimonies of the realities of modern racial discrimination.

Racism is not convenient, and seeking to restore justice is even less so. Still, we have a choice to make: do we as the body of Christ strive for what’s right, or do we settle for what is easy?

Joe is a senior majoring in communication.

As an English major with a particular penchant for poetry, I am a sucker for a good metaphor. I’ll take “silvery dimpled glass” over a simple “surface of a lake” any day. Of course I know that water isn’t really glass, but thinking about it in these terms helps me to better understand the real way that it reflects the sun and city lights with sparkling intensity. Imagine never being able to see or experience this lake scene and having to rely on metaphors to visualize it. Metaphors enliven our experiences and help us more effectively communicate those experiences to others.

It is hard enough to wrap our minds around a lake that we have never seen – imagine what it must have been like for the Hebrews experiencing YHWH for the first time. It is no surprise that the language used to describe God in the Bible relies heavily on a rich variety of metaphors and other figurative expressions. It was not merely given the task of describing something specific in nature, but of showing something above nature, something infinite and above human understanding, in finite and understandable terms.

Unfortunately, for centuries the Church has predominantly relied on a select few biblical metaphors to describe God—and predominantly masculine ones, at that. We know God as Father or the Good Shepherd, a Biblically masculine role. More daring Christians use the word Abba, a more intimate word for ‘father.’ Perhaps when you picture God you imagine a wise-eyed old man with robes, flowing white hair, and a beard to match. I challenge you to think of any other way we could talk about God from the pulpit or depict God in nursery school classrooms without producing some level of discomfort or even inciting protest.

Most people don’t know that in the Bible feminine imagery is also used to describe God. Birthing imagery can be found in Job 38:8-9 and 29, Deut. 32:18, Isaiah 42:14, and Isaiah 46:3-4. Isaiah 49:15 and 66:12-13, and Hosea 11:3-4 present images of nurturing and nursing. God becomes a mother bear in Hosea 13:8. Feminine metaphors and imagery can also be found in the New Testament. In Luke 15:8-10, God is a woman looking for a lost coin, and in Luke 13:20-21 and Matt. 13:33, God is a woman working yeast into dough. Jesus becomes a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings in Luke 13:34. Even as God incarnate in a male form, Jesus was comfortable using feminine metaphors for God and for himself.

Ignoring these parts of scripture and limiting our understanding of God with masculine language can be incredibly damaging for two reasons. Firstly, we risk sexualizing God in a way that biblical writers tried to avoid from the beginning. The deities of surrounding societies were always either male or female and often interacted with each other in sexual ways. YHWH was clearly understood to be above their understanding of gender. By describing God with both masculine and feminine imagery, they defended the uniqueness of their monotheistic beliefs.

Secondly, limiting ourselves to masculine imagery severely limits the ways we allow people to express their experience of God. By using a variety of metaphors, the writers of scripture made God understandable to more people. For example, someone who has seen or experienced the awesome power of a mother bear and her ferocity in protecting her cubs would resonate with the image of God provided in Hosea 13:8. Whereas someone who has never seen a bear, but has experienced great hunger and thirst for much of their life, would really resonate in a unique way with Jesus’ messages about being the bread and water of life. The image of a mother bear communicates God’s power and care for the people of God, while the images of bread and water communicate God’s complete provision and ability to infinitely satisfy our needs. The same is true of metaphors and images with gendered language. God is a father, but God is also a mother who painfully, lovingly gives birth. Both masculine and feminine metaphors are necessary to more fully capture our experience of what God is like, as well as to help every person connect with God in unique ways.

As with anything described with metaphorical language, it is important to remember that God is not literally a bear, a mountain, bread, water, the foundation of a house, a woman, or a man. All of these metaphors simply help us to understand God better. However, the metaphors that we choose are very important. In a world that intentionally and unintentionally continues to privilege men, it helps to be reminded that my God can also be addressed as Mother.

Gabi is a junior majoring in intercultural studies and English.

When I look at the world around me, I am reminded of the social and political debates that consume America. Each time one of these topics is discussed—whether it be the unfair treatment of minorities, gender roles, or abortion rates—it seems that people are forced to take a binary stance on that topic. They must say either “Yes, that is a problem,” or “No, it isn’t an issue.” However, this dichotomy harms our ability to see nuance and divides Americans along political party lines. Disagreements like these, where one party is fully on board and the other is almost entirely antagonistic to the cause, can turn people against each other faster than any other situation I know.

Examples of this polarization include our reactions to the conditions of majority black neighborhoods, the amount of gun violence in the United States, and the number of abortions per year in the United States. These are all things which the average person should say “yes, that is a problem.” Then why is it that, when engaging in discussion or disagreement, there is usually one individual who claims that the problem is entirely nonexistent? Hardly ever do we agree on one real problem and discuss solutions.

Our leaders do the same thing and it’s almost like we are imitating them, like little kids pretend to be their parents. Whenever one side presents an issue, the other side makes it their responsibility to dismiss the concerns raised. Even if it is something that is conservative and cultural in nature, if the Democrats bring it up, it is always wrong to a Republican. Even if a cause fundamentally pushes for the rights of humankind, if it is brought up by a conservative, the liberal population will tear it apart. Strictly liberal or conservative solutions to problems don’t exist, and we need to stop pretending that they do. If we are going to function under our bipartisan system, we should focus on appropriate solutions, not on what problems deserve to be considered problems. America would look at a lot more hopeful if people like Bernie Sanders or Paul Ryan didn’t go on Twitter and immediately start tearing apart the other side. For instance, when the government shut down last week, both Democrats and Republicans took to social media to blame the other side rather than actually attempting to work things out.

Our culture’s major problems need to be defined broadly, because what we might consider an appropriate solution to a problem is often influenced by what we perceive as the root cause. For instance, “liberal” and “conservative” solutions to America’s gun violence issue stem from different understandings of this issue’s cause. For more liberal individuals, the solution is stricter gun laws because the left’s view of the problem is related to individuals’ ability to obtain guns. On the other hand, the right’s solution to the problem involves greater emphasis on mental health concerns because to most conservative individuals, that is the primary cause of mass shootings.

When engaging in political or social discussion, which is healthy and important, it is vital that we strive to define our terms and seriously consider others’ perspectives. This means looking at the concerns of people who we disagree with politically rather than dismissing their priorities out of hand. It is much more likely that we will have a productive conversation when we focus on solutions rather than problems. Only then can the appropriate path for change be revealed. Though no problems will directly be solved by doing this, we will view those we are debating more seriously, their concerns will be easier to understand, and working towards solving a problem will be much more civilized.

Devin is a sophomore majoring in English and writing.

Out of 2,618 accredited colleges and universities, you ended up here. Why? There are lots of great things about this school, but Houghton is a Christian campus in the middle of the woods. Our world is so small I sometimes feel more like a cloistered nun than a college student. Some of us feel like we are missing out on the “American College Experience” and others have become disenchanted with the Church and its “Christian” institutions. Others of us are feel a strain under the lack of diversity of religious backgrounds, wondering to ourselves “How is going to a school filled with people who believe similar things going to help me function in the real world?” So what’s the point? Honestly, why stay and engage in a place that lacks parties, religious diversity, and a decent grocery store?

The answer, like most things in my life, starts with some nerdy history. Imagine yourself as a young student in Berlin in 1933, the year Hitler becomes the democratically elected chancellor of Germany. You don’t have the slightest inkling of the atrocities that this man is about to commit. In fact, by all accounts, he has given you and your country hope that none of you have felt anything like in your lifetime. Your university is flourishing with ideas and your church is vibrant.

Flash forward to 1938: the hope you once felt has been replaced by fear, some of your favorite professors have been arrested, books burned, Jews slaughtered, and the theology of your once vibrant church has melted into madness. Where meekness and sacrifice were once valued, there is now to be ruthlessness and aggressive strength. The Nazarene rabbi you knew as Christ has been recast as a “goose-stepping, strudel loving son of the Reich” and His people rounded up and killed like animals. You are disturbed by what you see and know to be wrong, but if you speak out you will be killed. What do you do?

Well, if you are Dietrich Bonhoeffer, you start an underground seminary where your students can anchor themselves to a vision of justice and compassion in the midst of a storm of hate and violence. You create a space that doesn’t just foster young minds, but also requires empowered action from them. This is why it is worth it to be here. Because here we have a chance in integrate our studies with a worldview that demands that captives be released,  that the blind see, that the oppressed be set free.

A Christian college is not meant to be a place where we are cloistered and hide behind our bibles. A Christian college is not meant to be a place where we retreat and leave the “heathen” culture to damn itself. A Christian college, like this college, is where we align our studies with a worldview that values the vulnerable, that demands more than just our best wishes for humanity, that grips us with the reality that we are commanded by Christ to institute a kingdom of compassion and love using the minds that we have been given. Being a part of a Christian college doesn’t mean forgoing your voice in society or culture; in fact, it means the opposite. It means crying out even louder for justice because we are not only driven by personal motivation, but by a clear vision for the kingdom of Heaven.

The seminary that Bonhoeffer started taught students who would go on to join various resistance groups, preach vehemently against the Nazis, and reinstate the true church after the war. Christian colleges didn’t just impact them as individuals. It changed the German church, and it called for society to change its course. We still need that today. If there is not value in a place that can marry a vision of justice and peace with the intellectual tools of the academy, then I am not sure there is value in anything.

Kyla is a sophomore majoring in intercultural studies.

My brother was born in the same month that the Harry Potter cheetahs came to the National Zoo. To this day, my most pressing memory of the day that I first met him is driving home from a week of summer camp in my cousin’s bright red Hyundai, talking about those cheetahs. It was a courageous attempt to help me avoid thinking about the fact that my family was now one person larger. (The cheetah’s names, if you’re interested, were Draco, Granger, and Zabini.)

I cried when I held my brother for the first time, but it wasn’t a “miracle of childbirth” moment. As a lifelong only child, I was terrified of infants, I was terrified of pregnant people, and I was terrified of breastfeeding. Mostly, I was terrified of that curdled yellow vomit we’ve somehow resolved to call “spit,” and which mothers have some preternatural ability to arrest in a napkin before it slimes its way onto your T-shirt.

All of this to say: I know exactly how you feel when you say you don’t want kids, and I’m not trying to convince you that you do. So please hear me out. On one level, I understand the “childfree” mindset perfectly. It has its perks: perfectly clean upholstery, going to the movies at 11 p.m. with zero repercussions, leisurely weeklong vacations, cushy retirement accounts.

Even more importantly: no gummed-up sippy cups, no mushy peas spooned out of a jar, no dinky plastic cutlery, no soggy diapers, no mini-vans with Cheerios cluttering the floor, no endless reruns of Thomas The Tank Engine or Frozen or Cars 14, no blankets that can only be hand washed because someone decided to gnaw holes through them. No time off work (okay, maybe that’s a benefit). No morning sickness. No frumpy stomach. No constant exhaustion.

Some of us will choose to have kids, for many reasons. Some of us will choose not to have kids, for an even wider variety. Some of us will choose to have kids, and then not be able to, and then pretend that we had never wanted to anyway. Some of us will choose not to, and then wonder thirty years later whether we made a mistake.

But the operative word in all those possibilities? Choice. In this age of hormone pills and UTIs, I want to throw out a word of caution to the cheerfully childless. While having children may be purely optional these days, treating them kindly and respectfully is not. No child deserves to be treated like some sort of lifestyle enhancement that you can agree or disagree with. A personal, private decision does not entitle you to hurl the epithets that I have seen aimed at children this year. They are not “monsters,” “vermin,” “snot munchers,” “sh**heads,” “runts,” “whiny brats,” or “hellspawn.” They’re just tiny people who drop things a lot.

You expect people to say those kinds of things on the Internet, I thought that I would never encounter kind of language at Houghton, but I was wrong. Just a few months ago, a large group of elementary schoolers visited the dining hall as part of an on-campus educational event. I stood behind a pair of young women who were apparently so disgusted that children had been allowed to interrupt their daily routine that they publicly talked about throwing one of them off the roof. If this story sounds a little like public shaming, it is, and I hope at least one of those people is reading it.  

It’s totally fine to dislike noisy toddlers or feel a little uncomfortable around babies. I’m not asking you to teach Vacation Bible School, or become a crossing guard, or patrol parks with a Kleenex, ready to wipe snot off the nearest sniffly face. But kids are small, insecure, and vulnerable. They deserve kindness and gentleness from everyone they meet.

Some people might protest that it’s hypocritical, even cruel, to be kind to a person or group that you secretly dislike. “It would be dishonest to pretend to like kids,” they remark sagely, “when I actually can’t stand them.” If you’ve said this, I’m here to tell you that you sound about as mature as that kid in high school who said he wasn’t racist because he hated everyone equally. Divorcing your public behavior from your private feelings isn’t dishonest. It’s called being an adult. If you don’t like children, that’s fine. But maybe it’s time to stop acting like one.

Carina is a senior majoring in communication and writing.

Approximately 1,983 years ago, Jesus died on a cross in Jerusalem.

If you’re a glass half-full sort of person, that’s roughly two thousand years. Two thousand years in which the church has existed, adapted, changed, made mistakes and reformed. Two thousand years of history, some of it beautiful, some of it shameful. Christians today carry this legacy with them. It is impossible to join the faith without possessing a connection to people throughout the centuries who have shared it and that connection is, at times, a hard weight to bear. None of us want to claim the crusades, the bombing of abortion clinics or the believers that cited and used biblical support to prop up slavery.

In the face of this weight, there is a temptation to dismiss the entirety of church history, or significant portions of it. Specifically Christendom, the period between the conversion of the Emperor Constantine (the first Christian ruler in Europe) and the Protestant Reformation, is ignored. While this mindset in understandable – Christendom introduced a marriage of power and faith that is hard to reconcile with a biblical Jesus – it is also problematic. To dismiss Christendom is to also dismiss important practices which could greatly help the modern church. Among these are the reverent writings of many mystics and thinkers of the medieval ages which display a regard and piety for God that is both beautiful and challenging.

“Oh, abyss of love!” wrote medieval mystic Catherine of Siena. “What heart can help breaking when it sees such dignity as you [God] descend to such lowliness as our humanity?” The words come from Siena’s work Dialogue, a book of her thoughts and prayers which fully focuses on God’s love and the unworthiness of the soul to receive that love. Her imagery throughout is startling. The love of God is like a deep rooted tree which cannot be unplanted; it is also like a mirror the soul can hold up to spot imperfections. After looking, the soul then puts down the mirror, and endeavors to resemble the reflection it saw within. When ready, it once again lifts the mirror and stares at itself anew.  To read the Dialogue is to be overwhelmed with the vastness of God – the abyss of love that one cannot help but fall head-first into.

In a similar way, the writings of Brother Lawrence, a monk in the seventeenth century are full of the same sense of perfect piety. “Adoring God in truth” he wrote “means that our hearts actually see God as infinitely perfect and worthy of our praise. What man…would not exert all his strength to show his respect and love of this great God?” To Lawrence, devotion was an internal communion with God, a whole attitude, a daily leap into submission without reservation. His advice is simple: love Christ completely, nothing more is needed, nothing less should be given. His own practice of this concept lead to a life full of total peace and joy which is documented in the book The Practice of the Presence of God.” Like Siena, Lawrence held an unshakable awe of God’s grace and his own unworthiness to receive it.

Why have we cut these readings out of our lives? Why are they often absent from our devotions and prayers? Surely if the church placed a higher emphasis on these writings, it would be easier to avoid the temptation to lop Christendom out of history. Although it’s not an easy thought, I wonder if there isn’t some similarity between why the church disregards the writings of Brother Lawrence and the 100 Year War: both are alien in our modern context. Like we struggle to accept the history of the church, blemishes and all, we struggle to understand this sense of perfect devotion that has, at least in my experience, become foreign to us. The fullness of their reverence seems impossible. The ease with which they achieve it even more so. There are good reasons for this – our lives are very different from Catherine’s – and yet the difference does not invalidate their wisdom. The piety of these saints can still present a challenge to us, even thousands of years later. We need not accept everything they say. But the mystics are not the crusades; their words are still valuable and their adoration of God admirable even as it is unfamiliar.

Anna is a junior majoring in English and writing.