TELOS
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A WILLIAMS JOURNAL OF CHRISTIAN DISCOURSE
journey
Revive A Prayer and a Question Unsafe Spaces: Life as a Queer Christian
SPRING 2017
t he W IL L IA M S
TELOS TEAM {Definition}
Telos is the Greek word for “purpose,” “goal,” or “fulfillment.” For us, telos represents a direction that can only be found through God.
Michaela Smith ’19
Julie Kim ’19
{Purpose}
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. Haelynn Gim ’19
Jeremy Shields ’20
{Thanks}
We would like to thank the Cecil B. Day Foundation for their generous support. The Williams Telos is a member of the Augustine Collective, a student-led movement of Christian journals on college campuses. augustinecollective.org Serapia Kim ’19
All pieces in The Williams Telos are the contributors’ own interpretation and understanding of the Christian faith, and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the Telos board or the publication as a whole.
The Williams Telos is a journal for Christian discourse started in the spring of 2009. After a hiatus, we are excited to resume publication with pieces collected over the past two years. It was only at the end of the editing process that “Journey” appeared as an apparent thread connecting all pieces, which probably shows how ubiquitous a motif it is in Christian narratives: Abraham’s journey away from his clan in Genesis, the Israelites’ exodus out of Egypt and forty years of wandering in the wilderness, Paul’s travels in the book of Acts, to name a few. A friend gave us a canvas bag that reads in bold rainbow capital letters, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” The same can perhaps be said of being a Christian. In addition to asking people to “come to” Him (Matthew 11:28), Jesus calls them to “follow” Him (Mark 1:17, Matthew 9:9, Matthew 19:21, Mark 10:21, Luke 9:59), suggesting that being Christian is not arriving at a state in which one sits back and waits – we are asked not only to go to Jesus, but to also go somewhere with Him. Yet where is this somewhere? The destination does not appear to be Heaven, as the “new heaven and new earth” is to “come down” from God to the world instead of being reached by human (Revelations 21). After all these years as a follower of Jesus, we still do not know where exactly He is leading us. Not knowing the destination should probably be unsettling, yet we are more excited than disquieted, knowing with whom we are travelling. This issue’s contributors range from Catholic to Baptist to Seventh-day Adventist, grappling with questions, probing beliefs, and examining institutions and spaces. In the following pages, Annika Guy asks Christian communities to examine their relationships with queer members. Agnes Chang shares the peace and rest she finds in God as she contemplates, prays, and questions. Jane Jeong reflects on how her life has been shaped by journeys between Korea, the US, and China made by herself and others. In these explorations and attempts to articulate how some of us encounter God, we hope to show glimpses of the diversity and coherence in our experiences. We invite you to come on this journey with us. The Telos Team Spring 2017
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Annika Guy
Jane Jeong
Features
03 Unsafe Spaces: Life as a Queer Christian 18 His Unending Story
Reflection
Angela Tang
06 My Grandmother’s Path to Christ
Keelia Riegg
17 Reflections
Todd Hall Angelina Lin
Shana Dorsey
Agnes Chang Jane Jeong
Art
08 Packing Up 16 Ephesians 4:14-15
Fiction
12 Revive
Poetry
10 A Question and a Prayer 09 [untitled]
t h e WI L L I AM S
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The Williams Telos
TELOS
Unsafe Spaces: Life as a Queer Christian by Annika Guy
As a queer kid from a small, fundamentalist Christian church, I came to Williams seeking safety. I had no lofty aspirations, nor did I really have any conception of what Williams was; Admissions sold me the idea of a liberal utopia, and I, trapped at the time in a conservative boarding school, bought into it completely. When I showed up at Wiliams I was (naively, foolishly, incorrectly) convinced I’d found a world unaffected by homophobia. This was, I was certain, the haven I’d been seeking. But even though I’d escaped my high school, I was still a Christian, and I still wanted fellowship with other Christians. Firmly believing in my newfound Liberal Paradise, I (calmly, casually, blithely) joined the first religious group I saw at the Purple Key Fair – Williams Christian Fellowship. At first, everything was perfect: the people were wonderful, I made friends, I had a community. But by a few weeks into the year, I found myself burnt out by the aggressively academic nature of Williams, which I had not quite been prepared for by my little seaside Christian high school. And then, with timing so perfect I was convinced it could only have been orchestrated by God Himself, I got the email: InterVarsity had a fall retreat. And there was a discount for first-years. I was ecstatic. Like a good little Christian, I loved retreats; I associated them with healing, refreshment, revitalization, and most importantly, revival. This was the break I needed. My soul was tired, weary, downtrodden, and this retreat would get me away from Williams and allow me to reconnect with God. I felt unbelievably blessed and unbelievably relieved. Unfortunately, in my Jesus-induced bliss, I forgot the first cardinal rule of being a queer Christian: Always Do Your Research. I could still smack myself for that mistake, a year and a half later, because the briefest of Google searches would have told me what I needed to know about the host organization’s stance on queerness. But I skipped the Google search, trusting in some combination of the Liberal Utopia and my thus-far positive experiences with WCF, and went on the retreat, ready to receive my blessings like rain. After a long bus ride, checking in, nibbling on the meager snack spread and surviving the awkward icebreaker games, I found myself seated with maybe seventy other college students as the speaker for the weekend took the stage.
“Unfortunately, in my Jesusinduced bliss, I forgot the first cardinal rule of being a queer Christian: Always Do Your Research.”
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The very first words out of her mouth were, “Gay kids always ask me if God hates them.” I felt a bit like I’d been punched in the stomach, and I looked around to see if anyone else had heard the way she’d said “gay” – not quite as a negative, but as the Other, as the Different and the Lost and the In Need of Salvation. Nobody looked perturbed. I quickly tried to pretend to be equally unaffected, and did my best to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, I told myself, her talk would answer these hypothetical gay kids’ questions with a resounding “no,” and all would be well.
“I think she thought she was being tolerant. I think she might even have thought she was being loving.” Of course, that didn’t happen, because that doesn’t happen, even in a space dominated by college students from campuses almost infamous for their progressiveness. Granted, she didn’t quite say “yes, God hates you,” but in a rather perplexing and round-about way implied that gay people in fact love God the most, because we have the worst sins and so are the most grateful for being forgiven. I think she thought she was being tolerant. I think she might even have thought she was being loving. I’m not sure. What I do know is that I left that meeting exactly as I’d left my high school: scared, hollow, empty, numb, exhausted. I didn’t even have the energy to cry or be angry. I felt nothing but a kind of flat, resigned devastation, and all but gave up on the weekend. I came out to my Bible study group the next day, awkwardly, uncomfortably, and unhappily. It wasn’t a negative experience, but it wasn’t a particularly positive one either, and by the time we got back to Williams I didn’t want to see any of them ever again. I still have the group picture we took, and I hate it – I’m smiling, but I look small and scared and like I’m trying really, really hard to be happy. I wish I could say that’s the worst experience I’ve had with Christianity, but that would be a lie – I’ve heard gayness compared to everything from terrorism to Ebola, and the kind of verbal and physical violence that particular brand of speech inspires is nothing short of terrifying. But as much as that kind of sermon hurts, the true pain isn’t caused by the speakers, but by knowing my community subscribes to, or is at least comfortable with, the underlying theology. Since that retreat, I’ve become even pickier
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about which Christian spaces I’ll enter. I always read up on them beforehand, looking carefully for certain words and phrases that give away whether an organization or group is likely to be affirming, quietly non-affirming, or virulently homophobic. If, after conducting this research, I decide a space is relatively lowrisk, I’ll enter cautiously, always ready to bail at a moment’s notice. It’s an exhausting and painful approach to community building, but it’s unavoidable. When I enter a Christian space with my guard down, as I did with that particular retreat, I always get burned. Christian spaces are not safe for me, nor are they meant to be; if I continue to enter them, it is with the knowledge that it will be at my own expense. And yet, I love my church, and I love Christianity. I love them the way I love my family: wholeheartedly and irrevocably, but with the painful knowledge that they have damaged me in ways I don’t know how to forgive. I still wince when someone talks about unconditional love, knowing that it doesn’t include me. My hands still shake when I open my Bible. I still brace myself when I walk into Friday Night Fellowship. I still get dressed for church like I’m preparing for battle. I still can’t read any of the parts of the Bible containing references to homosexuality, and whenever a verse references “sexual immorality,” even in a context that has never been translated to homosexuality, I flip to a new section because the indirect reference causes years of fear and self-loathing to resurface. Acts as basic as praying, opening a Bible, and interacting with my faith community are saturated with fear and anxiety, but I do not know how to be a Christian without them, because Christianity is built around two things: relationships with Christ and relationships within the body of Christ. But while I don’t know how to be a Christian without those things, I do not know how to be a healthy, happy, functioning human with them, and so until Christianity as a whole – or at least a majority – affirms LGBTQ+ identities, I am not safe and I am not free. As a Christian, I’ve always believed that I am free in Christ because of the resurrection. Even now, as I struggle to connect my understanding of a loving God with the reality of the church, I am constantly overwhelmed and amazed by the extent of God’s love and grace. In a purely spiritual and divine sense of the word, I should be completely free. But even my relationship with God, something I always thought transcended human politics, has been damaged by my church, because I don’t know how to forgive God for what I’ve been through even as I praise him for everything good He has given me. And even on the good days, when I feel free in Christ, when I find myself able to accept what I’ve been through and what I will continue to go through, it is not enough. Not in a practical way. Not in a livable, daily, this-is-my-reality
“Every day, I have to try again to believe that my faith community has the capacity to be better. That it can learn to love the way it claims it already does.” way, because as a queer femme, I am everything my church cannot understand, respect, or love. In a tradition that promises unconditional love, it is devastating to discover that you are the exception. And I don’t know how to forgive that, because how do you forgive people for promising to love you but not knowing how? But without forgiveness, and as full of anger as I am, how can I possibly know what it means to be free? I struggle every day with choosing not to walk away in spite of the way I am treated, and in spite of the fact that Christian communities have done me far more harm than good. Every day, being queer gets a little bit easier and being a Christian gets a little bit harder, because as I learn to love myself it becomes harder to understand why Christianity – my friends, my family, my entire world before Williams – won’t. Every day, I wonder if today will be the day I give up. Every day, I have to try again to believe that my faith community has the capacity to be better. That it can learn to love the way it claims it already does. That it can learn to see me, and my queer Christian family, as part of itself. That it can learn to accept us, without reservations, without qualifiers, without exceptions. I don’t know if this is possible. But I keep trying to believe in it anyway. And I keep trying not to walk away completely, even as I find myself slowly shutting more and more doors, slowly drifting further and further away from the communities that have hurt me. I want, more than anything, for my story to have a feel-good Christian happy ending, and I wish I could write that right now. But it’s not the truth. Right now, I’m still in the middle, hovering between a community I want so badly to believe in and the reality that this situation isn’t sustainable. I keep leaning toward the community. But I can’t choose it completely until it decides to choose me, too.
Annika Guy ’18 is an English and Religion double major from Los Angeles, Calif. They/them pronouns, please.
My Grandmother’s Path to Christ by Angela Tang
This is a painting I did of my grandmother about a year after she immigrated from China. She’s sitting in our dining room in Texas, about to take a bite from the fish she has prepared. Although this was drawn from a photo that I had told her to pose for, the peace and happiness in her facial expression are true and honest. “Ahh, hurry up, we are going to be late for church again!” I exclaimed as I rushed everyone into the car. My whole family, including my mother, father, little brother, and grandmother were all scrambling into the five-person Toyota. It was a tight squeeze, now that the middle seat in the back was taken by my grandmother, who had moved to Texas. I loved the cramped proximity though; there was something special about sitting through the twenty-five minute drive to church with my whole family. We talked and laughed together, our stomachs still satisfyingly full of the steamed pork buns that my grandmother had made for breakfast. Despite my simplified and limited Chinese vocabulary, simply sitting shoulder to shoulder with my grandmother and my brother in the backseat on those drives to church was something that we all soon looked forward to every week. Looking back on those car rides, I realize that the central force that drove us all together was God. While we were building our own personal relationships with Christ, a bond was strengthened among us as a family in Christ. The physical intimacy of our family in those car rides directly reflected the spiritual closeness that evolved in us. Through watching my grandmother grow in her own relationship in God, it made me also discover my own desire to get closer to my family and Christ.
The transition that my grandmother took in coming to America was not easy, and her journey in finding Christ was not immediate either. But over time, just as she gradually found physical comfort in calling Texas her home, she also eventually developed a relationship with God that was personal to her.
“While we were building our own personal relationships with Christ, a bond was strengthened among us as a family in Christ.” “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” –Proverbs 3:5-6
Angela Tang ’18 is an Art History and Practice major. She is constantly looking for ways to praise and find God in her life. Spring 2017
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Packing Up by Todd Hall
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. –2 Corinthians 5:17
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Todd Hall ’16 is from Jersey City, N.J. He majors in Political Economy and concentrates in Africana Studies. The Williams Telos
untitled
by Jane Jeong
I am a hunchback bent over you – I droop for you, with my failing arms.
The grainy light cascades down – from the crimson arch and earthy drapes to your whole bare foot.
Like a wingless hen stooping over its naked egg, I crouch with a faltering roof big enough for you
to keep you there – where my heartbeat lulls against your unveiled head – to keep you there warm.
But how much smaller you seem my child, when you kneel like that.
Jane Jeong ’17 is majoring in English and Chinese. She likes holding people’s hands and walking in silent wonder. She particularly enjoys and anticipates her walk with God, every step of which is full of pleasure, hope, and mystery.
Spring 2017
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a question my fingers meditate over the grain of the bead, pause over the swirls that split the wood into coarse ridges. Hail Mary, full of grace,
I shift my weight, and the kneeler creaks alarmingly. A merry chorus erupts as other joints meet unyielding planks. The congregation materializes around me. a whispered breath,
I do not know whose hands carved the bead, whose knees turned the pews to melodies, if wood is God’s creation or man’s myth ... vdoes it matter?
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Agnes Chang ’16 is a Comparative Literature major from Great Neck, N.Y. She loves the sound of raindrops, the English language, and crinkly leaves. She cannot wait to see more of God’s creation outside the Purple Bubble. The Williams Telos
and a prayer
by Agnes Chang
the Lord is with thee… my heart tips, then pulsates painfully across my chest.
now and at the hour of our death … unbinds a piece of my mind, and I lose myself.
I come to You through Mary, my mother, and place my curiosity upon the altar. On this earth where You found no rest, I now lay my head in Your presénce.
Amen.
Spring 2017
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Revive At 6:30 a.m. Mckenzie Jones and Gracelynn Marshalls set out on their twelve-hour drive to Toronto. Three hours in and Mckenzie was already tired. Grace, who’d just woken from a nap, was well rested, and with a CD player in hand, gently hummed a song to God. Mckenzie glanced at Grace; her eyes were closed and her face bathed in contentment. She had no troubles. Figures, Mckenzie thought. Tall and thin, light-skinned and clear-complexioned, with remarkably straight hair in comparison to her own swarthiness, short mess of curls, and body that barely held a size twelve, Grace was effortless while she was a struggle. As she thought of her friend’s beauty and spirit, Mckenzie beat back tears and accusations, like gulls from the shore. She had been robbed for the past decade but just when she found herself on the brink of collapse, God would appear in just enough measure to hold her up. Now Mckenzie was closer to collapse than ever. Hence the trip. They were going to a church in Toronto, a place where countless miracles were being reported. Mckenzie had heard people were healed of cancer, received sight to their blind eyes and even resurrected from the dead. Mckenzie could use a resurrection. She needed to feel God in a way that was real, like she used to. He was not, to her, a mere idea. He wasn’t a set of rules or stipulations. She didn’t find him in the midst of dusty pews or ornate cathedrals. He had once been as close to her as Gracelynn. Though he was invisible as the wind, his presence was like the sun: around him is a joy peaceful but wild, like warmth on her back, he was like the ocean water roaring in her ears while she stood before the brilliant blue expanse, toes squished in the sand. When she was a freshman living off campus in order to save money, she heard God’s voice for the first time, alone in her one-bedroom apartment. She had chosen to attend a state school far away from her parents. They were Christians and she wasn’t. She never saw a reason to believe in her parents’ God. As a girl she had heard plenty of shouts about how wonderful Jesus was at their Baptist church, but how could anyone really know if God existed? If anything, didn’t all the bloodshed in the world prove his absence? All her life she’d been praised for her sharp analytical mind, yet simultaneously she was a romantic. She needed to feel in life more than anything. And she felt she was walking into nothing. One
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by Shana Dorsey
day she would most certainly die. That she was born to die haunted her waking hours. She didn’t know where she was going in life or where she was headed in death. It was enough to send her insides roiling, as if she were standing on some great precipice peering into the darkness just before the drop. She didn’t share these fears with anyone, mainly because she knew they were all equally ignorant about their final destination. *** One night she knelt next to the coffee table that doubled as her dining area. She was so beaten down that she tried what she never thought she would: she prayed. Her parents were happy and unconcerned about their afterlives – she wanted that kind of peace too. “Help me, God, if you’re real.” There was only silence. Of course, Mckenzie thought. What else had she expected? *** The next day Mckenzie flopped into an empty chair outside the campus cafe. She noticed to her right a slender young woman with creamy peach skin and beautifully straight brown hair perched high on her head. The girl was leaning against the wall reading a book with the level of intensity one would find during finals. Mckenzie tilted herself up to get a better look. It was that girl Gracie or something from her stats class. Mckenzie drew closer to her. “Hey, sorry, what’s your name again?” “Gracelynn. But call me Grace.” “I’m Mckenzie. What are you studying so hard, by the way? Do we have a test coming up?” “No. This is just the Bible. I’m reading the letter to the Roman Church,” she replied. “Oh…” said Mckenzie, suddenly uncomfortable. “Is that for a Religion class or something?” “No, just for fun.” “You’re reading the Bible … for fun?” said Mckenzie. “Yes. It also gives me a lot of comfort when I’m struggling. It’s like God is speaking to me,” she added nervously. “How come he never speaks to me – or even helps me?” Mckenzie burst out, surprised by her own emotion. Grace looked at her. “Do you believe he will?”
Chase Elliot Park via Flickr
“Of course I do. Why would I ask if I didn’t?” said Mckenzie. “In that case, the question you should be asking is, “Why would I ask if I really believed he will answer me?” said Grace. “What are you saying?” asked Mckenzie. Grace moved closer to her. “Mckenzie, if you need to ask me why God never helps you, maybe you should re-evaluate your belief. You are standing here, breathing, filled with life. You taste moments of joy, as well as sorrow, I’m sure. You are helped in ways you don’t see or at least fail to acknowledge. Knowing this is belief – faith. In other words, if God is God and you have asked for help, that means you believed he could help you, right? Now, it’s time to believe he is helping you and that he will continue to do so. Do you feel me?” “I guess so,” Mckenzie said slowly. She wasn’t so sure. “Hey, I gotta run,” said Mckenzie, grabbing her bags and hurrying off before a baffled Grace could stop her. *** Later that night, while staring blankly at the wall as she stirred spaghetti, a puff of air blew against her skin. She glanced at the single window that was tightly shut, then turned to the air conditioner that she knew wasn’t on. She drew her arms to herself and shivered. I love you. The voice was so quiet she nearly missed it. I love you. I’m here. It was a masculine voice, echoing like many waters rushing together at once, soft and powerful. Was this the answer to her prayer? How could she know if the experience was real? Did it matter? Somehow Christianity felt right. Mckenzie was attracted to the New Testament’s message that while she was born to die, she had been created to live. She was comforted that there was another option apart from death, and in Jesus, for the first time, she saw an opportunity to live. She had thumbed through the book of Romans that Grace spoke of and recognized in herself Paul’s confession that the evil he did not want to do, he did, and the good he wanted to do, he did not. Like Paul, there was plenty McKenzie did that she really didn’t want to do, and much she wanted to do that she just couldn’t. She drank shots until she blacked out, doing things that her reason told her were stupid at best, morally wrong sometimes. She took risks day by day that had a real impact on her life, yet this one thing concerning her eternity, she feared to try because she wasn’t 100% sure whether she could trust it. Despite her doubts, her meeting Grace and finding solace just when she’d needed to was near miraculous. Wouldn’t that be how a transcendent God would make himself known? “I believe. I love you too, God,” she said, surprised she meant it with all her fractured heart. ***
That was ten years ago and McKenzie hadn’t experienced God that way again. She had pleaded earnestly for God to speak to her the way he’d spoken to her in her apartment. She had given up so much for him. She’d broken up with her boyfriend because she knew if he didn’t share her Christian values, they couldn’t have a substantial relationship. So why didn’t God reward her by speaking clearly and miraculously to her again? She didn’t know why he didn’t and had lost hope he ever would again. She’d also lost touch with Grace over the past decade until they met again at their college reunion. After hearing how God refreshed their mutual Christian friends in Toronto, the two decided to set out on a pilgrimage of faith. Now in the tentth year of her Christian life, Mckenzie was driving eight hundred miles to Canada in hopes of recovering some of her earlier passion. ***
“So why didn’t God reward her by speaking clearly and miraculously to her?” Within an hour they arrived at the church. Mckenzie quickly thanked God and inhaled the freshness of white pine, lilies and roses in their first bloom, displayed under the light from the entrance. The male and female ushers, uniformed in white and khaki, escorted the women into the sanctuary. It was quieter than they’d expected but not smaller. Bodies were packed so closely together there was scarcely room to walk. However, the space was not unpleasant. Frankincense wafted through the air matched by the occasional cry or shout. Almost everyone was overcome by the presence of God in their midst. Mckenzie waited to feel something. Grace elbowed her and indicated she wanted to move to the left side of the room. Mckenzie let her go alone and began to look for someone to pray for her, but everyone was in their own private world with their eyes closed and faces to the ground, laughing joyfully, shaking, or praying for others. God? I need prayer. Send someone to me. A woman wearing a green badge – thus likely on the ministry team – turned towards Mckenzie. At that moment the woman saw Grace shaking lightly under invisible power and headed toward her instead. Mckenzie stared hard as the woman laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder and began to speak over her. The frustration of years erupted. God had not come to meet her. He never came to her. She headed out the door. She fumbled for her keys. She considered ditching the trip altogether and driving back to Raleigh, leaving Toronto, the revival, and Grace behind, but what was left of her desperation to experience God kept her there. *** She buried her face in her pillow and groaned. She’d have to go
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back to get Grace. Mckenzie had left a message for her to let her know she had left (but not why) and that she would be back for her whenever she called. Her time alone had given her perspective, and she wasn’t as furious as she’d been when she’d left. But she wasn’t looking forward to seeing her friend again who would have questions to ask her as to why she left all of a sudden. As of twelve a.m., Grace had not returned her call. Mckenzie sniffed. I suppose she is having a mighty old time. Maybe if you’d stayed you would have too. The thought had flashed so briefly and faintly through her mind she wondered if it was from him. God hadn’t spoken into her thoughts in years. I show no favorites. His voice was soft and strong. “God,” she began. “Where have you been all this time?” I’ve always been with you. “I know that, but – ” Do you really? Do you really believe I am with you, even when I choose not to speak to you in the way you want? Do you trust me? She picked at the threadbare blanket. She didn’t know what to say. She had wanted him to tell her he adored her, not challenge her so directly. Did she really trust him? Over the course of their relationship, he had proven himself to her. He paid the rest of her way through college. He restored her relationship with her parents. He sent her a friend in Grace, even though she didn’t always want her. Mckenzie also realized he gave her strength to make it day by day, though she felt herself withering again. She was stuck in a middling job, doing subpar work with people she didn’t like. Somehow she felt she was made for a different kind of work, but what was it? “No, God. I don’t trust you,” she said. The realization startled her because she hadn’t seen herself as distrusting him. Her questions and her doubts had been unavoidable in her moments of pain, like a scent you couldn’t help smell, like walking into a room of music and not being able to refrain from hearing. God spoke to her again. Mckenzie, you think when I’m silent I don’t see you and your pain. My love, I see everything you do and I care. I have a bottle that I hold up to your cheeks to catch your tears as they fall. I’m turning these tears of mourning into showers of joy. I will rain them down over you. You will be a fruitful bough, an oak of righteousness, a planting of the Lord to display my splendor. To the world I will present you as a fertile field, a well-watered spring garden, teeming with life. Indeed, I will give you joy for every tear you have shed and crown you with beauty. Mckenzie sobbed. She wanted to find comfort in his words. She wanted to believe this promise but her old hurt would not easily recede. “God, if you’ve seen me all along, why haven’t you done something? Why haven’t you spoken to me sooner or answered my
prayers to hear you like this?” I don’t speak in the same way all the time. I wanted you to discover the many ways I speak, to listen hard for my voice in the most unexpected and expected of places. I’ve spoken to you in ways you haven’t noticed, through my Word and through my other children, like Grace. Yeah, Grace. The Bible had been her main source of connecting with God over the years but she hadn’t considered the idea that God also spoke through … Grace. Mckenzie, I love you as much as I love Grace. I want you to accept her. Don’t look to her or try to measure up to her. Is she the one you are following, or me? My timing is perfect. You are exactly in the season I want you to be in. Do you trust me? He was yet again asking her the same question. She was hearing his voice just as she had craved for the last seven years but his demand for a definite answer was undoing much of that satisfaction. His question was meant for her to answer right then and there. She had trusted him years ago to give her eternal life in heaven, but did she trust him to fill her with life now? Was she willing to believe he would from here on out? There was a quick rap on the door before Grace entered with key in hand and face aglow. Mckenzie was actually relieved to see her, happy for the brief reprieve from God’s question. “What are you doing here? How did you get back?” Mckenzie asked. Grace grinned, took off her jacket and plopped onto the bed next to Mckenzie. “A new friend dropped me off,” she said. Mckenzie ducked her head. “Sorry I ran off.” She offered no further explanation. “’S okay,” Grace smiled. “I know you’ve been struggling.” “Yeah, but … God took care of it. I feared I wouldn’t experience him,” she gulped, “and I saw that you had.” Grace’s thin brows furrowed. “Why would that bother you? Are you mad at me or something?” “No, not mad. Just jealous.”
“The frustration of years erupted. God had not come to meet her. He never came to her. ” Grace’s piercing eyes searched her. “Why would you be jealous of me?” she asked. Mckenzie looked at her wearily. “Because … you’re beautiful, and you always take things so easy. You have so many encounters with God and – ”
Grace cut her short. “Mckenzie, you are beautiful. Don’t you know that?”
“No, I don’t feel it.” She started to cry again, exhausted from the day. Grace looked at her, unsure for a moment. It was the first time she’d seen Mckenzie cry. Usually when Mckenzie was upset her face was stone. Grace placed her hand on her shoulder, awkwardly patting her. “I didn’t know you felt this way.” “You never asked,” said Mckenzie. “It never occurred to me. I can’t read your mind, Mick,” she said, using the nickname only her parents called her. Grace got up to get her some tissues. In the midst of her crying, Mckenzie felt the presence of God. His Spirit was like an electric blanket draped over her, providing her body with warmth and comfort. “Maybe I should have tried to speak to you more,” said Grace, handing her the box. “But sometimes you are so closed off. I don’t want to press you. I do love you. We are sisters in Christ. I really want to be there for you, but you gotta let me know how I can help.” “Ask me how I’m doing even if I seem closed off, okay? I’m really not trying to be closed off – just overwhelmed with my struggles,” said Mckenzie. Grace nodded and hugged her. Mckenzie embraced her longer than she ever had in their relationship. “We still have four days left here. Let’s make it count. Let’s get to know more of God and more of each other. How about we get breakfast tomorrow, my treat?” said Grace. “I’m down for that.” Grace beamed. “I remember why I wanted to come back here now. I came here specifically to pray for you.” “What?” said Mckenzie. “God meant for me to pray for you. As soon as I received prayer, He showed me an image of you. The woman who prayed for me also prophesied to me, saying God would use me to help launch revivals for people – give them passion and change for him. I think he meant for me to pray for you when he showed me the vision ... but you left so soon. He eventually sent me back to you, as you can see.” Mckenzie was speechless and felt God nudge her with the memory of her earlier plea – Lord, send someone to pray for me. She knew not how to think; her mind did somersaults but she had enough sense to laugh as Grace took her hand and began to pray. Mckenzie closed her eyes, as Grace spoke the exact dreams of Mckenzie’s heart: “Revive her, Lord. Use her and send her to the nations. Let her bring revival wherever she goes. May healing, miracles, and salvation trail her footsteps in your name.” For a moment longer Mckenzie’s eyes stayed closed; they fluttered in anticipation and vision, for which she found the grace to say “yes.” Shana Dorsey ’15 is as free as the bird lately gone out of her home. She graduated in 2015 with a major in English and now teaches English in Kyoto. She loves books, miracles, and God. Spring 2017
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Ephesians 4:14-15
by Angelina Lin
Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching and by the cunning and craftiness of people in their deceitful scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of Him who is the head, that is, Christ. –Ephesians 4:14-15
Angelina Lin ’16 is a Studio Art and Comparative Literature major from Morganville, N.J.
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The Williams Telos
Reflections by Keelia Riegg We were in the van on our way to Michigan or something and it was really late, at least midnight. I was four, sitting in my car seat with my siblings asleep around me. It was dark enough that all I could see was the patch of road in Dad’s headlights. I peered between the seats in front and noticed stars in the middle of the road. They were just sitting there, warm and glowing. Hundreds of thousands of them in a glorious line, and Dad was driving right past. I wanted to ask for one, but everyone was asleep, and Dad was busy fighting sleep, so I didn’t say anything. I sat for what felt like hours in silence, watching every star pass. ***
in my hands, if only I could get to them. Then, one evening last year while I was walking home I saw a loose reflector on the pavement in front of me. It was just sitting there, brilliant and stellar, catching the sunset. I picked it up and held that reflector over my head as I literally danced all the way home.
Keelia Willison Riegg ’14 is a recent alum married to a ’15 recent-er alum. Although they live an ocean away in Uganda, they’re still avid readers of the Telos.
“I would come out to this very highway, look both ways, and cross to pick up one of those stars.” Then, for the first time in my life, I made myself a solemn promise: one day, a very long time from now, when I was old enough to cross the street by myself, I would come out to this very highway, look both ways, and cross to pick up one of those stars. I would keep it in my jewelry box at home. I had another thought, though, as the stars continued to speed past: as a four-year-old, I would sometimes decide to do something, but then forget all about it, like wanting to save part of my dessert to have as a snack later, then ending up eating the whole thing at once. But this, I decided, would be different. I would remember this promise forever, and when I came back to this highway as a grown-up to collect a star, I would be so glad I made this promise all those years ago. As I grew up, I did remember that star promise. Every so often, I’d think back to that car trip in amusement. I can never remember exactly where we were traveling or why, and even though I’ve long since learned what road reflectors really are and how walking into the middle of any highway is a terrible idea – especially at night – I can still clearly recall that desire to pull over and pick up an actual wonder of the universe. It was like there were pieces of heaven that came down just for me to hold them Spring 2017
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His Unending Story by Jane Jeong Remember the former things of old, For I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like Me, Declaring the end from the beginning, And from ancient times things that are not yet done, Saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, And I will do all My pleasure,’ Calling a bird of prey from the east, The man who executes My counsel, from a far country. Indeed I have spoken it; I will also bring it to pass. I have purposed it; I will also do it. (Isaiah 46:9-11, NIV) I remember feeling a mixture of excitement and reverence at my first visit to the Haystack Monument, which I instantly recognized from the pictures I had searched up online back at home. The marble globe sitting on top of a tall pillar was established to commemorate the prayer meeting of five Williams students in which they received the call to embark on a global missions movement. However, my interest in the history of global missions gradually evolved only after volunteering in a teaching program in China, which changed my understanding of mission work quite radically. The first kid I interviewed for the English placement test was Charlie. Walking into the back of the church, separated from the main sanctuary with a make-do curtain, he glanced at me with a big smile and hopped onto the chair across from me. I noticed stitches across his forehead and deformed hands. Quickly diverting my attention, I asked him how old he was. “Seven,” he answered in English. When I asked him other introductory questions in English, he just shook his head with a shy grin, so we ended up talking in Chinese. I asked him what he wanted to do in the future. “I want to be a pastor. I want to share God’s love.” His confidence and composure struck me; I was even more intrigued and surprised after hearing his story from my local co-teacher later on, who had first met him two summers ago, after the incident that left him his scars: Charlie had tried to protect his mom from his own dad who
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was about to stab her to death with a knife. What he saw and went through that day – I could not even begin to imagine. Now he lived at an orphanage with her sister under the care of a “church auntie,” whom they now called “mom.” Like Charlie, all the other students and local volunteers at the English summer camp came from broken families. Supported by different local churches in the region, these children were brought to the camp by their own “church aunties,” who stayed with us during the camp, taking care of the students outside of class and cooking each meal for us at the local church that served as the classroom during the day and a bedroom at night. It wasn’t until the last night of the camp that I viscerally felt the pain that had accumulated over the years in the students’ hearts. As a tradition at the camp, the foreign volunteers would wash the feet of the students at the concluding ceremony, just as Christ did for his disciples before his crucifixion. Physically lowering himself down to the ground to touch and wash perhaps the most neglected and soiled part of the body, Jesus exemplified utter humility and love for his disciples. In washing our own students’ feet, we hoped to testify to God’s heart for the children. Nonetheless, most of the students refused to let us wash their feet at first. The idea of getting their feet washed by teachers they are supposed to look up to was unthinkable to them, more so when the teachers were foreign “guests.” As my Chinese Christian co-teacher and I were struggling to find the right
“It wasn’t until the last night of the camp that I viscerally felt the pain that had accumulated over the years in the students’ hearts.” words, Charlie, guided by his church auntie, plopped onto the chair we set up at the side of the classroom for the ceremony. Encouraged by his courage and the auntie’s support as she stood beside him with
her hands gently laid across his shoulders, we kneeled before him. He cautiously dipped his small bare feet into the basin filled with water. Lifting my eyes to meet his, I found him beaming like he did the first day we met in that same room, his fingers tightly tucked under his thighs. Using both hands, my co-teacher and I each took one of Charlie’s clenched feet from the bottom of the basin and rubbed through his toes one by one. I didn’t know what to say to him at first, recalling the story behind his scars. “Lord, thank you for the life you have given Charlie,” so I began a prayer. “Thank you that you have guided him so far with your love and grace ... Thank you for the new life that you have given him through your son, Jesus Christ.” I could hear Charlie sobbing softly. “Cover his wounds with your healing hands. Give him the comfort of knowing you, our good faithful father.” I embraced him after drying his feet with a towel and cried with him – that was the best I could do in that moment. My co-teacher had told me that Charlie did not talk or smile the first time she met him, leaving her the impression that he was a “dark” child. Prone to anger and frustration, the Charlie I met was still not perfect, but he could now grin wholeheartedly and openly share his future hopes to work for God, the one who was healing him in such miraculous ways. I was there to witness God’s unrestrained love overflowing even in this far remote place in China.
To be honest, I was uncertain at first as to what impact an ordinary group of college students could have on these special children during a week-long camp. What could we do that local volunteers could not have done? So when one of the elders from the local church gave us volunteers two thumbs-up one day after lunch, adding in Chinese that this was the most successful camp they have had, I was utterly humbled, knowing that it was God’s work, not our own. God was using us strangers from afar to further attest to His love for each child at the camp and to reinvigorate the local Chinese brothers and sisters in their ministry for the children. Since that summer in China, God has continued to reveal to me the wonder and beauty of cross-cultural mission work as well as its great impact in my own life. At Urbana, one of the largest student mission conferences in the world, I met a Korean couple, both theology students who would visit Williams once in a while to pray at the Haystack monument. “We are the fruits of the American missionaries’ work in Korea,” they said. What they meant became all the clearer to me after I returned home to work on my Winter Study project on the history of Christianity in Korea and its connection to Williams. It was a prayer meeting of five Williams College students under the shelter of a haystack during a thunderstorm in 1806 that
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“I have heard some call the work of these missionaries embodiments of American exceptionalism or imperialism. Yet, it is apparent to me that they came to Korea not for their own glory or that of their nation; instead, they endeavored to invite everyone – from the sick to the poor in all places – to join the family of Jesus, whose love for us on the cross transcended all hierarchies, borders, and differences between peoples.”
started the American Missions Movement. Within four years, Samuel Mills, one of the five students at the Haystack Prayer Meeting, helped form The American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, the first missionary society in the United States. Its volunteers were on their way to Asia a year and a half later. Eighty years after this, the Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions (SVM) was formed to recruit and prepare students for foreign mission work through training programs and international conventions. It was from the SVM that a number of American missionaries were commissioned to Korea. One of them was Dr. Williams Hall, who was among the first doctors to do medical mission work for neglected patients in Pyong Yang, now the capital of North Korea. After his death, his wife Dr. Rosetta Hall carried on his legacy by founding the first women’s medical school and training the first female Korean doctor, Esther Pak. Of course, there was backlash from the Korean people and
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governors at first. What were these foreign people with colored eyes doing in Korea? They were at times scrutinized like strange objects in a museum. When their son, Sherwood, was born, curious middle-aged women came to their house to hold and examine the baby. A few years later, young Sherwood Hall also felt called to pursue medicine and join his family’s mission work in Korea after the death of Dr. Esther Pak – his good friend and guardian – to tuberculosis. Despite the loss of their second child in Korea and their loneliness at times, Dr. Sherwood Hall and his wife, Marian, stayed in Korea and persisted in providing medical service to sick Korean people, particularly those with tuberculosis. Later, after a long process to acquire the Korean government’s approval, they built the first hospital for patients with tuberculosis in Haeju. Along with around a hundred other foreign missionaries, the three generations of Hall’s family were all buried in Yang Hwa Jin, near the center of Seoul. When I visited this site during Winter Study, I was not surprised to find the tomb of Annie Ellers, the founding principal of my middle school, Chungshin Girls’ Middle School. It was one of the first all-girls’ schools in Korea established in the late nineteenth century, a time when girls’ freedom and their access to education and public activities was severely limited by traditional norms. I have heard some call the work of these missionaries embodiments of American exceptionalism or imperialism. Yet, it is apparent to me that they came to Korea not for their own glory or that of their nation; instead, they endeavored to invite everyone – from the sick to the poor in all places – to join the family of Jesus, whose love for us on the cross transcended all hierarchies, borders, and differences between peoples. As a recipient and “fruit” of the missionaries’ hard work, Korea is now actively paying back this debt of love that Apostle Paul first pointed out to the Roman churches, sending the second-highest number of missionaries after the United States to over one hundred and seventy countries, including China, the US, and the Philippines, among many others. As I reflect on these experiences and the history of mission work, I realize that people’s commitment as followers of Christ to share God’s love in places close and far has touched my life in mysteriously good and inspiring ways. Now God has led me back to where the missionaries’ journey from the US to Korea as well as China started over two centuries ago, and with that knowledge of God’s guiding hand in my life, I have come to appreciate this place even more.
Jaehyun Jane Jeong ’18 is a junior majoring in English and Chinese. She likes holding people’s hands and walking in silent wonder. She particularly enjoys and anticipates her walk with God, every step of which is full of pleasure, hope, and mystery.
All images have been made black and white from the originals and cropped. Cover: Julia Damion ’15; 2: Public Domain; 5: Public Domain; 6: Angela Tang ’18; 8: Todd Hall ’16; 9: Public Domain; 10-11: Public Domain; 13: Public Domain; 16: Angelina Lin ’16; 17: “Stars” (https://flic.kr/p/8xZMw7) by mark is licensed under CC BY 2.0 (https:// creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/); 19: Public Domain.
t h e WI L L I AM S
TELOS
TELOS SPRING 2017