Through a Glass Darkly: Volume II Issue 1 "Light"

LIGHT

THROUGH A

GLASS DARKLY

VOLUME 2 | ISSUE 1 AUTUMN 2020

FOR NOW WE SEE THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY; BUT THEN FACE TO FACE. (1 COR 13:12A K JV)

contents 04 06

EDITOR’S NOTE

THE ULTRALIGHT BEAMS OF PAUL THE APOSTLE AND KANYE WEST

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THE LENS OF LIGHT

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STAINED GLASS

Tuppy Morrissey

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MEDITATION ON A MICROSCOPE

Shanae Nge

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Alex Beukers

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MOON LANDING

LET THERE BE LIGHT THE POWER OF WORDS

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LIGHTING A LAMP

CANDLELIGHT IN ART AND WORSHIP

Emily Swift

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SPECTROSCOPIC GRACE Esthy Hung

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Toby Lowther

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LOCKDOWN REFLECTIONS ON FIBRE OPTICS, GENESIS, AND PAUL VIRILIO

Rachael Chan

Bianca Michelle Rasmussen

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CODING LIGHT

THE CITY OF LIGHT

A CHILD IN THE DARKNESS

Benjamin Sharkey

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LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE EXPLORING OUR OBSESSION WITH FESTIVALS OF LIGHT

Hannah Patient

WHAT BEGAN AS A SONG FOR DARKNESS Miriam Tomusk 3

editors’ note

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n my first two years at Oxford, I (Alvin) lived down Iffley Road, just opposite the University Sports Centre. One of the best things about going back to my room at the end of the day was gazing at the sky above the Sports Centre grounds—unobstructed by any buildings, you could see the sunset fires, the twilight whispers, or the evening glitter, depending on how late you had stayed in the library until.

I am certainly not the only one with such an intense fascination with the sky and its 24-hour lightshow, as evidenced by the innumerable sky photos on Instagram. The multifarious ways in which light from celestial bodies interact with particles and water droplets give rise to a different painting every single time one looks, and indeed they are part of the reason that we can look at anything at all.

There are few things that are simultaneously as ubiquitous and as magical as light. For the visually unimpaired, light is so quotidian that we often forget how it powers our sight, and we take for granted the fact that we can see at night with the help of our manmade lights.

But the ways that light reflects, refracts, and diffracts have also inspired wonder in scientists and artists since antiquity. And in fact, most of the chemical energy in most ecosystems comes ultimately from the sun, so indeed it is light that in some sense allows us to live and move and have our being.

The Bible, too, picks up on the theme of light in its description of God and life. Light is the first thing God creates (Gen 1:3), and is one way that He manifests Himself to His people (Exo 13:21). Jesus is the fulfillment of prophecy about the dawning light (Isa 9:2), shines in glory (Matt 17:2), and is called the light of the

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world (John 8:12). God’s people are called to live as bright lights (Matt 5:14; Eph 5:8; 1 John 1:7), and are promised eternal light in the new creation (Rev 22:5).

There seems to be something to this—a universal recognition of the powerful, essential, beautiful, and radiant nature of light. The metaphorical connection between light and goodness seems intuitive and almost trivial, and the light-versus-dark motif is pervasive in cultures and literatures around the world.

But light is also all-illuminating, and exposes things which we may want to keep hidden in the shadows. It amuses me that one name for the SI unit of luminance is ‘nit’, which reflects how we feel about light sometimes: pesky and unshruggable. The psalmist makes this observation in Psalm 139: “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

(Ps 139:11–12 NIV) That distance between starlight and searchlight is the space explored by our contributors to this issue, creating a kaleidoscope of ideas about lights, whether physical, fictional, conceptual, or metaphorical. It has been an enlightening journey, if you will excuse the pun, and we hope that it will be so for you as well.

Alvin Tan & Telemi Emmanuel-Aina Editors-in-Chief

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the ultralight beams of paul the apostle and kanye west Tuppy Morrissey

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“E

very knee shall bow. Every tongue confess. Jesus is Lord.”

These are not the words of Paul the Apostle. They are lyrics written by Kanye West. It may seem strange to compare one of the most influential figures in the Christian church to a rapper whose fashion label is currently selling a pair of socks for the eye-watering sum of £405. But despite first appearances, there are a number of parallels between the two men. Just as Paul did in AD 33–36, Kanye has undergone a dramatic conversion to the Christian faith; like Paul, he is now spreading the Gospel; and, like Paul, Mr West has received criticism from Christians and non-Christians alike. Parallels between the two men go back a few years, too: Kanye’s 2016 album, The Life of Pablo, is a (very) loose retelling of the great apostle’s life. Unfortunately, Kanye was struggling with his faith more than ever at the time of release, and the album does not end with his redemption. The closing song, “Saint Pablo”, may well allude to Paul’s conversion, but Kanye is still “wonderin’ whether God’s gonna say hi.”

Three years later, the story is very different.

With his latest album, Jesus is King, Kanye West has become the first artist to occupy all top ten spots on the US Christian Songs and Gospel charts. He has spoken openly of his conversion to Christianity, and the album provides a great deal of evidence for his sincerity. Its emotional centrepiece, “God Is”, begins with the lines: Everything that hath breath praise the Lord Worship Christ with the best of your portions I know I won’t forget all He’s done He’s the strength in this race that I run.

A passionate expression of faith if ever there was one. Meanwhile, West released two operas in the space of a few weeks, Nebuchadnezzar and Mary, and he produced the wonderful gospel album Jesus is Born, which is performed by his Sunday Service Choir. And yet, the likes of Rod Liddle from The Spectator and Tobi Ore-

dein from Premier Christianity still believe that “this generation’s closest thing to Einstein” is simply pulling another of his famous publicity stunts. How could a man who once appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone wearing a crown of thorns, a man who released a song called “I Am A God” only six years ago, suddenly become a soldier of Christ?

We need only look at Paul to see that Kanye’s change of tune is indicative of the enormous power of Christian faith. In Acts 9:1–19, we see a conversion even more rapid than Mr West’s. At this point in his journey, Paul, or Saul as he was then known, is “still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples” (9:1 NIV). In other words, Paul is no better than Kanye West; he is a sinner rejecting Christ. But then Paul’s life changes forever, as “suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him” (9:3).

When we use the idiom ‘to see the light’, we tend not to think of this light as literal. But the Bible tells us that the light shining upon Paul in this moment is not figurative; it is as real as the magazine in your hands (or perhaps the glare of your phone screen). It is the light of God’s love and truth. Whilst few have shared Paul’s transformative experience, we still say that someone has ‘seen the light’ when he or she undergoes a religious conversion. In fact, kanye’s change of tune is when Kanye was indicative of the enormous asked what inspired power of Christian faith. his sudden dedication to Christ, he said, “I was just under the weight of my sin and I was being convicted that I was running from God, and I knew I needed to make things right, so I came to Christ. I came out of darkness into the light.”1 Kanye’s critics often forget that the man they are mocking is acutely aware of his own short1 J. Sarachik, “Kanye West tells Pastor Adam Tyson that he’s been ‘radically saved”. Rapzilla, 16 October 2019.

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comings. Above all else, he has always understood that a human being’s spiritual journey is an endless struggle between darkness and light. It is this dichotomy, this battle between two diametrically opposed—yet interdependent—forces, that marks the entirety of West’s discography. One of his first singles, “Jesus Walks”, features the refrain, “God show me the way because the Devil’s tryin’ to break me down.” This personal battle is reaffirmed by the next two songs on The College Dropout: “Never Let Me Down”, in which Kanye tells us that God has always been by his side, and “Get ’Em High”, whose chorus includes the lines, “And if you’re losing your high then smoke again / Keep ’em high.” This struggle between light and darkness is made explicit in “Ultralight Beam”, the opening track from The Life of Pablo. The titular light is a reference to Paul’s conversion, which reaffirms the connection between the two men. The song begins, “I’m tryna keep my faith / We on an ultralight beam.” The shift from ‘I’ to ‘we’ is the key to these lines; even as he wrestles with his own commitment to God, West recognises that Christians are always held up by the ‘Light of the World’, as Christ called himself (e.g. John 8:12). It is interesting that Kanye says “on an ultralight beam”. Rather than looking towards a metaphor, followers [kanye] has always under­ of Christ are supstood that a human be­ ported by a substaning’s spiritual journey is an tial light, which once endless struggle between again aligns Kanye’s darkness and light. story (and ours too) with Paul’s.

And now, in “Selah”, a particularly hard-hitting cut from Jesus Is King, Kanye raps, “God is King, we the soldiers / Ultrabeam out the solar.” Looking to the literal light of the sun, he has finally been struck by the divine ‘ultralight beam’ that once struck Paul. Having listened to the album, conservative pastor Greg Locke tweeted, “We’re watching a modern day Damascus Road Apostle Paul conversion ex-

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perience before our very eyes!”2 Whilst The Life of Pablo drew parallels between ‘Ye’ and Saint Paul’s respective struggles with their faith, Jesus Is King shows that Kanye is now on the same Christian path that Paul once took. This is not to say that Kanye should receive the same level of admiration or even attention that Paul does, but a conversion as wholehearted as this is bound to evoke thoughts of the great apostle.

But why does all this matter? Why does it matter that Kanye West is a born-again Christian?

Well, this tale of redemption matters because one of the world’s biggest artists has an incredible opportunity to spread the word of God. “Follow God”, the fourth track on Jesus Is King, reached over one hundred million streams in two months alone. Regardless of what those listeners believe, the vast majority have been typing the words ‘Jesus is king’ into their search bars. In fact, Bible Gateway reports that there has been a huge increase in faith-related searches online since the album’s release.3 Kanye has stated that his mission is to work for God. “Now that I’m in service to Christ,” he said to Zane Lowe in a now-famous interview, “my job is to spread the gospel, to let people know what Jesus has done for me.”4 This is in direct contrast to a line from “Jesus Walks”: “I ain’t here … to convert atheists into believers.”

What Kanye longed for back in 2004 was a relationship with Jesus that would cure his personal woes. Whereas now he raps, “Jesus, flow through us / Jesus, heal the bruises / Jesus, clean the music / Jesus, please use us / Jesus, please help / Jesus, please heal / Jesus, please forgive / Jesus, please reveal.”5 Although still seeking help in his own life, West understands that he must serve Christ rather than himself, and thus he prays for fallen man. Given his 2 pastorlocke (2019, October 29). [Tweet] 3 T. Goins-Phillips, “Massive spike in faith-based Google searches after Kanye’s ‘Jesus Is King’”. CBN News, 1 November 2019.

4 B. Kaye, “Here’s everything Kanye West said in his interview with Zane Lowe. It’s a lot.”. Consequence of Sound, 25 October 2019.

5 K. West, “Water”. Jesus is King (2019).

incredible notoriety, his near-limitless reach, Kanye’s newfound faith could have radical implications for the Church, and thus for the world.

There has long been a profound connection between Christianity and music. As it says in Psalm 104: “I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.” (Ps 104:33 NKJV). But music can be a force for both good and evil. The great Christian apologist Francis Schaeffer saw the detrimental effect that artists such as The Beatles had upon the Christian faith in the 1960s, as they encouraged young listeners to experiment with Eastern religions and psychedelic drugs. In our own time, Post Malone’s “Rockstar”, whose lyrics range from “Cocaine on the table, liquor pourin’, don’t give a damn” to “L.A. bitches always askin’, ‘Where the coke at?’”, has racked up almost two billion streams on Spotify, which suggests that popular music has become even less Christlike since Schaeffer was writing.

And so, Christians worldwide would surely better serve God by welcoming Kanye’s conver-

sion and assisting him in his mission to spread the gospel through music. The vast majority of believers and non-believers do not want to sing the hymns of Isaac Watts; they want to hear Kanye spitting out lyrics like “They say the week start on Monday / But the strong start on Sunday.”6 He may still have narcissistic tendencies, his fashion label may well sell ugly, overpriced shoes, and he may have been a little rude to media darling Taylor Swift a few years back, but Kanye West has seen God’s light—and his Christ-serving potential should not be underestimated. Instead, it should be embraced by all those who are serious about spreading the Christian message. < >

Tuppy recently finished studying French and German at Christ Church, but he is back in Oxford this year studying for a Theology diploma at Regent’s Park. He is a big fan of the Epistle to the Hebrews, as well as this pithy statement from David Foster Wallace: “You’ll stop caring what people think about you when you realize how seldom they do.”

6 K. West, “Selah”. Jesus is King (2019).

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meditation on a microscope Alex Beukers But everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.

(Eph 5:13 NIV) Knowledge, they said, would begin with the butterfly wing which rested on the glass as if for just a moment.

The bulb translates the wing into a stain.

By laws of magnification it defeats doubt in an instant, guiding the light upwards from the mirror, and stretching beams out, to project a new image in the ocular, big enough for me to see: coarse plains with great chasms in between. Blemishes, once unremarked by human eyes, are thrown into sharp relief.

I tune it by thumbing it clumsily into clarity.

I know I have no bearing on the light: the dance of angles accomplishes without me.

For whether I am ‘eye’ or not, physics works within, invisibly.

But then I looked again and saw that the wing, now finely focused, is a vision of beauty— crystalline scales sheathed like armour and braced with lightning.

It’s a far cry from the loneliness of that dead sample on its slide.

What had I learned from it, This transformation? It stemmed not from knowledge, but from the union of divine insight and our perception, and He made it— so that a broken specimen could be made whole again.

And perhaps this is the reason why later, in my mind’s eye, I saw that butterfly rise— stirring with an inner light, changed, revitalised. > <

Alex Beukers is a third year English student at Merton. She enjoys tennis, exploring old buildings, and more recently, music by the Grateful Dead. Besides learning to cook things other than variations on pasta with pesto, there is still much she wants to do over the remainder of her time at Oxford.

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moon landing Bianca Michelle Rasmussen

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riendship is a funny thing; how one shared experience unfolds into many, weaving themselves like strands of light into our lives. How curious it is when the intricate strands of a stranger so effortlessly intertwine with our own.

That’s how we started, anyway. And how I try to remember you. ~ It’s Tuesday night, also known as “Veggie Tuesday”, or “that day of the week where everyone goes to the kebab van after hall”. On the way out of the library, I hear the soft melodic jangling of metal, and you catch up to me, keys bouncing from the lanyard against your chest.

“There’s still so much work to do, I honestly don’t have time to eat in hall tonight,” you say with a groan.

“Do you want to just go grab a quick bite somewhere instead?” I ask.

We head out into Oxford. The food is ordered, and as the waiter takes away our menus, I real-

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ise we’ve never been just the two of us together before.

“So—where did you say you were from in Korea?” I ask.

“Jeju Island. It’s really beautiful,” you say.

“You have to visit it someday, if you ever get the chance.”

Your food arrives before mine. Without thinking I start taking photos; you instinctively begin to pose with your pho. I catch your eye and we both laugh. The waiter interrupts our photo session with my dish.

“I think I’m going to break up with my boyfriend,” you say.

I nearly choke on my noodles. “What?”

“Sorry—overshare!” You smile. “I just really needed to tell someone.”

“No, that’s alright. Walk me through it.”

By the time we’re done with our food and I’m caught up on the heart flutters and frustrations of your relationship, the veggie meal in hall is long over. We leave the restaurant arm in arm. ~

“I’ll cook you hotteok!” you exclaim excitedly as we walk back from the letting agency, “Oh, and proper kimchi! The stuff they sell in the shops here is gross.”

We just signed to live in a house together for second year and our plans are through the roof.

“Can we get a communal rice cooker?” I ask, “And let’s throw a house party like once a term at least.”

“Obviously,” you say, “We will be the houseparty house.”

Second year can’t come soon enough.

We sit on your floor drinking tea out of big pink mugs, talking about men and whether we should really be calling them ‘boys’.

You try on dresses for me that you’ve bought on Asos. We laugh till we can’t breathe because they’re all made for people twice your height.

When I get back to my room, I type “Jeju Island flights” into the search bar.

My plane ticket is purchased eight months in advance. ~ “How are you always so happy?” you ask.

“I’m not always happy,” I say and smile, “I mean, have you not heard me complain about microeconomics?”

Your eyes crinkle, as do the corners of your mouth. Streams of tourists are filing past our window as winter slowly gives way to spring.

We’re practicing our familiar ritual of sipping coffee in a café instead of doing our work.

“No, for real though—” You look down into your mug, swirling around the last bit of your latte, “I mean, when I was younger …

I’ve been in a pretty dark place.”

The soft whirr of the coffee grinder blends in with the background noise of other coffee drinkers.

“Last term was really good, probably the best in a long time—” you continue, “I just wonder.”

I nod and take a deep breath. What if you think I’m insane?

“Right. Well, I guess I just feel that I carry around light inside me, in a sense—” you look up from the latte “—because I believe in the Light. Like, God.” You nod.

“I know how it sounds,” I say, “But it’s just knowing that, despite me being so insignificant—that I am loved—it gives a kind of peace.”

We sit in silence for a while as you think.

“I wish I felt that way too,” you say. ~ “I don’t know why I did that. I’m so sorry—I’m a mess.”

Your blinds are drawn. Clothes and dishes are littered across your room.

“No, don’t apologise,” I say, and you look away. “I was just worried for you. Are you okay?”

Our first collection before exams was yesterday afternoon but I noticed your seat had been empty.

“I’m fine. It’s the jetlag and everything,” you mumble, “I overslept.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll let you retake it,” I say, “Just email them, they’ll totally understand.”

You put your face in your hands.

“What if it’s always going to be like this?” you ask, “I thought it would have changed by now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it!” I exclaim and reach for a hug, “It’s only our first week back; this doesn’t have to define the rest of your term!”

You send me a weak smile and nod.

“Come on!” I say, “Let’s take a walk in the sun and get you some bubble tea.” ~ 13

Do not disturb is hung on your doorknob, but I end up going in anyway. You’re late for the dinner we’d agreed on yesterday so I’ve come to fetch you myself.

“Hey, are you ready?” I ask. You’re lying on the floor by the window. The light is off.

I notice the heap of empty packets strewn across your desk, the empty bottles. The rest of the room is too tidy in contrast. Why is the light off?

The ambulance comes first, then the police.

I’ve never noticed before how small these hallways are. How suffocating.

My room is so quiet, the silence rings in my ears. Then my phone vibrates with a call.

How do you tell a mother that their child is gone?

“Thank you,” your mom says, “for surrounding her with light.”

Your dad compares your time here to the Apollo moon landing. They tell me how you fought for years with that all-consuming darkness; how tiresome the journey had been.

“But it was worth it,” he says, “for that short while with you was really one great leap: happiness.”

~ It seems an insignificant detail now but I can’t shake the question: Did I ever tell you that you lit up my life too?

I sit down and read: I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.

I know.

~

Believe in the light so that you may become children of the light.

I know.

They found a card in your room while cleaning, addressed to me.

Sorry for being so flaky lately. I’m trying to pull it together. Your handwriting is neat as always. You are like my sunshine.

For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord.

I know.

The card is buried in the pocket of my coat, hanging over the armchair. H for Happiness it says on the front. It pulsates so hard in the dark that I can’t seem to fall asleep.

Perhaps to you I was sunshine, but it is the light of a supernova I’ve been trying to emulate. I wish you could have known the real thing.

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“She’s not really gone because she lives on inside you,” someone reminds me, “In your memory.”

I know they mean well but I almost laugh.

How are you supposed to live on in me if I can barely recall what you look like?

What you’ve become in my mind is a bleak phantom of who I know you were. I need you to come back and shatter the shell that is my memory of you, set it ablaze with your presence.

For all that’s been said about me lighting up your life, I seem to be losing myself in darkness.

Go figure, I mutter to my mirrored reflection as I put on foundation to cover up tired eyes.

I know I am not alone. But it feels like the strands of light woven through our friendship have been mercilessly pulled out and now there’s nothing to hold together my tapestry; it’s a pile of hapless cords on the ground. ~

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been seven months. Ironically, it turns out life doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stop for anything. I have laughed more since that day in May than I thought possible, forgotten more than I thought I would.

Yet, still I catch myself looking for you in my new friendships.

When the waves of the world clash against my soul, I am reminded that I am not the source of light. I pick up the pieces from the ground and ask for them to be lit up again. I am a vessel.

As the year changes, I turn from the shifting shadows of my mind.

I know that you are loved, even though I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t show you love anymore. You are loved by that constant light: the light that filled our friendship.

I have hope that light is still to be found in me. I have hope in the light I see in others.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. > <

Bianca is a third year Philosophy, Politics, and Economics student at Harris Manchester College. She is originally from Copenhagen, Denmark.

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let there be light THE POWER OF WORDS

Toby Lowther

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n the world around us, words are everywhere. From billboards flashing by on the motorway to every tweet or post we read, language pervades our lives. It is how we express our needs and desires, how we translate our thoughts to others, and at times even the means by which we think. Although we rarely stop to think about it, our ability to freely and effortlessly process and understand language is something even our best supercomputers can only partially replicate. Yet despite the all-pervasive nature of language and its fundamentality to human nature, we often treat it with very little regard. How many times have you heard, “it’s just words”, or words to that effect?

The same is true in Christianity. Words are all-pervasive in Scripture as much as in life. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Now the earth was formless and empty … And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” (Gen-

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esis 1:1–3 NIV) So the Bible begins, and with it, God’s great love-story with humanity. God begins His redemption plan for all creation by “saying” to a wandering nomad in ancient Palestine (Gen 17), and He concludes His plan in the incarnation, sacrifice, resurrection and ascension of His Son, who is called “the Word” (John 1:1). Scripture tells us of the power of our words spoken to our Father (James 5:16) and the importance of our words spoken over others (Gen 12:3; Luke 10:6; Rom 12:14).

Whatever our creed or confession, Scripture is full of the power and importance of words.

Yet Christians, as much as non-Christians, so often reduce words to a disregarded tool. “It’s just words.”

The power of words is born out in the sciences. Consider the case of Speech Act Theory in linguistics: propounded by J. L. Austin, this theory argues that, in certain circumstances,

we can perform actions that bring about ontologically significant changes in the world by merely speaking.1 Thus, for example, if a priest in a wedding ceremony says the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” he has married the couple by saying; it is the saying of the words that is the act of marrying. In the same way, if I say the words, “I promise…” to you, I establish a new relationship that holds between us, whereby I am bound by a promise. Nothing is required, save the speaking of the right words, in the right context, by the right person.

To those with a background in Christian thought, it should come as no surprise that language is important, in Scripture or the secular world. As a Christian and having spent my degree studying the structures and functions of language, it is my firm belief that there is no aspect of human nature that so truly reflects the fact that humanity is made “in the image of God” (Gen 1:26) as language. God is creator, and language is creative; yet God is not a God of disorder, and likewise the creativity of language, while boundless in expression, is brought into order by regular rules that govern its structure and use. To see the parallels, one need only look to the field of syntax, a branch of linguistic science devoted to understanding the rules that mean that sentences such as “A purple thought caressed the lemon” are language, even as they are meaningless, while “dog fish the bite” fails to be really language at all. The capacity to substitute one element for another—the paradigmatic element—allows language infinite creativity, while the rules of structures and relations—the syntagmatic— gives it a fundamental order, so that it is a creativity of structure, not of chaos. Further, God is not a silent God; He expresses Himself to us through Scripture, nature, and revelations of the Spirit. Language means that we too are not silent, but can express ourselves back to God. Communication is the basis of any good 1 J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1962).

relationship; likewise, language, the ultimate communicative tool, is an expression of the relational nature of God in humanity.

Language is also an expression of the power of God in humanity. Yet we know that all that is the image and power of God in humanity can be turned to wickedness. The same creativity which creates radiology for healing and the music of Bach and Mozart, has also given us the atomic bomb and the death camps of the Holocaust. The same relational nature that allows us to fall in love, also allows us to be taken in by abuse. Those who slaughtered innocents to establish what would only become violent dictators in revolutions from France to language, the ultimate Russia did so in part communicative tool, is because they were an expression of the rela­ driven by the same tional nature of God in desire for justice humanity. which has given us the labour movement, civil rights movement, and feminism. All that is good and of God in humanity can be turned to wickedness, and the same is true of language.

It is for this reason that James warns us, “The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body.” (James 3:6) The language here is harsh, but not without grounds or reason.

While there have been some studies on the harm caused by hate speech,2 the exact potential that language has to cause emotional and psychological damage remains largely unquantified, with little to judge save the word of those who have lived to tell the tale, and the marks and deeds of those who have not. This much, though, we can say for sure: it is never “just words”. Words have the capacity to im2 See for example R. J. Boeckmann & C. Turpin-Petrosino, “Understanding the harm of hate crime.” Journal of Social Issues, 58, no. 2 (2002): 207–225; L. Leets & H. Giles, “Harmful speech in intergroup encounters: An organizational framework for communication research.” Annals of the International Communication Association, 22, no. 1 (1999): 91–137; L. Leets, “Experiencing hate speech: Perceptions and responses to anti-Semitism and antigay speech.” Journal of Social Issues, 58, no. 2 (2002): 341–361.

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plant thoughts into the very minds of others.

The right words, strung together by syntax and repeated sufficiently, warp our understanding of the world and ourselves. As our understanding of the world is replaced by much-repeated lies, we are led to violence and a society which harms us all. As our understanding of ourselves is replaced by lies and untruths spoken over us, we lose sight of the truth that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Ps 139:14), and we undervalue and oppress ourselves.

that is always active, whether we intend it or otherwise. This is why, in linguistic theory, we draw the line between illocution, what is intended to be conveyed by an utterance, and perlocution, what the utterance actually conveys to the hearer. While lies and insult may be unintentional, with an innocent illocution, words poorly chosen can inflict as much harm as words maliciously chosen, for they have the same power: to influence the mind and warp the world.

I cannot number the friends and family members I have known who have told me they are worthless, useless, ugly, all because that is what they have been told by others. Perhaps, dear reader, that is your experience as well. Nor can I number through history the times when a slogan or lie, repeated often enough, has led humanity to its greatest acts of evil and violence.

This is one of those (in my opinion many) areas where the Bible has a fair jot of wisdom to give. One of the authors of the Bible, James, teaches us that “Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak” (James 1:19). Words have power, and words chosen poorly can turn that power into deep and lasting harm; so we should be quick to listen, never assuming that what we first heard is what was meant; and we should be slow to speak, so that we never in rash words bring harm and pain into the world. That’s what James is telling us. Language is a mirror of the same power by which God speaks creation into existence, but as a mirror darkened by sin, it can be used to destroy those who listen just as easily as to create.

If we speak first, think later, we can’t always be sure which one we’re doing.

whenever we speak, we have a choice to make— whether to be darkness, or to be light.

This is the power of the political lie, the power of advertising, and the power of insult and degradation. It is the power of words: to influence the minds of others. This is a power

This is true of everyone but, dare I say, even more so of Christians. For if we are to be “Christ’s ambassadors” (2 Cor 5:20) and if we are to “Live such good lives … they may see [our] good deeds and glorify God on the day He visits us” (1 Pet 2:12), then is it not all the more important that, God willing, we do the impossible and “tame the tongue” (James 3)?

Christ spoke with gentle words to those who were weak and suffering, and He spoke boldly before those who abused their power and tried to treat God as a means to their own ends.

So must we be. If we are to bless God with our lips, we should probably use it gently with those who are made in His image. James says the same: “Out of the same mouth come praise and 18

cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.”

(James 3:9–10) If I may go further, I would say that staying silent and failing to speak when faced with injustice is as much a misuse of the mouth that would praise the God who is perfect Justice, as using that mouth for cursing.

When people assume that what they say are “only words”, they risk causing suffering and lasting scars. And when Christians do the same, God is degraded and insulted, as the same tongue which gives Him praise is used to abuse those made in His image.

For this reason, let us never forget that God spoke creation, and that we are made in His image. Our tongues have the power to create, and to destroy; to build up and tear down. Let us remember, that even if we do not know this God, the power of words is scientific fact, not some fancy of a different world view. And let us remember that if we do know this God, the power of words is His image in us.

Language is powerful, but with that power comes a responsibility. While we, in democratic societies, enjoy the freedom to speak as we please without risk of reprimand or punishment, it is vital not forget that this right is so that we can use those words to challenge the powerful and build up those who are broken and suffering in our world, not so that we can become part of the system of oppression. If we are not Christians, we need to know that our words have consequences, that our words can make a difference in the world, and leave lasting scars. And if we are Christians, we must know that when we recklessly utter hurtful words, we insult God and spout salt water from springs that should be pure.

In the very first chapter of the Bible, God says to creation, “Let there be light!” Just as our words can bring darkness, so too they can bring light. I am sure that every one of you, dear readers, has been on the end of harsh words that have left you feeling broken and

torn, but I hope that each of you has also known the healing and restoration that can come from the well-placed and gentle words of a friend. Whenever we speak, we have a choice to make—whether to be darkness, or to be light. I know that I far too often speak rashly and hurt others, even those I care most about.

There are far too many words I have said and still wish I could take back, but now never can.

But I know too that I want to do better—that I want to speak gentle words that will be a light in the world to those in dark places. I hope that you, dear reader, now feel something of the same.

If you take only one thing away from all this, I hope that it is that our words matter. Whether we are Christian or otherwise, I reckon we should all strive to be quick to listen, slow to speak. We don’t want to simply repeat what we have heard, but weigh it carefully, and see if it is good. When the rest of the world joins with others who shout insults from the sidelines, perhaps we can be people of gentle voices, a blessing to those who suffer and a challenge to those who would abuse their power. Only when we understand the power of words, can we begin to use that power to make the world that little bit kinder. > <

Toby is doing an MPhil in Linguistics, Philology, and Phonetics at Balliol. If you manage to get him to shut up once he starts on languages, justice theology, politics, Functionalism, scientific theory, feminism, Just Love, Dungeons & Dragons, or his latest vague idea for a novel, you have done far better than most.

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lighting a lamp

CANDLELIGHT IN ART AND WORSHIP Emily Swift

H

umans are fascinated by light, and the ways in which we create it for ourselves have become markers of our technological development. Candlelight has played an important symbolic role in Christian worship since the Middle Ages, and has provided the inspiration for many works of art, both religious and secular. In a world lit by the blue glow of smartphone and laptop screens, the dim, warm light of candles engenders a sense of calm and contemplation which can facilitate both spiritual and artistic inspiration.

Early Christian groups were forced to meet in secret to protect themselves from persecution by the Roman regime. At the time of the birth of Christianity, candles and oil lamps would have been the principal source of light during the night. Meeting for worship and prayer after dark necessitated these light sources, and this is likely how they first became a part of Christian worship. Early Christians, fearing a reversion to pagan customs or idolatry, initially regarded the lighting of lamps during the day with suspicion. Nonetheless, they recognised the practical benefits of light and fire, eventually integrating them into their customs and ceremonies by the Middle Ages. Fire and lamps have since come to represent the light of God in the world, and the victory of His light over darkness, death and sin.

In many churches, candles are used year-round to facilitate prayer and worship. However, certain occasions in the Christian calendar are particularly associated with the use of light in churches and in homes. At Easter, a Paschal

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candle is lit to represent the presence of the risen Christ among his followers until Ascension Day. In many Christian denominations, candles are also lit periodically throughout Advent, in expectation of the coming Christ.

Following Christmas, it has become traditional to bless and distribute candles at Candlemas, the feast of Jesus’ presentation at the temple, 40 days after his birth. The distribution of the candles symbolises the gradual spreading of Christ’s light after he entered the world.

In addition to their powerful biblical symbolism and ceremonial use, candles aid the personal devotion of many believers. The gentle light of a flame can provide a point of focus and calm when presenting oneself before God. Candlelight also has a mysterious quality which seems to echo the sometimes incomprehensible nature of the individual’s relationship with God. As in religious worship, the role of candlelight in art is both practical and symbolic. Before artificial light was freely available, artists relied on either natural light or candles and fuel lamps to illuminate their subjects and artworks.

The particular visual qualities of candlelight have also been utilised to add heightened contrast and dramatic effect to paintings, drawings and etchings.The technique of chiaroscuro (contrasting light and dark) originated in the 5th century when it was used to add depth and solidity to figure paintings. Later, in the 16th and 17th centuries, it was developed by artists like Caravaggio and Rembrandt into the more dramatic Tenebristic style. They used limited, carefully positioned light sources in order

to produce darker paintings with exaggerated shadows.

For me, this style of painting gives the artwork an air of contemplation and almost prayerful focus. In worship, candles bring our attention to the light of God and our own relationship with that light, and with our surroundings and fellow worshippers. In art, candles can sharpen a composition, and highlight the spatial relationships between objects or human subjects.

In the same way, prayer can bring our thoughts and experiences into greater focus, allowing us some clarity amidst the business and confusion of our lives. < >

Emily is a fifth year medical student at Christ Church.

When sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not at the hospital, she loves being outdoors, walking or cycling. Otherwise she can be found listening to audio books and attempting to knit.

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what began as a song for darkness Miriam Tomusk i screamed at the darkness and it didn’t flinch so i sang a song about the darkness because i thought it could hear but i guess it must have been deaf or otherwise occupied so i tried to cut through the darkness and i wrestled it to the ground but it rose and swelled and filled me so i wrote a thesis about the darkness even a best-selling novel and the money flew in but i still couldn’t see it so i sewed a garment from the darkness and wore it cloaked in pride hoped every needle puncture would remind it of the pain i too could inflict i mailed the darkness to my best friend it took a while to fold but i did it crammed into an envelope hoping it would arrive intact and then i gave a speech about the darkness so i could pierce it with my voice but when it would not comply i shredded the darkness and knitted from it a blanket to keep me company and then i started to think about how the darkness made me feel but all i really wanted was for someone to turn on the light. ~

LIGHTS ON and I saw myself shattered shards scattered my voice clattered and clamoured echoing in a room where the windows still rattled (echoing in my own hollowness)

from where the darkness fled after it chewed me up and my dry bones bare to the light to be surgically examined.

spattered

My bones with bated breath expected a doctor’s deliberation, accompanying prescriptions that they would have to self-administer —but none came. ~

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i tried to tackle the light like i’d tackled the darkness but it refused to be tackled and it refused to be confined and it just sat there inviting me to drink it all up. ~

TODAY I carry (water) I sometimes still fear will ooze (from the cracks) though none I lose I carry (a story) in the glass, stained no more by darkness’s mark but by light wishing to beautify itself and in so doing it beautifies me performing a dance across the borders— I am a topographical survey of painful valley crossings But the light is gentle and helps me see that nothing can escape through the ridges, a wholeness—a holiness—of what once were holes I say I carry but really I am inhabited and all I know of the mystery is that light dwells among the shards with remarkable clarity. < >

Miriam is doing a year of theology at Corpus after completing her history degree there. She is convinced that if she goes on enough windswept country walks she will one day become a Brontë heroine, but until then you can probably find her browsing through second-hand stores, curled up in a cafe, or frantically planning to bake more for her friends.

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the lens of light

Light is one of the most fascinating phenomena in science, enthralling thinkers and scholars from Euclid to Einstein. Its complexity has posed many important questions, and optics continues to be an important field in contemporary physics. Conversely, understanding the nature of light also changes the way we see everything else.

We’ve invited some of our friends to share some different ways of looking at—and through—the same light.

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THE FIRST FLASH OF LIGHT IN A DARK UNIVERSE Molly MacRae Molly is a third year Physicist at Jesus. She currently spends her free time wandering through fields, eating marmalade toast, and shielding her house plants from two hungry cats. ▶

“And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness.” (Gen 1:3-4 NIV) This is how the Bible begins the story of our universe in Genesis—God calls a flash of light into the darkness. As we know it, our universe began as a plasma, far too hot and dense for atoms to form, and dark to an observer. Photons of light bouncing around inside were continuously absorbed and scattered and given no opportunity to escape. At around 300,000 years old, the universe had cooled and expanded enough for recombination: protons, neutrons and electrons could combine to form the first hydrogen and helium atoms. Light photons could finally travel freely throughout the vacuum. The first thing that would have been seen of our universe is a blinding flash of light. It would have glowed like a vast star as it continued expanding. Like the rest of the universe, this light was spread, and eventually stretched into microwaves, and this is how we observe it today, as Cosmic Microwave Background.

When tuning a radio, 1% of the noise you hear between stations is this CMB—the remnants of initial flashes from the early universe.

Almost everything we now know about the universe beyond our planet has been carried to us by light. Slight fluctuations in the CMB are potentially the seeds of higher density that

allowed the first stars and galaxies to be born.

When you gaze up at a clear night sky you are not only seeing a glistening display of ancient starlight, but a map of the entire history of our visible universe.

Reading on in the Genesis story of creation, it is difficult not to notice how concurrently it follows the order we observe in science today, despite the limited scientific knowledge of the writer. This is unsurprising for Christians, who believe the words of the Bible were, though written by people in their time, inspired by God. Our research in science can perhaps tell us everything that happened since the beginning of time, but we fall silent when we are asked the question why. It is the same silence that often follows moments gazing up at the night sky.

Our awe at the beauty of our universe and our purpose in it, and the reason we feel this awe at all, seemingly cannot be explained by science itself.

Looking at Christianity, it’s sometimes easy to wonder about the complete mystery of how God could possibly send his son into the world to conquer death for us. But in these moments of awe, when I remember that it is the same God who spoke light into existence, I feel that perhaps this is not such a mystery at all.

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ILLUMINATION; REVELATION Jacob Mercer Illumination; revelation. The moment when you see things in colour, where once they were dim. To me, the joy of doing mathematics is the journey from unknowing to knowing; darkness to light.

furniture, but gradually you learn where each piece of furniture is. Finally, after six months or so, you find the light switch, you turn it on, and suddenly it’s all illuminated. You can see exactly where you were.”

When I’m doing maths, I often feel like an excitable child, running through an unfamiliar forest. As my mind races to recall theorems that might lead the way to a solution, so too do I race along the wooded path, urged by curiosity to see where it leads. I often find myself in mundane beige libraries on mundane grey days, scribbling down line after line of strange greeks symbols so frantically and excitedly that my heart beats a little faster. Like the banquet held for the prodigal son, the time is spent in confusion and unknowing highlights the elation of the path to knowing.

However these affections aren’t exclusive to my academic curiosity. I reminisce fondly when, as a new Christian, God revealed himself as I read the Bible—but unlike the realisation and elation of understanding in mathematics when I solve a problem or prove a theorem, revelation from God is walking out of a dim mine on a bright day into dazzling brilliance. It may take time for our eyes to see in the presence of this greater light, but we do not draw away, because once we have seen this light, to turn back is darkness and His sunlight warms us.

The notable mathematician Andrew Wiles describes the sensation like this: “You enter the first room of the mansion and it’s completely dark. You stumble around bumping into the

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So I thank God that He has let me taste both such lights. After all, we study in an institution crowned by the motto “Dominus Illuminatio Mea”. The Lord is my light.

◀ Jacob is a third year at Worcester studying Mathematics and Statistics. He loves to spend his time stuck into a good book, making music, or pretending he’s doing his degree by doing today’s puzzles in the newspaper.

AFFECT AND AFFECTIONS Alvin Tan Alvin has recently graduated from Queen’s with a degree in Psychology and Linguistics. He is already experiencing the wistful nostalgia of not being in Oxford, and would love to be back soon. ▶

When wintertime rolls around and the nights grow longer, around 1 in 10 to 1 in 100 people will begin to experience depressive symptoms such as changes in mood or sleeping habits.

This is known as Seasonal Affective Disorder, which has the unfortunately fitting acronym SAD. It also seems to be more prevalent at higher latitudes, which suggests that it is related to daylight hours. Perhaps you have experienced this yourself, or know someone who has.

SAD seems to be the black sheep of psychological conditions—psychologists were initially sceptical of its validity as a syndrome, and even now it is typically classified as a seasonal variant of other mood disorders. Its intervention options also sound somewhat bizarre and verging on the homeopathic—for example, the symptoms of SAD seem to be alleviated by negative ion treatment. The most common and most effective treatment, however, is bright light therapy. This involves the individual being exposed to a bright light (from a light box) soon after waking for half an hour to two hours. Indeed, since SAD appears to be related to daylight, a light-based treatment shouldn’t be surprising.

What is somewhat surprising is the fact that we don’t really know what the biological processes that lead to SAD are. A common theory is that SAD is related to a disruption of the body’s normal circadian rhythms, which are internal processes that regulate the cycle between sleep and wakefulness. The evidence for this is

mixed, however, as treatments for SAD don’t seem to reduce any circadian disturbances.

There is some promising recent work on the relationship between SAD and the neurotransmitter serotonin, but we will have to wait for more evidence to determine the veracity of that theory.

What SAD does demonstrate is the reliance that humans have on light, not solely for its tangible functions, but also for its implications on our well-being. Something in the basal part of our brain relies on light, like a sort of affective phototropism. In some ways, this is akin to what philosopher Tim Crane calls the “religious impulse”, or an urging towards the transcendent. It seems that this impulse is fundamental to the human condition; what differs among humans is the manner in which they address or satisfy that impulse.

Perhaps this is indicative of the design pattern for humans. Indeed, the very first page of the Bible tells us that we were made in reference to the transcendent God (Gen 1:27). If this is truly the case, then our lives are most abundant and fulfilled when we live in accordance to that transcendent order. Much as light boxes pale in comparison with the splendour and warmth of the summer sun, so do alternative spiritualities fail to meet that innate impulse. Then, it is only by placing our affections on the Son and basking in his light that we can experience the fullness of what it means to be human.

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UNDERSTANDING PARADOX Emily Kilgour What is light? It’s a simple question, given light is something we encounter every day. Yet, it has puzzled people for millennia.

so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts,” declares the Lord (Isa 55:9 ESV).

In some experiments, light seems to travel through space like water waves over the sea. In other cases, it speeds along in tiny packet-like particles of energy called photons. So, which is it? Wave or particle? Weirdly, both pictures describe light’s nature, a concept called wave-particle duality. Though it seems paradoxical, the two ideas are held together because the reality is more complex than our limited attempts to understand from only one perspective.

It is wonderfully good to study and delight in God’s vast, intricate and beautiful creation. He wants us to increase in our understanding of Him and His love for us. But, part of growing in humility is recognising that there will be things we never fully understand in this life and may grapple with until we see Him face to face, no longer in part, but in full. For now, Proverbs 3:5–6 says, “trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

When we can’t reconcile the paradoxes alone, we choose to cling to the one who Himself is Truth, and trust.

The Christian life is full of confusing paradoxes. How could Jesus be both fully human and fully divine? If God is sovereign over everything, how can we be responsible for our own sin? How can God be both knowable and mysterious? Even the Gospel is a paradox of sorts; the one who Himself is Life loved us enough to die, so we can be saved if we repent and trust in Him. The Bible affirms both sides of these paradoxes to be true, though they seem contradictory.

We know the one who tells us these things is perfectly good, loving and consistent. Therefore, we can trust that when we don’t fully comprehend, it is not because God is wrong.

It’s because we don’t have the whole picture.

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,

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I am amazed that no matter how much I study it, I can never get over light’s beauty. The vivid colours of the rainbow after the storm. The evening Scottish sunlight shining through the trees outside my window. A sky full of stars whose light has travelled for hundreds of years to reach us. The laws of refraction explain the sun reddening as it sinks towards the horizon, but cannot calculate the awe I feel watching a sunset. We won’t always fully understand. But we can marvel at the view which glorifies the one who created it all.

◀ Emily studied Physics at Teddy Hall and is from Glasgow. She loves stargazing, owls and exploring the lochs and glens. She has just graduated and is excited to spend this year back in Oxford as a church apprentice.

LIGHT AND TIME Kieran Moore Kieran is a third year Physicist at Somerville college. He enjoys playing the clarinet and ultimate frisbee. In lockdown he has re-read the Narnia, Hunger Games, and Harry Potter books, all of which may be more real than ideal harmonic oscillators. ▶

On a clear night, as you look up at the stars, what you are doing is looking back in time.

The speed of light is a universal speed limit, and a fundamental constant in physics—an unchanging 300,000 km/s in the vacuum of space. This large but finite speed means that the light we see in the night sky today left stars hundreds of years ago. Yet, if we could see microwaves, there would be a dim smear all over the night sky. This is the famous “Cosmic Microwave Background” (CMB), ancient photons arriving after a journey from just 380,000 years after the Big Bang. When they left, they were emitted from a hot plasma at visible wavelengths, but the expansion of the universe red-shifted them. Now, therefore, they are microwaves corresponding to a temperature of just 2.7 K. This timescale (~13 billion years) is clearly vast, but amazingly, the Bible has claims of certainty about eternity.

Often when searching for a purpose, we look to things that will last. Yet ultimately, nothing in this world endures forever. In contrast, the Bible claims that we can influence what happens to us for eternity. Something that lasts forever is surely worth much more than things that decay. Jesus makes this point clearly, saying: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths

and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matt 6:1921 NIV) So how can we get “treasure in heaven”? If we are only on earth for a finite amount of time, how can we earn something of infinite value.

Wonderfully, as Peter explains, we don’t have to earn it, indeed we can’t: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish spoil or fade … kept in heaven for you.” (1 Pet 1:3-4) You can’t work your way to an inheritance; it’s given to you. This is the central claim of the Christian faith. Though we are unworthy, by God’s infinite grace, we can be welcomed into heaven, an eternal inheritance, and a living hope. How? By the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross, his resurrection, and by placing our faith and hearts in him, that he will return and raise us, and give us treasure we don’t deserve.

The CMB might be 13 billion years old. The heat death of the universe might take up to 10100 years to work itself out. But the promise of God is that we can be raised to new life and live forever in glorious relationship with him.

Isn’t that something worth checking out? > <

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stained glass Shanae Nge

M

aking stained glass is a lengthy and complex process, and a skilled craftsman is needed to create these pieces of art. Historically, the process of making stained glass has not changed much over time. The stained glass is made by cutting out glass from a full-sized design called a cartoon, then painting the details onto its surface and firing the glass in a kiln. The pieces are usually held together by strips of lead and are weatherproofed. Once the glazing is complete, the window is finally fixed into an opening. Use of different coloured enamel paints was introduced in the 15th century, which meant that windows were made of panes of clear glass that were painted on, instead of being composed of different pieces of coloured glass placed together. In addition, there are different kinds of glass used in the creation of stainedglass windows. The most commonly used is called pot-metal glass, which is a colourless or white glass created from a combination of silica, potash and lime. This compound is melted in a clay pot in the furnace and colour is consistent throughout the glass. The windows are created by putting pieces of pot-metal glass into a pattern of contrasting colours.1 Stained-glass windows are most prominently seen in churches and were important because of their iconography. These windows were multi-functional; they depicted scenes from the Old and New Testament or showed important patrons of the churches they were installed in, as well as providing protection against the outdoors. Before 1540, the images on the stainedglass windows were dominated by typology, hagiography, and local references to donors or patrons of the building.2 Typological cycles were used as means to interpret biblical history as links between the Old and New Testament and hagiographic cycles depicted the lives of saints. After 1540, however, the depiction of Biblical scenes was no longer prominent. Instead, new subjects such as, “historical battles and sieges, literary and allegorical themes, and the Classical world, with scenes and motifs from Greek and Roman mythology and literature”3 were more dominantly painted on stained-glass windows.

1 C. Hicks, V. C. Raguin, N. J. Morgan, & M. B. Shepard, “Stained glass.”

Grove Art Online (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003).

2 Ibid.

3 Ibid.

Stained-glass windows were also especially important because of the symbolism of the light. The coloured light that filtered into the churches from the windows added to the experience of being in a church. In the Old Testament of the Bible, light is associated with the goodness, power, and protection of God. Psalm 119:105 (NIV) says, “Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” This verse explicitly refers to God’s word as a light that guides us throughout our lives. Similarly, in the New Testament, light is associated with the nature of Christ himself. These concepts indicate that the purpose of stainedglass windows was not just the “poor man’s Bible”, as it has been suggested that the scenes on these windows were for the illiterate to be able to understand the important scenes in the Bible. Clearly, they were meant to invoke a deeper reaction to the viewer.

The piece I decided to do is one of the stained-glass windows in La Sagrada Familia, a basilica in Barcelona, Spain, created by Antoni Gaudi. Although many of the windows in the basilica do not feature any scenes from the Bible, the special way that the light shines through and envelops the church in light is in itself a spiritual experience. To me, stained glass is a metaphor for the way in which Christians interact with God. Without him, we, like the windows, do not fulfill our true purpose, which is to let his light shine through us. As Christians, we are called to be the light unto the world, such as in Matthew 5 when Jesus says to his disciples: “You are the light of the world” (5:14a) and compares them to a lamp that gives light to the inhabitants of a house (5:15). What these verses mean is that we must let our actions reflect the mercy and grace received from God towards others. Matthew 5:16 captures this idea perfectly: “In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” < >

Shanae is a third year Classicist at Somerville. She loves drinking bubble tea and taking long naps. She is a serial procrastinator and is probably having an essay crisis right now.

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coding light

LOCKDOWN REFLECTIONS ON FIBRE OPTICS, GENESIS, AND PAUL VIRILIO

Rachael Chan

T

his has probably happened to you on Zoom in the past year: [User]’s internet connection is unstable. Frozen frame.

“Sorry, my internet got cut off! I should probably change my broadband provider …” Cue two seconds of sheepish laughter.

Lockdown during the COVID-19 pandemic has made us increasingly reliant on high-speed internet technologies to stay connected. The French philosopher Bernard Stiegler speaks of a posthuman agency whereby the human is co-constituted with the technological.1 This pandemic has seemingly brought our cyborgian tendencies to the fore. (As I munch on a digestive, I’m pondering, “Am I a cyborg as I type this?”) This has made me reflect on three aspects of high-speed internet technologies: how fibre optic communications make use of light and darkness, the material formations of these networks, and how we might understand the uneven proliferation of such technologies in the context of the Christian faith.

‘0’ AND ‘1’, DARKNESS AND LIGHT Internet technologies are redefining how we experience space and spatiality. The human geographers James Ash, Rob Kitchin, and Agnieszka Leszczynski theorise that cities are “circuits of digitality”. They explain, “as we adopt and ubiquitously embed networked digital technologies across physical landscapes, they come to enact progressively routine or-

1 B. Stiegler, Technics and Time, 1: The Fault of Epimetheus, trans. R. Beardsworth & G. Collins (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998).

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derings of quotidian rhythms, interactions, opportunities, spatial configurations, and flows.”2 In recent years, high-speed, long-distance communication has been augmented by fibre optics, which transfers data at the speed of light. These “circuits of digitality” also transcend urban spaces, becoming the new normal in the UK. The catchphrase “full fibre” has been gaining traction, and the UK government has promised £5bn to roll out gigabit-capable broadband to thousands of rural homes.3 Transmission of data at the speed of light is possible with fibre optics because what travels through these cladded glass cables is light itself.

It’s an elegant design, making use of the binary number system of ‘0’s and ‘1’s. Information is coded into a binary string, and light pulses are sent down the fibre optic cable like Morse code—pulse on 1; no pulse on 0. Most of us transmit and receive information through intricate rhythms that separate light from darkness, reminiscent of the first few verses of the Book of Genesis: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he 2 J. Ash, R. Kitchin, & A. Leszczynski, “Digital turn, digital geographies?” Progress in Human Geography, 42, no. 1 (2018): 25–43.

3 J. Wakefield, “Three million homes have access to full-fibre broadband.” BBC News, 20 December 2019.

separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’

And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.” (Gen 1:1–5 NIV) As many other writers in this issue also note, the motif of light and darkness permeates God’s word. In the Gospel of John, Jesus describes himself as the “the light of the world” (John 8:12). The writer of the same gospel also alludes to this: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (1:5).

The active separation of light and darkness by God after He speaks light into existence mirrors a Hegelian dialectical framework, which Hegel had borrowed from the Greek philosopher Heraclitus. By this, I reference Hegel’s three-step thesis of being-nothing-becoming in “The Science of Logic: The Doctrine of Being”: “Being … In its indeterminate immediacy it is equal only to itself. It is also not unequal relatively to an other; it has no diversity within itself nor any with a reference outwards …

Nothing … It is simply equality with itself, complete emptiness, absence of all determination and content—undifferentiatedness in itself.

Nothing is, therefore, the same determination, or rather absence of determination, and thus altogether the same as, pure being …

Becoming … Their truth is therefore, this movement of the immediate vanishing of the one into the other: becoming, a movement in which both are distinguished, but by a difference which has equally immediately resolved itself.”4

existence. Rather, the transition from one into another is also critical. He explains, “But it is a familiar fact that light is dimmed to grey by darkness; and besides this merely quantitative alteration it suffers also the qualitative change of being determined to colour by its relation to darkness.”5 I am cautious in drawing a connec- this coexistence allows us tion between God’s to celebrate the promise design and Hegelian of the new creation and logic because I don’t lament the continuing think Hegel had that pain of the old. in mind. But I find Hegel’s writing an interesting frame to understand the relationship between the two—light and darkness both posit and negate each other, and when doing so simultaneously, they preserve one another. Moreover, there is a spectrum between light and darkness. The assertion that “darkness has not overcome light” is a reminder that Jesus has triumphed over death on the cross, but also that darkness still exists alongside light. This coexistence allows us to celebrate the promise of the new creation and lament the continuing pain of the old.6 We gain a greater appreciation of the messy shades, moving tints, and ombré of our reality—there is a continuum between light and darkness that we as sinful humanity are mostly unable to visualise. The Apostle Paul tells us this in his letter to the Corinthian church—“Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror” (1 Cor 13:12). (Or in the King James translation, “For now we see through a glass, darkly.”)

WIRED COMMUNICATION

Hegel believed that the tension between light and darkness arose not only from the fact that one defined the other because of each other’s

Fibre optic communication offers a contemporary case study of these messy shadings. On one hand, this technology has brought about immense benefits to us in the form of efficiency and speed. In The Undersea Network, Nicole Starosielski describes the extent and magni-

4 G. W. F. Hegel, The Science of Logic, trans. A. V. Miller (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1969): 132–134.

5 Ibid., 436.

6 N. T. Wright, “What the New Testament really says about heaven.” Time, 16 December 2019.

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tude of fibre optic cables: “They transport 99 percent of all transoceanic digital communications, including phone calls, text and e-mail messages, websites, digital images and video, and even some television (cumulatively, over thirty trillion bits per second as of 2010).”7 On the other hand, Starosielski draws attention to the materiality of these networks and how they are embedded in deeply political and uneven geographies which reproduce existing inequalities. One aspect we tend to overlook is that fibre optic cables are mapped along the contours of violent and exploitative colonial histories. This link can be seen from oceanic islands that are landing points for cables. Starosielski explains, “As signals move between Europe, the Americas, Asia, Australia, and Africa, they intersect numerous networked islands:Fiji, New Zealand, and O‘ahu in the Pacific; Bermuda, the Canary Islands, St. Helena, and Puerto Rico in the Atlantic; and Sicily and Cyprus in the Mediterranean.”8 Many fibre optic cables are in the same zones as telegraph cables laid by colonial powers from the early twentieth century. Starosielski writes that there is a “continuiit is important to remem­ ty between the light ber that these patterns of waves that transmit exclusion, silencing, and information and the marginalisation are all in ocean waves that the name of speed. have carried islanders across the Pacific.”9 I would add that these waters also carried fleets of colonisers who created such information networks to speed up the circulation of labour, goods, and capital.

The invisibility of cables obscures the conflicts that accompany its installation and maintenance. The cultural geographer Gillian Rose tells us that we live in a hyperindustrial society saturated with “exteriorizations” calculated to 7 N. Starosielski, The Undersea Network (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015): 1.

8 Ibid., 178.

9 Ibid., xii.

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satisfy desire in the shortest possible time.10 In achieving this, the priorities of the voiceless are ignored: “As the uses of marine space have identified, cable companies have had conflicts with fishermen and boaters, environmental advocates, and local developers, all of whom need to be informed of cable routes in order to avoid them.”11 It is important to remember that these patterns of exclusion, silencing, and marginalisation are all in the name of speed. Paul Virilio was a French technology theorist who converted to Christianity following the Second World War, and he was highly critical of the idolatry of speed. Virilio uses the concept of “dromology” from the Greek word dromos (running or racetrack) to argue that the logic of speed dominates our conception of cities, and that speed is power. He speaks of a simultaneous experience of virtual and real environments known as stereoscopy: Internet technologies at the speed of light have in principle eradicated the horizon of human experience by inserting an absence of duration between individuals at a distance. There is a dromocratic revolution where speed is fabricated, and this imprints on our cities and our lives. However, the key point to note is that while the rhetoric of empowerment accompanies increased access to such technologies, most people other than the elite do not feel more empowered by the effects of these high-speed networks. The Western cultural pursuit of proliferating internet technologies prompted Virilio to comment, “The technologies of virtual reality are attempting to make us see from beneath, from inside, from behind … as if we were God.”12

A CHRISTIAN RESPONSE? Fibre optic technologies are a testament to the miracle of God’s first speech recorded: “Let 10 G. Rose, “Posthuman agency in the digitally mediated city: Exteriorization, individuation, reinvention.” Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 107 (2017): 779–793.

11 Starosielski, 10.

12 L. Wilson, “Cyberwar, God and television: Interview with Paul Virilio.” CTheory, 21 October 1994.

there be light.” Yet, like other created things He has deemed as good, fibre optics demonstrate how many of us have abused our power at others’ expense. There is an injustice when time speeds up for the elite few and slows down for the rest depending on where they are located, and whether their mobilities and dwellings intersect with communication infrastructures such as fibre optic networks. The “hidden labour, economics, cultures and politics that go into sustaining everyday intercontinental connections”13 are embodied experiences.

The issues that surround the invisibility of cables and patterns of exclusion highlighted above problematise our (lack of dis)comfort as the people of God. We live in a city situated within the “circuit of digitality”, a city that boasts historic privilege. More broadly, I follow Jung Mo Sung’s lead and ask: should theology and Christian churches assume these macro-socioeconomic concerns? Or should we just leave it to the academic and political spheres?14 José Comblin advocates that “there is no more urgent task than the one of reuniting once again what was separated for so long, the ‘political’ and the ‘religious’, the ‘social’ and the ‘mystic’. It is a practical rather than a theoretical task, although theory has to contribute to anchor and to orient an effective practice.”15 You might be conscious that, so far, I have not offered any suggestion on how our Christian communities should respond or do things differently. And to be honest, I don’t really know.

A possible orientation is to challenge the logic of dromology. Jon Bloom, co-founder of Desiring God, writes against our tendency to pursue haste in our lives: “[T]his is not a biblical assumption. If we look at creation, redemptive history, and our own spiritual growth, we see a God who is not in a hurry. We see a God whose patience almost exasperates us at times.

13 Starosielski, 2.

14 J. M. Sung, Desire, Market and Religion (London: SCM Press, 2007).

15 J. Comblin, Cristãos Rumo ao Século XXI: Nova Caminhada de Libertação (Lisbon: Paulus, 1996): 105.

If we look carefully, we see that the most important things take a long time to grow and mature. They can’t be rushed.”16 In there is an injustice when Genesis 1, after God time speeds up for the separates light from elite few and slows down darkness, we read for the rest. that God orders a strategic rhythm: “God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.” And later we see that on the seventh day, God rests.

The next time I’m about to comment on the speed of Eduroam, I will pause to thank God for speaking light into being. I will then ask Him to guard me against the desire to live at lightspeed. Finally, I ask God to extend His grace towards our brothers and sisters who are oppressed by these invisible cables, networks of power which we are blind to. < >

Rachael is a third year Geographer at Mansfield. As you are reading this, she is either taking a nap, watching a Korean drama, or fangirling over some Mahler symphony.

16 J. Bloom, “Four reasons to slow down.” Desiring God, 13 Jaunary 2017.

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spectroscopic grace Esthy Hung Night falls for a long time as my world eviscerates. Death ready to attack.

Old friends—shame, anger, despair Beckon me in with open arms.

Tendrils of black ensnare me; I cannot see God. A nurse patiently sits with me as I cry and shake in the Dreaded Dining Room, a Digestive biscuit before me for Two dark hours. All I know is I cannot have it.

Dull grey iron bars stand guard at my window, Reminding me: escape is impossible.

The painful panging for home is new for me.

God, how can you possibly use this to further your Kingdom?

The memories are foggy, there are only feelings— Clouds of grey numbness or overwhelming sadness or sheer terror.

“Why is light given to he … who rejoices exceedingly when they find the grave?”1 The mirror tells me I am covered in mud; dirty and tarnished.

Friends come to visit and Pray. Lies still crawl in, telling me I am Shameful, that He has cast His face Away from me.

Surely, as someone said— If I just prayed more, if I just had more faith But He ate with the weak. Washed the dirt from their Feet. He desires me still.

Though our minds are poisoned yellow with self-hatred and self-destruction We yearn to take away each other’s suffering.

We hold each other up. Eliza: “Bananagrams?”

I peer out from the nest of safe darkness I am curled up in.

Although I try to mask the salty droplets gliding down my face— Eliza knows.

The voices in my mind are screaming, as they do for her too.

I dry my face and slide onto the floor She empties the pieces from the yellow purse Silently we play Bananagrams Violet bruises cover Hazel; my sister in this prison Whose mind has distorted her reality Familiar warm salty droplets make acquaintance with my lips again as I hear her Scream in the next room fighting 1 Job 3:20–22 ESV

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Against survival as six staff hold her down to Force-feed her.

Tears pour as I beg You to take away her pain, all the pain of those here.

Wetness drops onto my arms Clutched tightly and desperately by Amelia As I pray for her Red sirens blare in my mind On the day I am discharged.

Happiness should fill me, however only Fear instead.

And that which was a prison became A place of safety, with those who Understand.

Home does not feel safe, for my Mind is with me everywhere.

However, Lord you too suffered Gushed with sacred crimson. For us, for Me. That I might be released from the grip of fear, of condemnation.

As I leave hospital, I may step out and enjoy the incandescence of the sky Which radiates all visible colours Fusing into the brilliance of the sun.

At the source is a fierce, raging ball of fire Like that which You ignite in me How it sears and sorrows You to see suffering.

I do not want others to feel the pain, isolation, loneliness that I have.

And if they have I will love them fiercely, not let them go and reveal the Father that does the same for me. ~ Christians wrestling with mental health difficulties can often struggle to reconcile these with our faith. This is sadly not helped by the misconceptions in the Christian world that mental illness is evidence of one’s weakness in faith or that one is spiritually possessed, implying a relational distance between one and God. I feared that I was being shut out of God’s Kingdom when heavy doors locked me into psychiatric wards. These fears were subverted when He used some of the darkest moments of my life to reveal the vibrancy of His love and the multi-­ faceted­-ness of His grace. In sheer brokenness and weakness, I met Him more deeply than I had ever expected, which I am thankful for.

Healing is very much possible though often not immediate, as the journey itself is also one of continual relationship growth with our Creator, but we can rejoice because the Kingdom to come is where full healing will be. > <

Esthy is a fourth year studying Physics at Catz. She loves ice skating, dying her hair green, and telling everyone how awesome nuclear fusion is.

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the city of light A CHILD IN THE DARKNESS

Benjamin Sharkey

I

n days long past, ten thousand herds still migrated across the northern steppes, a million gazelles, deer, mares and stallions, glorious as an army with banners, before the great hunts of our age. Two ages before our own great age of heat, the ice had not yet waxed south, and the people of the great forests and tundras of the north could still just remember an age when the wild flowers had bloomed and danced, the most beautiful carpet of the forest floor. In those days, in a village to the south, there lived a little girl whose name was Barteh.

She grew up in the innocence and curiosity of the greatest of childhoods. Her parents were gentle, and their neighbours kind. The family grew barley and kept oxen, two great beasts whom Barteh, in her childishness, called Og and Ob. When the season for planting came, she would lead these giants with a single piece of twine tied to golden rings in their noses.

And when it was time for harvest, she would play in the field among the gatherers, and help them by gathering the stalks into dolls.

Such a world was outgrown far too fast.

As Barteh grew into youthfulness, the simplest and most genuine pleasures of childhood gripped her less and less, displaced by the potential of other, as yet unrealised pleasures.

“In the town are many great pleasures,” a neighbour boy, Breh, one year her senior, told her with great authority, though he had never left the village. “Come with me—you would dearly enjoy it!”

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And so, the two children, while their parents were busy with harvest, set out on the road to the north.

It was good fun at first—the people on the road were very different, strange and funny, with huge beards of red and black, long robes or puffy breeches, of rich and sickly colours.

Some of them showed the children their strange coins, which bore the faces of terrible looking men from every corner of the world, and even gave them small copper ones. The children excitedly chattered about what they might buy with these when they reached the town.

But the cities of this world are dark. Their facades mimic beauty and clamour glory, but at the core there is rottenness. It is the very height which makes its shadows so great, and in those shadows the creatures of the earth hide their deeds, even from themselves.

No such deeds could have appeared to the imagination of two such innocents as now wandered within the city walls. How could the paradise of their childhoods have prepared them? And how could their parents now warn them?

The town was a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells, of facades and shadows. The two children soon found themselves separated and lost in the swirling chaos, the smoke of people.

Barteh wandered through the streets, a little anxious now, but overcome by all that swirled dimly before her.

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“Here,” a man held out a ring to her, of burning gold, like the sun itself when it breathes its last daily breaths. “Try it on?” he offered.

She held out her little hand and he slipped it on her finger. Its glistening dimmed. He grabbed hold of her wrist, and no matter how hard she tugged, with all her child’s might, he held on.

She shouted, but who was there to hear her in the shadows?

Those who took her handed her over to the slavers on their travels. And they took her roughly along the great western road, where it wound now to the north. It grew very cold there, and very dry too. And Barteh could hardly walk with them. They carried her for a way, but soon they stopped.

“Who is going to want such a ragged little thing who has withered like a flower caught in spring snow?” they said to themselves. “She is too great a burden for too little a return, and the road ahead is still long. What life will await her there anyway? Come, let us leave her here to the beasts.” And so they left her on the steppe, one man in his mercy leaving for her a gourd of stale water.

Barteh was now alone upon the steppe. No human could be seen on the entire horizon, but the forest of the north gaped in the distance, great and terrible, like an army waiting for battle, still and silent.

It was all there was to shelter her from the wild and cold onset of night, and so she headed north, away from all she knew.

The darkness of the forest advanced towards her, even as she neared it. The trees towered, shapes of jagged darkness. The thick ranks of the forest closed around her. The cold wind no longer blew here, but the stillness stalked her.

The slightest sounds agitated her. The ground here was beyond the touch of the light.

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Suddenly a movement to the right caught her eye. Stripes of shadows fell across her. She turned to the left. Stripes flickered across the forest wall. She felt as though piercing eyes were fixed on her, but there was nothing glinting in the darkness. A soft padding seemed to echo her footfall beyond the trees before and beside her, and the stripes kept pace with her.

She could hardly breathe. Terror filled her heart and all her being. She felt faint and empty.

A light flickered ahead and she ran towards it.

The forest seemed to part before the light. She heard the empty echo of a snarl behind her, and she ran for the clearing. The light shimmered across the floor as it does through the depths of the sea. But as she approached it, a new terror gripped her. It appeared to her as it does to all who are drowning: the terror of life. Behind her were dark things, but before her was this awful light. She hid from it in the darkness of the forest. She felt at home in the darkness.

The light would dissolve her being as it did all shadows. She hid for fear that her deeds would be exposed. They loomed with monstrous clarity before her: the betrayal she had wrought against her parents, whose gentleness she had despised, and against her friend, whom she had encouraged, and against that whole world of simple beauty which she had, with such recklessness, disdained.

A multitude of colours flashed in the sky. The image of a city of light, far off, scattered in its journey through the depths. It was like no other city: alive, like the forest below, but this life gave out light as it danced; a thousand shapes; an infinite spectrum of hues, such are only beheld in the jewels of the deep earth and the high mountains.

Like lightning, a great host descended through the depths, an army with banners, clothed in robes richer than light. A great host of spirits, a city of colours. A great song of a thousand choirs sang out, audible to the heart alone.

“You wander and are lost,” said the voice, like thunder.

sounds and smells stilled, the shadows ceased to move.

Barteh hid her face in her hands and sought to hide from the light. But it illuminated her.

“What arrogance is this,” the man who had sold her declared to the crowd of townspeople, “That this child brings this light to disturb us here?”

“Do not fear.”

She looked up, and light filled her eyes. Strong arms gripped her, terrible in tenderness, with the gentleness that only strength possesses.

“You wander away from good things, but now you have found great things.”

“What an arrogant child,” they cried, “who thinks we do not have fire of our own?”

“She thinks we are the ones who need forgiveness,” declared the captain of the city guard, “but she is the one who should be ashamed!”

In the centre of the clearing, light descended like falling embers around her. And a flame touched her tongue, as sweet as honey. She knew shame no longer, neither her own nor that of those who brought her here, the multitudes in their town of darkness, now forgotten.

Then the townsfolk took her with firm hands and dragged her from the town, and the captain and his men went and fetched their bows.

They took her to the mulberry grove, and there they strung their bows and notched their arrows. They meant to fill her with their barbs and so extinguish the light. But the light shines in the dark and overcomes it.

Then the hosts were gone. The cohorts left with the echo of their horns and choirs. But the dark sky was a richer blue than before. Barteh walked on through the forest, and no longer were her steps stalked. Light shone on her, even in the thickest part of the woods. It was as though she was facing a sunrise even beneath the night’s trees.

They loosed their shafts. But as they fell upon their victim, they turned to rays of light. The archers and all the town people fell to the ground, dazzled by the radiance. The shadows fled, and the dark town was bathed in colour. < >

Barteh found herself now beyond the woods, close to the dark town. Its shadows stretched out to meet her, but she walked on anyway.

The shadowy streets and façades, which hid hunched and wretched figures, caused her heart to tremble with fear. But the light inside her held her. The shadows grasped and twirled around her like smoke, yet they could not touch her.

The shades of the town people shuffled around her and towards her. If only she might touch them, that they might know the tender light, the sweetness of its flame. The forgiveness she knew, they needed to know too. The sights,

Benjamin is studying for an MPhil in Late Antique and Byzantine studies at Magdalen. When he is not absorbed in Central Asian history, he enjoys drawing, cooking, and reading Wookieepedia, but his favourite thing is bonding with the college deer.

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let your light shine

EXPLORING OUR OBSESSION WITH FESTIVALS OF LIGHT

Hannah Patient “Let your light shine.” (Matthew 5:16 NIV):

E

ach year in mid-November, Oxford celebrates a Christmas Light Festival.

The city centre is illuminated with the suddenness of an electric shock: art installations flicker, torches blaze, and a lantern parade shimmers through the streets like a snail trail.

This year, I attended the Light Festival’s promotional installation for the new “Talking Maps” exhibition at the Bodleian. Visitors stood in the central courtyard and watched as projections of ancient maps from the library’s archives danced over the walls. As soothing music played, images of long-lost civilisations and forgotten kingdoms rippled over the creamy stone, and a swollen new moon rolled along like a big cheese at the Cooper’s Hill festival.

As I watched, it all began to blur into one. For millennia, civilisations across the globe have based their festivals and rituals on light. Humans love to celebrate both the short-term movement of day into night and the lengthier rhythms of the seasons, whether by focusing on natural sources of light like the sun, moon and stars, or by creating their own in the form of candles and, more recently, electricity. As the art installation finished and the logo of the Bodleian Libraries replaced the moving images, I was reminded that Oxford University’s motto is itself “dominus illuminatio mea”: “the Lord is my light”, a reference to the institution’s specifically Christian roots.

I started to wonder whether there was a way of reconciling the world’s fascination with light with my own cultural identity as a Christian.

Many people argue that, in celebrating Christmas, Christians are simply appropriating the Roman festival of the Saturnalia, which commemorated the winter solstice, the coming of light, and the birth of the new year. Yet to me it seems obvious that a religion so deeply invested in the conflict between light and darkness should follow the natural rhythms of a calendar year which was brought into being by a creator God who “said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light” (Gen 1:3 NIV).

Saint Augustine wrote, “Hence it is that He was born on the day which is the shortest in our earthly reckoning and from which subsequent days begin to increase in length. He, therefore, who bent low and lifted us up chose the shortest day, yet the one whence light begins to increase.”1 We may never know the exact date or even year in which Jesus was born, but the positioning of Christmas at the darkest point of winter seems to mirror the core message of this festival of light and love.

Other Christian festivals are also dependent on light. The positioning of Easter in the Church’s year is based on a complex sequence of calculations related to the astronomical calendar and the timing of the Paschal full moon, while the holiday’s movable nature is rooted in its ties to the Jewish festival of Passover. The importance of light is even more pronounced in Jewish tradition, since the Jewish calendar 1 Augustine, Sermon 194.

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is heavily based on solar and lunar cycles; festivals only begin when the sun has set on the evening of the first day, and likewise end at sundown on the evening of the last day.

Although the yearly movement of Easter can sometimes feel confusing and arbitrary, its link to the Passover feast is reminiscent of Christ’s symbolic role as the Passover lamb, the ultimate sacrifice. The complex interplay between darkness and light mirrors the Easter story’s movement from total despair—when “darkness came over the whole land” (Luke 23:44 NIV)—to the incandescent hope brought by the promise of eternal life.

The same tension between darkness and light, despair and hope, is played out throughout the Christian year. In the season of Advent, candles are lit in churches every Sunday to mark the coming of Christ. Over the Christmas period, Christingle oranges are decorated with sweets, cloves and candles in order to represent the presence of the no matter what our beliefs, “Light of the World”. we share an innate human And throughout the longing to celebrate light year, candles may be lit at baptisms as a symbol of guidance on the commencing journey of faith and a sign of Christ’s triumph over evil.

In the Jewish calendar, too, candles are used to mark the beginning of major festivals such as Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, and Hanukkah, while the Sabbath is ushered in each Friday before sunset with Shabbat candles. The distinction between natural and manmade light blurs as the candles continue to burn after the day has died; they are a symbol of hope, functioning as a reminder of joy, God’s divine presence, and the human soul.

Candles have a similar role in Christian tradition. All year round, visitors to churches can leave an offering in the form of a votive candle, which can symbolise anything from prayer 44

to the memory of a lost loved one. I am often struck by how drawn my non-Christian friends are to the votive candles in the churches we visit whilst travelling. I tend to skip past them, viewing them as just another ordinary part of the churches’ furniture; it is my friends who take the initiative to light a candle and spend a moment or two in reflection.

Perhaps this eagerness stems from the universality of the ritual: cultures the world over celebrate festivals of light. The Hindu festival of Diwali commemorates the triumph of goodness over evil with the illumination of decorated oil lamps, fireworks, and candles. In the Thai tradition of Loi Krathong, decorated baskets, often containing candles, are floated down the river as a sign of respect for the goddess of water. Back in Britain, pagans celebrate the four Celtic fire festivals (Samhain, Imbolc, Beltain, and Lughnasadh), in which sacred bonfires serve as a purifying and protective force.

Festivals of light aren’t even necessarily religious. Whilst on holiday in Austria a few years

ago, I was introduced to the secular festival of White Night, in which all the townspeople dress up in white, watch a fashion show, and revel in the long nights and blue skies guaranteed by the Tyrolean summer. Secular celebrations like Bonfire Night and New Year’s Eve also harness the power of light, with fireworks, bonfires, and sparklers briefly lifting the darkness of winter.

It seems that, no matter what our beliefs, we share an innate human longing to celebrate light—either to rejoice in its presence, or to remind ourselves that it is coming, no matter how bleak the darkness. And yet, in the modern world, we are in danger of losing our connection to these natural, eternal annual rhythms.

As cities expand, light pollution blots out the stars and we are deprived of the crucial sense of our position in the universe. Manmade light is frequently a force for good, but, as with most things, too much of it can have negative consequences: the pollution of our skies is linked to sleep disorders, stress, and anxiety. It is no wonder that, when night is no longer the time for sleep, the daily grind feels endless and ex-

hausting. The mad rush of modern life, with its barrage of deadlines and constant pressure to be “switched on”, leaves us no time to tune back into the natural rhythms of the year.

This is precisely why festivals like Christmas and Easter are so important—they remind us to slow down, relax and take some time to reflect. In Oxford, we are often in real danger of forgetting that humans aren’t meant to rush around continuously, but if even God “rested from all His work” (Gen 2:2), why shouldn’t we do the same?

The positioning of festivals throughout the year serves as a reminder to unwind, have fun, and remember that there is hope in the darkness. So let there be light! > <

Hannah studied English at Somerville. She likes piña coladas but hates getting caught in the rain. Three years of studying great literature and £27k later, she still prefers detective stories.

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team EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

EDITORS

Alvin Tan Telemi Emmanuel-Aina

Alex Beukers Cherie Lok Elise Ogden Emily Swift

EXECUTIVE EDITOR Megan Chester

PRODUCTION MANAGER

Alastair Damerell Amena Nebres Hannah Patient Alison Tan

DESIGNER Shanae Nge

Anna Spence

SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGER Rachael Chan

IMAGE CREDITS All images used are public domain or under licences that permit non-commercial use except as noted: pp. 2, 5, 11, 16, 18–19, 24–29, 32–35, 40–41, 47, Alvin Tan; p. 21, Emily Swift; p. 30, Shanae Nge.

about Through a Glass Darkly is a student-led journal of Christian thought and art committed to expressing that the gospel of Jesus Christ is living and active in our fields of study and creative expressions as much as it is present in our books and college names. We seek to provide a space for students to test the veracity and credibility of the Christian faith, and to find that it holds true and enriches life. We desire to honour our God-given calling as students to critically explore and see our platform as a way to engage with faith intellectually and critically. We hope that this journal is not the end of the conversation, but the start of one. We know that all that we know, we know in part, and that the Lord will illuminate and reveal more to us the more we seek after Him. Through a Glass Darkly is part of the Augustine Collective, a network of student-led Christian journals in university campuses throughout the United States and the United Kingdom. For more information, see augustinecollective.org.

Through a Glass Darkly is not affiliated with any church or religious organisation, and the opinions expressed in the publication do not necessarily reflect those of the editors.

All content copyright © 2020 Through a Glass Darkly and its contributors. All rights reserved.

Contact us at throughaglassdarklyoxford@gmail.com, or connect with us on Facebook or Instagram at @throughaglass.ox.

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DOMINUS ILLUMINATIO MEA