This edition of To The Well was written in the Fall of 2019 then designed and finalized in the Spring of 2020. Due to COVID-19, it is being released digitally in the Fall of 2020. As such, some pieces may not reflect the most recent world events.
Thank you both to our readers who have waited patiently for this edition and to those readers who are just now stumbling upon this publication.
orelease a publication themed “Tension” in 2020 may seem naively bold. Tension has become a hallmark of our national ethos, and it rips at the seams of what have historically been society’s hallmark institutions, not the least of which being our political systems and churches. Even at the level of our day-today lives, tension feels pervasive, whether considering presidential candidates or picking careers. Our culture elevates pluralism, pushing so many different agendas that even our honest convictions come into tension with our desire for approval.
In the spring of 2017, Time Magazine’s front cover posed a frightful question to its readers in bold red letters: “Is Truth Dead?” How you answer the question of Truth determines your stance in the hailstorm of screaming conflict and lingering uncertainty. At the heart of the matter, this is a question of whether anything or anyone, will ever make sense of the strain we feel.
Jesus of Nazareth once faced a question like the one above. “What is truth?”, the Roman governor Pontius Pilate asked the arrested Jewish revolutionary on the grisly path to crucifixion, betrayed by his followers and rejected by his nation (Jn 18:38). Pilate’s question is not a whimsical quandary about epistemology. It is a testament to the shadow that tension casts over hope. What does it matter that you claim to hold the Truth, Pilate appears to ask Jesus, when you remain arrested, abandoned, and on your way to death? Our cries are not far from Pilate’s famous remark. Terrifying circumstances beyond our control overwhelm us. If there was Truth to be found that would give answers, would it even matter in the face of such horrors?
It is not a mere irony that pages earlier in the Gospel according to John, Jesus says to his disciples, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” and, “everyone who is of the Truth listens to my voice” (Jn 14:6, 18:37b). For Christians, certitude in the face of tension extends beyond faith in the existence of Truth itself. It is based on a faith that Jesus Christ, “in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge,” is Truth (Col 2:3).
We believe that Truth is not dead, and we believe that Truth is not dormant. We believe that Truth is near to us, and we believe that Truth will prevail. We write about tense topics with courage not because we believe in easy answers, but because we believe we do not need easy answers to have hope.
Flannery O’Connor once wrote, “The type of mind that can understand good fiction is not necessarily the educated mind, but it is at all times the kind of mind that is willing to have its sense of mystery deepened by contact with reality, and its sense of reality deepened by contact with mystery.”1 While O’Connor wrote these words about fiction readers, in this day and age, they apply to anyone willing to form an opinion about anything consequential.
In Christianity, believing in the Truth, that is Jesus, requires the courage to accept that often Truth is a mystery, and some answers will never be clear this side of glory. In this issue of To The Well, we aim to step into the tension of our world with courage. You will find no single consensus about tension among our writers, except for a shared desire to engage with these topics fearlessly. There is no single rule for how Christians ought to respond to tension today other than that they ought not to fear it. We step into these issues with our hope set on Jesus Christ and his coming Kingdom.
Blessings,
Lauren Gilbert and Parker Marshall Co-Editors-in-ChiefLAUREN GILBERT CO-EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Birmingham, AL
Class of 2022
Economics and Public Policy
WESLEY HARWOOD ART DIRECTOR
Blowing Rock, NC
Class of 2022
Media and Journalism, Food Studies
DANNY EICH EDITOR
Charlotte, NC
Class of 2020 English
JOSHUA GRADY EDITOR
Hendersonville, NC
Class of 2022
English and Studio Art
VALERIE LUNDEEN EDITOR
River Forest, Illinois
Class of 2020
Economics and Public Policy
SYDNEY SCHAMAY EDITOR
Winston-Salem, NC
Class of 2021 Public Policy
ERIKA FAGER
DESIGNER
Charlotte, NC
Class of 2022 Psychology
JULIA HAYNES
DESIGNER
Charlotte, NC
Class of 2021
Media and Journalism
PARKER MARSHALL CO-EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Signal Mountain, TN
Class of 2020 Economics
DAVID BUSSELL EDITOR
Charlotte, NC
Class of 2020 Economics
ANNA GRACE FREEBERSYSER EDITOR
Fuquay Varina, NC
Class of 2020 Entrepreneurship and Studio Art
GRACE HILDEBRAND EDITOR
Charlotte, NC
Class of 2019 English Studies
MICAH MULLARKEY EDITOR
Highlands, NC
Class of 2022
Linguistics and Romance Studies
CASANDRA BERENS DESIGNER
Graham, NC
Class of 2023
Undecided
KORINNE HAWK DESIGNER
Brevard, NC
Class of 2022
Human Development and Family Studies, Psychology
JENNY LAWRENCE DESIGNER
Asheville, NC
Class of 2020 Advertising
5
MARGIN NOTES PT. 1
LAUREN GILBERT
26
THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN HANNAH M c CLELLAN 30
LOVE THY NEIGHBOR (AND THYSELF) TIA SPARKS
DON’T WATER THE FLOOD: A CALL TO CARE ATTENTIVELY FOR THOSE
To The Well is a student-run organization at UNC-Chapel Hill that strives to facilitate dialogue meaningful to our community by creating a platform for Christian perspectives articulated in a peaceful, accessible, and thoughtful manner.
This passage is colloquially called “the fall of man,” marking the shift from walking and talking with God to having limited contact. It is the master plot of the Bible, an archetype for every subsequent story.
1He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?
2And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, 3but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’”
4But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. 5For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
6So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.
The serpent is Satan, a previously high ranking angel who led a heavenly rebellion against God in an attempt to gain greater power than him (Rev 2:9, Ezk 28:12-15, Isa 14:12-14). He tempts Eve while she is alone, exemplifying the importance of community for Christians in decision making. LAUREN
7 Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.
Satan warps God’s actual command – that they could enjoy the fruit of any tree they desired except for the tree of the knowledge of good and evil – to mean man may not eat any fruit at all (Gen 2:16-17). Satan’s version of God’s instructions falsely characterizes God as malicious.
Though Eve’s version of God’s mandate is closer to the truth, she too adds an additional stipulation: “neither shall you touch it.”
In Hebrew ‘to know’ also translates ‘to chose’ – “the name would then really mean ‘the choice of good or evil.’”1 Sin, at its root, is humans deciding for themselves what is good and evil, rather than trusting God’s definition of good and evil. Yet God, who is fully good and all-knowing, is the only one who can perfectly, invariably distinguish good and evil.
The fall of man refers to Adam and Eve’s rebellion against God’s instruction. Eve sinned by taking the fruit, and Adam sinned both by eating it and failing to stop his wife.
The status quo is often harmful, especially for those who have been excluded from the process of establishing social norms. I experienced this firsthand in my high school drama department. One of the longstanding rules of my high school drama department was the “hair team rule.” To ensure that everyone was ready for the stage, every member of the show had to have their hair done by a member of the hair team, a few stage moms trained in simple styles.
My first year in high school, the musical was Hairspray. It completely upended the patterns of the drama department. Though the musicals at my predominately white school had previously included one or two black students, in Hairspray I was one of a handful of black students. Unlike the actresses the hair team was accustomed to serving, my hair cannot be subjected to, ironically, hairspray. With the knowledge that my tightly coiled hair needs to be worked through with a widetooth comb, spray bottle, and a tub
of leave-in conditioner, it would have been unwise for me to let a single one of the well-intentioned members of the hair team, teasing comb in tow, near my head. Following this rule would have been harmful because it wasn’t created with me in mind.
Hairspray may seem like a trivial example, but our society is full of “hair team” rules—social norms built for a society that caters to the white, wealthy, and male. Therefore, in order for those who have been historically marginalized to engage in our society without being harmed, it is necessary to transform our institutions. Too often, this transformation is inhibited by a positive moral judgment on the status quo and a negative judgment on deviance. Yet, if a rule is good only if applied to the people for whom it was created to benefit and harmful to those to whom it was crafted to exclude, then our concept of right and wrong cannot be so cleanly determined on the basis of deviance from the status quo.
In the midst of chaos, I often
hear calls for peace. While the longing to see peace come from chaos reveals a beautiful desire to see people be in good standing with one another, an indiscriminate call for peace is a dangerous way to engage with chaos. We must be mindful that in our longing for peace, we do not reach for a negative peace. In his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," Martin Luther King Jr. makes a distinction between a negative peace, which is the absence of tension, and a positive peace, which is the presence of justice.1 If our cries for peace can be satisfied through the absence of tension, then we demonstrate a trust in the status quo that the status quo has not earned. In order to act as ambassadors of justice and righteousness, it is necessary to acknowledge the complexity of adherence to, and deviance from, the status quo.
One of the ways I hear calls for negative peace is through comments about ending “all this tension.” These statements categorize all tension, including resistance to a harmful status quo, into the
same unfavorable box. I saw this concept in action in 2014, as Black Lives Matter demonstrations and rioting both took place in Ferguson, Missouri. One of the opinions I heard from several white friends was that everyone needed to “calm down.” A teacher even commented
violence was perfectly acceptable, had never been acknowledged. It was incidents of excessive force going unpunished. It was the inability to afford fair legal representation. It was the reality of seeing those in power kill your children with no accountability. It was the sense
commanded to eat the food of the King of Babylon, which contradicted the commands God had given them regarding food. In response, Daniel asked an official to allow them to eat their own food. The official, afraid of death if the king found out, agreed to a test in which the four men would eat vegetables instead of the king’s food. After the test, “They looked healthier and better than all the men eating the king’s food” (Dan 1:15).
from the front of the classroom that the demonstrations were “a few minorities getting riled up about nothing” and had no relevance to her life. This unspecific criticism of tension puts a negative judgment not only on rioting, but on social deviance in general. It does not criticize only the opportunists who broke windows, but the activists who exercised the right to peacefully protest. It is not a criticism over harmful behavior, but a criticism of challenging the status quo.
The status quo in Ferguson, Missouri, was that poor, minority communities were heavily policed and disproportionately targeted. It was that generations of families had lived in tension with police. It was that past injustices from decades in which openly racially-motivated
of displacement, powerlessness, and disregard for one’s own personhood that came with each of these injustices. A move towards a positive peace requires the specificity to criticize looting, not simply demonstrating. More importantly, it requires the consistency to criticize the harmful social norms that preceded demonstrations.
The longing for peace I previously mentioned should be celebrated, as a desire for peace points to God’s will for us to be in a right relationship with him and with each other. In the book of Daniel in the Bible, Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah all follow God’s desire for their lives, even when it conflicts with the desires of those in authority. After they were taken from their home into exile in Babylon, they were
Years later after God had allowed these men to gain favor with the king, the king built a statue and ordered everyone to worship it. Once again, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, who had been re-named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego found their loyalty to the king and God contradicting. They had been commanded by God to not worship anyone but him, and so they disobeyed the king in order to obey God by refusing to bow to the statue. As punishment for this disobedience, they were bound up and thrown into a fire hot enough to kill the guards who carried them there (Dan 3:2223). God appeared with the three men, and they walked out of the fire unharmed. As they did, the amazed king went from asking, “What god will save you?” (Dan 3:15) to calling the three men, “servants of the Most High God” (Dan 3:26).
Though these men disobeyed the law of the land, they were
“If our cries for peace can be satisfied through the absence of tension, then we demonstrate a trust in the status quo that the status quo has not earned.”
within God’s will, as evidenced by inexplicable protection under what should have been fatal conditions. Further, through their obedience to God over people, God revealed his power. Even the king who had once asked what god would save them, witnessed God’s work when they survived. Through their obedience, God revealed himself. If following God’s will and adherence to the status quo are not synonymous, Christians should be skeptical of any claim that whole-hearted rejection of social deviance is a morally upright position.
Just as institutions are built by imperfect people, they are challenged by fallible people and in flawed ways. For example, the tension in Ferguson did include burning, looting, and calls to violence. Generally, when challenging institutions, we will face several temptations to engage with people harshly. As I look to challenge unacceptable social norms, I struggle with the desires to indulge bitterness, to seek retribution, and to be self-righteous. This thinking is another form of destructive behavior.
Destructive actions and thought patterns shouldn’t be our goal as we work toward positive peace. Our goal should be the tedious work of discerning the difference between productive tension and destructive
behavior. To demonize tension and social deviance is to short-circuit discernment. A negative moral judgment on tension, carried out to its logical conclusion, dictates that change never takes place, since change requires tension. Yet, taking a moral stance against tension is the privilege of being able to accept the status quo. It’s reasonable to implement the “hair team” rule if your hair would not lose its natural pattern under the tyranny of a teasing comb.
In order to embrace a positive peace, we must reframe our understanding of deviance into a nuanced understanding. If we are to be serious about peace, we must contend with the fact that we cannot achieve positive peace through ending tension. We must seek peace by calling out violence, disrespect, and bitterness in our social movements and our established institutions alike.
KAYLA WILLIAMSON Class of 2021 Public Policy and Sociology PHOTOS COURTESY OF ELLIOT MILLNER
Sorrow drips onto my head, paralyzing my thoughts, and tears roll down my face. Sometimes it clouds my vision until everything I see is filtered through a hazy film. Sometimes anxiety inhibits my thoughts and disposition in the middle of the day, and sometimes I am woken up in the middle of the night, sweating, panting, and my heart beating out of control. Anxiety does not look the same for everyone; I want to make that clear. My experience does not define the limits under which anxiety acts, but I hope that through an exploration of its effects on the mind, anxiety becomes
a more acceptable, sympathetic, and substantial topic of conversation.
Countless times, in attempts to comfort me, fellow Christians have reminded me what the Apostle Peter wrote in his first letter to Christians across northern areas of Asia Minor. He says that as Christians, they ought to “Cast all [their] anxieties on him, because he cares” for them (1 Peter 5:7). Another verse used consistently in an attempt to lessen my anxiety was from the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians, in which he tells them, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving,
let your requests be made known to God” (Philippians 4:5). The common thread running through the efforts by my neighbors trying to show me love was that stronger faith in the Lord would cure my anxious thoughts. If I could trust him with anything I felt worried about, then POOF, all my anxiety would be gone. It creates a tension between faith and feeling, between what I believe and what I am physically experiencing.
An anxiety attack can take over control of my thoughts, feelings, and abilities to focus, sleep, rest, or even, breathe. These cognitive consequences come in different
combinations and intensities during anxiety attacks. Nevertheless, anxiety also has physiological causes and triggers that indicate it is not entirely emotional, but sometimes biological. The construction of our brain is so intricate and deliberate, composed of over 100 billion sensory-receiving cells, or neurons, and about a dozen of what are known as small-molecule neurotransmitters, the chemical messengers that tell the neuron to respond in a particular way. The created human brain includes functional mechanisms, and these agents of communication to help us operate. However, under certain circumstances, the structure of the human brain, unfortunately, leaves room for anxiety to flourish.
Neurotransmitters can communicate one of three messages to the neuron about what type of response it should illicit, but I would like to focus on a type of inhibitory neurotransmitter. In our brains, the main neurotransmitter influencing anxiety levels is called GABA. If
neurotransmitters were soldiers, the GABA troop would be fighting for peace in the brain. As an inhibitory messenger, GABA acts to calm the nerve cells in our brains that freak out during a fear-inducing situation.1 This activation primarily happens in the amygdala, the part of the brain in charge of responding to fear-based stimuli. It can also occur in the other parts of the temporal lobe, which is responsible for sensory processing and houses the amygdala.2 However, if the brain is producing fewer GABA chemicals, there are fewer soldiers fighting for peace within the brain. As a result, the feelings of anxiety coming from a stimulation in the amygdala or the temporal lobes of the brain linger, with no soldiers calming them down.
Am I a child? A child of God? Questions like these repeat themselves in my brain constantly, whether anxiety comes in the middle of the day, or it wakes me up in the dead of night. The physiological responses come with them – the
sweating, the rapid heartbeat, the uncontrollable shaking. Not everyone’s experience with anxiety coincides with questions like these, but this identity crisis is one of many themes that seem to invade my brain. Logic ceases in these moments, and all that remain to fester in my mind are these doubting questions, leading me to believe sorrowful answers in these moments of anxiety. But I think mine have come to an end. The ability to rationalize these destructive thoughts decreases for me as an anxiety attack persists.
The temporal lobe is a part of the area of the brain that is responsible for judgment, thought, and rationalization.3 In healthy circumstances, this area serves to judge what the appropriate response for a situation would be. However, with a mind predisposed to feelings of anxiety, a stimulation of fear affects the way in which the brain can judge with reason. If the brain has a decreased level of GABA available to inhibit the physiological response to an anxiety-provoking situation, the task then goes to the cortex to calm the overwhelming thoughts. These thoughts could be questions of doubt or any other worrisome notion generated during an anxiety attack. However, like how plentiful sunlight
“We hear of never-ending mercies, but sometimes it’s so hard to receive them.”
and adequate water help a flower grow, the makeup of the human brain provides the correct characteristics for anxiety to prosper when combined with a decreased level of these inhibitory neurotransmitters.
Connections between the amygdala and the temporal lobe – the fear and rationalization centers – are key in processing the fear that erupts in anxiety-provoking situations. However, the number of connections transporting messages from the amygdala to the temporal lobe is much higher than the number of connections moving messages from the frontal lobe to the amygdala.4
Translated: the place where anxiety is commonly provoked easily tells the rest of the brain that fear is near, while the place where logical thinking happens has a much harder time calming down the irrational panic. This disproportional system
of communication inherent in the brain’s design explains why even unjustifiable provocations of fear can easily overpower our thoughts and why subduing them is difficult.5 Combined with a lack of GABA, the biological structure of the brain allows anxiety to surpass our abilities to fight it off with the truths we know. We hear of never-ending mercies, but sometimes it’s so hard to receive them.
A trigger for anxiety can come out of nowhere. Sometimes the trigger is recognizable, but other times, a sense of panic swarms my body without a clear reason. Sometimes a doubtful thought triggers the response, but other times the doubts or fears trickle in after something else triggers panic. The surge of fear rapidly comes in on the one-way path from the amygdala to the front part of the brain, making my heart pound in my chest, my
fingers sweat, and my vision run rampant. Everything that should be still starts swirling around in front of me, as the GABA soldiers are not there to fight off whatever triggered the fear. My body shakes, and my thoughts are unbelievably indecisive as the one-way path carries messages of panic from the amygdala to the frontal lobe. Once the path clears out, the frontal lobe can resume its rational thinking, and the panic can fade away.
In the book of Lamentations, the author states: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning”(Lam 3:22). This never-ending love, these neverending mercies, highlight aspects of God’s character that indicate our ability to trust him and thrust our anxieties upon him. I believe in the Lord’s loving and merciful
character, and I know that he truly does care for me, for you, and for all of his children. Through prayer and thanksgiving, God hears our anxieties and wants us to trust that his sovereignty overcomes all that makes us anxious. I believe these things. However, our bodies and minds, though created by this same powerful creator, endure experiences that are not perfect. We are human. I am human.
There are things that we cannot and will not understand about the Lord from our perspective here on earth. Why is anxiety possible? Why do conditions exist that let anxiety flourish? These questions I cannot answer. I can only share my experience and pray that someone suffering from the same discouragement I have encountered is lifted up. Anxiety is real. Anxiety is overwhelming. Anxiety requires attentive care from others. I pray you handle your brothers and sisters enduring this pain with care and not add to the tension between what they may feel and what they believe. Responding
inappropriately can water the flood that is anxiety. However, you do not have to approach people suffering from mental health like we are exceptionally fragile. I ask that you care deeply without walking on eggshells, especially in the context of church. Christians are not exempt from mental illness and mental illness does not define someone’s strength of faith. Making my requests known to God does not change the physical structure of my brain or add the missing GABA chemicals needed to combat fear. The Lord is ready to catch the anxieties cast upon him, yet the presence of anxiety goes far beyond the number of prayers or depth of trust in the Lord. But God. He may seem far and unreachable, but he is there. Anxiety is real, anxiety is overwhelming, but God is there to carry you through it. But God.
I’ve heard of the never-ending mercies, Ones that come every morning with The rising of the sun.
And I’ve heard the call to be praising, From the moment I wake until The sun goes dim.
These words etched into The palms of my hands, But somehow still, Somehow
Sorrow drips onto my head, Rolls down my face, clouds my vision
Until everything I see is filtered through a Hazy film.
My stomach empties out
Despite His promise to nourish me.
Am I a child?
A child of God.
A child of God who yearns for food to fill
This hollow cave between my head and my feet.
We hear of never-ending mercies
But I think mine have come to an end.
What else would cause this starving wretch to Be lying here, still, on the floor
Looking through the hazy film at the world to Satisfy this deprivation? Tainting me, tainting my soul, Tainting my soul with fleeting joy and everlasting pain.
From this pile on the floor I cry out
To a God who I hope is listening.
And somehow I breathe. But God.
Somehow these cries are softened and A calm swims in my warm blood. Somehow I feel the drips of sorrow drying up. But God.
Somehow I feel the Prince of Peace
Overwhelming my heart, To soothe my limbs and wiping these tears from my face. But God.
Somehow an inhale swarms my lungs
And at the height of that breath I’m almost Tall enough to touch his throne. But breathing out deflates me.
We hear of never-ending mercies. Sometimes it’s so hard to receive them. But grooves in my hands acting as a reminder Of the two words that belt out mercy: But God.
G RACE HILDEBRAND Class of 2020 English StudiesLook just about anywhere in our culture, and you’ll see the word “story” everywhere. It’s obviously important to the worlds of film and literature, but it goes far beyond that. The atomic unit of news is the “story,” and “storytelling” is a buzzword on resumes across disciplines. The term is thrown around in pulpits around the country, from “your life’s story” to “God’s story.” Politicians and political consultants talk about their candidate’s “narrative,” and marketers promote a “brand story.” Even social media apps are getting in on the game, promoting short-form, 24hour photo- sharing as “stories.”
On one hand, the saturation of stories in our culture makes sense: oral stories about history, heroes, and villains have been a part of the human experience going back to the beginning of language. Neuroscience even seems to prove that our brains are wired for narratives,1 using stories as a shortcut to making memories.
But is storytelling really the best way to interpret the world? Often, forcing facts to fit in a narrative forces us to tidy up a messy reality and ignore the complexities of life. When used well, stories expose us to new worlds. But when used poorly, stories obscure the world around us.
Statistician and writer Nassim Nicholas Taleb coined the term “narrative fallacy” in his book, “The Black Swan,” to describe how humans tend to over-rely on that propensity for stories, collecting unrelated facts into a narrative that might not be accurate. The narrative fallacy can cause us to assume cause-and-effect when we hear something that makes a nice story, whether or not reality backs it up. This mental shortcut saves time and makes memory easier, but it’s not always accurate: stories risk over-simplifying the facts or leaving out context that doesn’t fit.
I first considered this overreliance on narrative in my own sphere of journalism, a field that
“When used well, stories expose us to new worlds. But when used poorly, stories obscure the world around us.”
worships the idea of a great story. We all want to tell a story our readers find interesting – but what if the facts on the ground don’t easily fit into a narrative format? Each story contains a thousand decisions: what to put in, what to leave out, what to highlight with the headline. There’s a constant battle between including every relevant detail and making a story easy to read – and that tension isn’t only true for writers, but also for every one of our daily lives.
A good narrative has to be somewhat linear to be coherent, but our day-to-day experiences are more like snippets of a thousand stories. Every good story has a protagonist, a villain, and some conflict between them – but politics, business, and interpersonal relationships are almost never about good versus evil. Stories also give us a sense of control over a chaotic world: horoscopes and conspiracy theories are popular because they make for good stories, explaining the parts of life that feel unpredictable and scary.
This narrative instinct is particularly dangerous when we use a story to understand why other people are acting in a certain way. Much of the political, cultural, and social divides across the world
come from misplaced narratives about what “the other side” wants – taking what should be reasonable disagreements and framing it as a battle of good versus evil. The blackand-white interpretation encouraged by the narrative format risks erasing the infinite shades of gray that exist in our world.
Similarly, narrative fallacies affect religion – an institution that’s literally founded on a shared set of stories. The secret is this: you can point to a “story” in the Bible (or any other religious text) to justify almost any theological or moral belief. Talking about an overarching “story of humanity” or “God’s story for the universe” requires simplifying an infinite God into a simple narrative. We often use stories to attribute cause-and-effect to God’s behavior – but why should humans presume that any single story can definitively explain what God thinks?
I don’t have an answer for how to prevent this over-use of stories in your (or even my own) life. It
“Much of the political, cultural, and social divides across the world come from misplaced narratives about what the 'other side' wants.”
requires a constant battle of checking our prior beliefs, constantly searching for more and more context, and having the empathy to try to view a story from another person’s point of view. Most importantly, it requires a willingness to sit with the sometimes uncomfortable unknowns. It requires a constant striving for more – more perspectives, more context, more fullness – without ever reaching a complete, 100% understanding.
Letting go of stories will require humility about the assumptions we’ve made in the past and a willingness to embrace a messier epistemology, where not everything is easily explainable. We must question the stories we tell ourselves and the stories told to us by politics, culture, tradition, and religion. That’s inherently uncomfortable: we often choose those stories in the first place because they give us a sense of order and control over the world. However, that means letting them go is all the more freedom – and an even better exercise in trusting God.
This skepticism of stories doesn’t mean we should avoid reading the Bible, enjoying novels, or watching good movies. If anything, it means we should read more, embracing a wider variety of tales about the world from a more diverse set of storytellers. This will only increase our ability to hold multiple narrative lenses in tension and help us consider the ways each one falls short in capturing a complete picture. Exposing yourself to different worldviews, ideas, and traditions can highlight the fact that it’s impossible to fit our complex world into a single story.
PHOTOS COURTESY OF WALKER MIMS
Class of 2020
Media and Journalism
JASON SATTERFIELD
For many people, Christians have become synonymous with enthusiasts of big walls and politically incorrect speech.
Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines identity politics as “politics in which groups of people having a particular racial, religious, ethnic, social, or cultural identity tend to promote their own specific interests or concerns without regard to the interests or concerns of any larger political group.”1 I am not going to make any arguments regarding the morality of supporting or not
supporting Trump, but against idolizing and lifting high political identity above our identity as children of God. As Christians, we cannot fit neatly into any political party or identity, and we shouldn’t expect to.
Rather, the purpose of engaging in politics as a Christian is to make the broken world more like the kingdom of heaven, where all humans are equal and dignified.
Throughout the four Gospels, Jesus rebukes the disciples for their expectations of him to be a savior
by becoming politically elite, just as he similarly avoids debate with the religious leaders regarding the authority of Rome. So often, these are the types of politics we involve ourselves in – politics not centered on our individual actions, but on those of leaders we either despise or adore, parties we view as the problem or the answer.
Very often, even our best understanding of Jesus’ relationship with politics stops there. Recognizing that our political leaders will not be able to fix everything or ruin everything is a good first step, but it is not all we are called to do as Christians. Jesus didn’t stop at renouncing idolization of political leaders – he also crossed political and social boundaries with nearly all of his actions and teachings. The miracles and words of Jesus we now look to for boldness and encouragement when thinking about love and justice were deeply political. We tend to remember Jesus as apolitical to justify not engaging in messy and uncomfortable political conversations, but in reality he was scandalously intertwined in the political realms we often distance ourselves from while denouncing those with which we engage.
As he built a kingdom in which all humans are equal, he defied the political and social norms of his time by dining with sinners and healing the sick on the Sabbath (Mk 2:1517; 3:1-6). Too often, Christians stay away from social justice, advocating for the marginalized, because they do not wish to “get too political,” or defy
the conservative expectations others have of them. This behavior is not consistent with the person of Jesus.
Lest we forget, it’s important to be reminded that Jesus’ approaches were not widely popular during his ministry on earth. He was well known in Galilee and Judea, where most of his ministry took place, and many traveled great distances to encounter him (Jn 6:22-59). However, the majority of the followers he amassed during his ministry admired his miracles but did not care much for his teachings or their implications (Jn 4:48). And the religious despised Jesus – he was a radical, socioeconomically poor, Jewish son of a carpenter who undermined their authority and power (Jn 7:1).
As a rabbi, he defied cultural expectations of cleanliness by dining with sinners (Mt 9:10-17, Mk 2:1522). As a Jew, he defied cultural boundaries by speaking to, and teaching positively about Samaritans (Jn 4, Lk 10:25-27). As a man, he defied cultural gender norms by teaching, healing, and ministering to women (Lk 7:11-17, Lk 13, Jn 4:9, Lk 8:43-48). Jesus’ ministry of elevating the lowly infiltrated politics, and we should expect our pursuit of love and justice to sometimes look political, too. The world may apply labels that attempt to split people evenly into camps with certain positions and identities, but Jesus walks into every camp we create to call his beloved to him – and he calls us to do the same.
Throughout the Gospels we can see Jesus interact with women
“Lest we forget, it’s important to be reminded that Jesus’ approaches were not widely popular during his ministry on earth.”
in ways contrary to societal expectations. He speaks with countless women in public, heals “unclean” women, allows himself to be anointed by a woman, taught women about scripture, invited Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and many other women to accompany him during his ministry, and lovingly called each “Daughter (Lk 10:39, Mt 12:46-50, Mk 15:41, Lk 8:48).”
Jesus treated women as valuable and cherished their spiritual maturity and understanding of who he was just as much as he did for his 12 male disciples, a clear show of fighting for social justice.
Concerning his 12 disciples, Jesus did not pick the type of men who would’ve typically been considered eligible to be religious apprentices at the time – rather, they were fishermen, tax collectors, and Jewish nationalists. Jesus’ selection of disciples tells us this – all who believe Jesus is the son of God are welcomed, embraced, and saved, and no social standing, political stance, or any other human category will ever stand in the way. He traveled to Samaritan and Gentile territories, as well as the homes of despised and cast-out people – all in the name of pointing sinners to God. Jesus was not afraid to get political in order to ultimately bring those marginalized
into relationship with him, and we shouldn’t be either.
Not only did Jesus cross political boundaries to reveal himself to all people, but he also showed grace to both the oppressed and the oppressor. The story of the despised tax-collector Zacchaeus shows that Jesus dined with all sinners, not just the ones shunned by religious leaders and therefore living as outcasts. We cannot fight for justice as Christians without remembering all sinners (including ourselves!) are in need of grace and capable of being redeemed. We cannot fight for the oppressed in the power of the Holy Spirit, and hate the oppressor. This idea is certainly not a popular one in our culture, and goes back to our inability as Christians to fit into societal boxes or categories.
Jesus calls us to extend his love and news of his salvation to all people – the victim and the oppressor, the
marginalized and the powerful, the protestor and the poor, rural MAGA-hat wearer. Mark 2:17 says Jesus came not for the righteous, but for the sinners. The good news for us is that we are all, without a doubt, sinners, and therefore each qualified to know Jesus and enter into relationship with him – and we must keep this central to our fight for justice.
The Bible is full of explicit commands to pursue justice and fight for the marginalized, and yet, for many Christians, the phrase “social justice” leaves a bitter taste in their mouths (Mt 25:31-46, Hos 12:6, Ps 37:27-29, Isa 30:18-19, Mic 6:8, Lk 18:1-8). Often they attempt to rid themselves of this call by adhering to fundamentalist values of authority and tradition. For other Christians, social justice is a crusade in which positive change becomes the focus and fuel, rather than Christ himself.
“Jesus’ selection of disciples tells us this – all who believe Jesus is the son of God are welcomed, embraced, and saved, and no social standing, political stance, or any other human category will ever stand in the way.”
Neither extreme is a biblical, helpful, or obedient response to the call on our lives to pursue justice.
Much of the tension surrounding social justice boils down to Christians prioritizing either justice or peace. But Jesus shows us that when justice is pursued in the power of the Holy Spirit, the two are inseparable. When Jesus intervenes to save the life of the woman accused of adultery and points out the hypocrisy of those present, he also tells the woman to “go and sin no more” (John 8). When Jesus healed the chronically crippled woman, he affirmed her faith and then used the miracle to challenge the legalism of the religious leaders, using the Sabbath as an excuse to not do the work of God (Lk 13). Just as we cannot ignore our call to fight for justice, we also cannot fight for justice without constantly rooting our work in Jesus Christ. In many spaces where social justice takes place, this position is an uncomfortable one to take, but it is a necessary one if we wish to truly love others as Jesus commands us (Jn 14:6, Jn 10:10, 1 Pet 3:8-9, 1 Jn 3:18, 1 Jn 4:12-13,). God created us as both physical and spiritual people, and so we must address a person’s physical and spiritual needs.
In Matthew 25, Jesus says those who feed the hungry, welcome the
stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and imprisoned will be blessed, as their actions to the least of these is ultimately done for him. He warns that we will be judged for the times we do not serve others. This is a tall order. In a world that constantly reminds us of its – and our – brokenness, finding a foothold
fight for justice and love with Godglorifying purposes. Jesus didn’t fight for the good of political parties, he fought for the good of people. So too should we, regardless if that fits into America’s two party mold.
for justice can seem impossible. Such is why our identity as Christians is crucial to our fight for justice. We must approach each of these good works in the power of the Spirit, not in our own self-righteousness or out of our own desires. As we step out boldly, we must also be willing to approach what intimidates us prayerfully, asking the Lord to replace our natural responses with those that please him. Along the way, we must continually examine our hearts for the people we are unified with in Christ – whether we are unified politically or not – that we might
We live in a word that longs, groans even, for justice. Christians must live in the tension between fighting for justice now, while also realizing true justice will only be accomplished when Jesus Christ returns to make the earth new and perfect, just as he has promised. But that tension does not excuse the responsibility to fight for social equality and justice now. We have been given much that we might ultimately honor each other as people made “in the image of God” (Genesis 1:27) and point them to Christ. And, as Christians struggle for justice, they must be informed first and foremost by Christ's life and teaching, not political parties.
H ANNAH M C CLELLAN Class of 2020 Media and Journalism, Global Studies
“We cannot fight for the oppressed in the power of the Holy Spirit, and hate the oppressor.”
Written by Tia Sparks
Designed by Wesley Harwood
The opening scenes of the play Les Misérables are always emotional: Jean Valjean’s backstory, his release from prison, his subsequent homelessness. When I watched the play for the first time, I sighed with relief when he came to the Bishop’s house, a place that would shelter him for the night. When I read the book several years later, I learned just how deep the Bishop’s compassion for others was. The author, Victor Hugo, describes him navigating rural, poor France, writing that “the sadness which reigned everywhere was but an excuse for unfailing kindness.”1 The Bishop filled his days with works of charity, serving the poor in every capacity. However, he was careful not to exhaust himself. He particularly loved to spend his evenings gardening or reading books, remarking that with “a garden to walk in and immensity to dream in,” he could want for nothing.2 Even amidst a life dedicated wholly to the service of others, the Bishop found time to spend caring for himself.
As college students, we are prone to let others occupy much of our time and emotional energy. While this pattern is not inherently a bad thing, in my experience it often comes at the expense of my own care and stewardship of myself. During my freshman year at UNC-Chapel Hill, I was so focused on finding “my people”
and cultivating close friendships with people I had just met that I would often neglect my schoolwork until the last minute, leaving me racing to finish it and sacrificing precious sleep in the process. This year, while I have gotten better about not leaving my work until the last minute, I still struggle with being what my mom calls a “fixer” and taking on my friends’ struggles and problems, letting them impact my own emotional health. “But isn’t this a good thing?” I ask myself. “Aren’t we supposed to love others and care about their struggles?” I challenge my mom.
Yes and yes. It is a good thing to spend time with your friends, to love them, and to care about the challenges they are facing. Jesus teaches us that the second greatest commandment
is “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Mt 22:39). Loving each other, therefore, is never wrong. However, I have found in my personal experience that I love others much more fully and that I am able to care for them more effectively when I take time for myself – emotionally, physically, and spiritually. The legal maxim nemo dat quod non habet (one does not give what one does not have) applies well to my spiritual life, too. If I am unrested, neglecting my prayer life, or stressed about something else, then I will not be as equipped to listen to, love, and support my friends. If I fail to cultivate my garden, it will not bear as much fruit.
However, Christian culture,
especially on college campuses, can unintentionally emphasize love for others at the expense of taking care of yourself. We are constantly encouraged to take care of our friends, to walk with them in hard times, and to always be there for them. All of these things are important, and none of them are wrong. However, I find that we focus on orienting ourselves outward while forgetting that self-care is an important component of loving our neighbors well. This is not unique to Christian culture; despite a recent emphasis on mental health on college campuses, students tend to overexert themselves in the care of others, while neglecting to take care of their own physical, mental, and spiritual health. If I choose to take care of a friend at the expense of my own rest or my own mental health, that friend may feel loved in that moment. However, neglecting my self-care will, in the long run, leave me tired. It will leave me with less energy – physical, emotional, and spiritual – with which to love my friends.
For me, much of my self-care happens in the mornings. I spend an hour or so before my first class making myself a cup of tea, journaling, studying the Bible, or spending time in prayer. I have found that reserving this time for my own self-care makes a huge difference in my outlook on the day. Since I have started my tea time in the mornings, I find that I am more patient, diligent in my work, and loving toward others. Taking time for myself is not an act of selfishness but rather an investment in myself
so that I can better serve otherswhat I was made to do.
To a General Audience, Pope Francis urged the public to view resting not as “a mere escape or diversion, but a command to imitate God himself, who on the seventh day rested from his works and contemplated the goodness of his creation.”3 He emphasized that resting and self-care are not selfish, but an integral part of our spiritual journey. However, distinguishing between self-care and self-indulgence can sometimes be difficult. As Jesus teaches in Matthew, we can evaluate the morality of an action by its effects. Jesus taught that “every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit” (Mt 7:17). There are no hard and fast rules about which actions constitute self-care and which tend toward self-indulgence, so we must judge them by their fruits. If an act of taking time for yourself leads you to be more loving toward others, a good fruit, it is likely healthy selfcare. However, self-indulgent actions are those that bear bad fruits: ones of pride, lack of consideration for others, or laziness. The distinction is different for everyone, and it takes some trial and error to find the kinds of self-care that work well for you and to distinguish them from habits that lead you toward selfishness.
Throughout the Bible, God instructs us about the importance of rest, both through the commandment to rest on the Sabbath and through the portrayal of rest as a gift from God. In Genesis 2:2-3, the origin of
the Sabbath rest is revealed: it is an imitation of God himself to obey the commandment to rest on the seventh day of the week. Furthermore, Psalm 23 makes it clear that rest is not just a command, but a gift from God, as the psalmist rejoices that “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he constantly felt that there was more to accomplish, but he knew that he and his disciples both needed time to rest and renew themselves, so they could continue their work. This lesson is good, not just for the apostles, but for all people in all times.
By taking time to cultivate my garden – spiritually, physically,
he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul” (Ps 23:1-2). Jesus himself, the perfect example of how we should live our lives, often fulfilled this commandment and enjoyed this precious gift by taking the time to recharge through nourishment, prayer, or rest. After one of Jesus’ most well-known miracles, the feeding of the 5,000, he was swarmed by people wanting to speak with him. However, Jesus and the apostles were exhausted because of the miracles Jesus had been performing, so he urged them to “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mk 6:30-32). Had they stayed behind, they could have talked to more people or even performed more miracles, but Jesus knew that they needed to eat and rest in order to do their work in the future, so he encouraged them to take some time by themselves. Given the enormity of Jesus’ mission, I assume
and emotionally – I become better equipped to love my neighbors. In our world today, we are often pulled to choose between love of neighbor and care of ourselves, but Jesus reminds us that we are called to be personal stewards just as much as we are called to love each other. We will always feel tension between our mission to love others and our need to take care of ourselves, but living into this tension reveals that self-care can help us to love our neighbors more fully. Like in the Bishop’s mission to serve the poor of rural France, there will always be more for us to accomplish. However, we will not accomplish it any faster by neglecting to take care of ourselves.
SPARKS Class of 2021 Business Administration“
Taking time for myself is not an act of selfishness but rather an investment in myself so that I can better serve others - what I was made to do.”
TIA
Designed by Julia Haynes
After the ascension of Jesus Christ, 11 of the 12 apostles were martyred by the Roman government, until the only one who remained was John, the brother of James and speculatively, the youngest of the 12 original disciples. John was exiled by the Roman government to the isle of Patmos, where he received the vision of the book of Revelation.
By the thirtieth day of exile, I’ve hollowed out a shelter in the Patmos sand and memorized the notes of the Cisticola, who every day pierce the sun into rising with song. They stir the dust of the dawn with their notes, and I bend my aching knees to whisper, Our Father, who art in heaven, through choked down daily bread that clogs my throat.
He comes to me on the thirtyfirst day. I’ve heard it said that the insanity shouldn’t come for sixty, but the language of exile comes easily to me, pulling itself from the folds of my mind the way fishing nets used to tug from my hands with the tide. Judas stands in the sea watching me, his tunic pooling and
twisting with the water, the early morning sunlight blurring the edges of his shoulders like watery paint.
In a split second, the shoreline disappears into a memory I have tried for sixty years to forget. Truly, truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me. In the torchlight, I see soldiers lead the rabbi away and James is shouting Betrayer and Judas will not look him in the eye. Who is it, Lord? It is not me. The world bottoms out and I hide behind James’ fiery anger so no one will see my relief. Who is it, Lord? It is not me. Judas turns his back, and it is not me.
But here, on the island, there is no James to hide behind, and I am afraid. The betrayer stands before
me, taking shape in the saltwater, and I am all alone. Judas walks out of the water towards me and I stand up, hands behind my back so he can’t see them shaking.
What do you want?
He ignores me, pushes his curly hair back where it falls over his eyes, and walks down the beach. I scowl. What are you doing? I shout at his back.
He doesn’t turn around. I’m building a boat.
I am a statue on the shoreline. In seconds or years, Judas comes back and dumps a pile of driftwood at my feet. We’re building a boat. My hands shake as I grab the wood.
We build for six days. In the day, I smear clay and bend wood
and sweat under the weight of everything I can’t put into words. At night, after the glowing coal of the sun has burnt and sputtered out into the sea, I toss and turn in the sand and wonder if I am constructing my own death. I wonder if after sixty years, we are not so different after all, the betrayer and I. The eleven are gone and in the end, I have been left all alone.
On the sixth day, Judas wakes me from a tense and dreamless sleep at dawn, shaking my shoulders. I jump back from his outstretched hand and he walks away from me, towards the boat. We’re going fishing.
Fishing? I am scrambling over the sand after him. The boat isn’t finished. You need to let it dry in the sun –
He ignores me and heaves the boat over, pushing it into the lapping tide. Get in.
I get in. The morning is misty and cool, light pulling at the corners of the horizon, the mist gathering in pillowing heaps on the water. Already the boat is shaking, but Judas is already pushing out. In the boat, there is nowhere to run, and
my chest is cold and tight with fear. I want to ask him if I am dying, and if I am dying, does he know that I did not mourn him, that I was relieved it was not me? And if he knows, can I say it now that I am going insane? I understand holding on can make you so tired, but still I am afraid to let go. I don’t say anything. I don’t know why. Judas is not looking at me, he is looking at the sea, which lies silver and still under the heavy mist of morning. Suddenly I want to close my eyes, lay down in this creaking, shifting tomb of a boat, stop caring about fear or secrets or sanity or death. More than this, I want to ask him if there is no mercy, how could he kiss the very face of God and not be struck down dead where he stood?
I don’t know how much time passes like this, only that I am too lost in thought to realize that we are sinking until the water is already covering my ankles. Wildly, I jump up, spreading huge, slapping ripples of saltwater. JUDAS. He turns to look at me, calm, his eyes darkened by all of these things we do not say, the brother that I lost, and the boat is cracking into a thousand pieces, my
throat is burning with saltwater and the world bottoms out again –
I am tumbling beneath a sea of bluegreenwhitedark, and I think that I am surely dying. I am relieved that soon I will not be alone, and I will not have to admit to Judas that all my life I have been afraid that it would be me, that I would be the betrayer, instead it will all be gone in a snap of gaping, freeing darkness –
And I relax, just as the ocean spits me drenched and gasping onto the beach.
No, no, please –
I bring myself to my knees and beat at the sand, because he is gone and free and I am alone on the shore with my wrung-out, saltwater heart beating in my ears, with the Cisticola singing in their hallowed melodies these groanings that I cannot put into words, with the silence of the grey and barren shore that will soon give way to the fullness of the dawn.
KAYLA RUTLEDGE Class of 2021 Political Science and Journalism“I wonder if after sixty years, we are not so different after all, the betrayer and I.”
Wholly unholy were my human hands when you took them into yours, pierced though piercing light into dark lands
Now what stitch must be at your side from the joyous laughter of new children despite a spear in your rib did deride
Oh, how all things work together — every thorn and trial and trembling — we are God’s children now, forever tethered
Yet this image bearer is an image seeker, hands marred red from the clay of Adam’s stain and wrestling with Eve’s grasp ever weaker
Carefully-knit creatures we are wonderfully made to laugh at the thought of betraying purest love — but for this treason in darkest tomb our Maker laid
Oh, what mind could fathom or heart ever embrace forgiveness sweeter than honey, heavier than gold! We are known by the Salvation bearing man’s face
This heart of stone and its edges cut my lungs
Every breath shamefully spent for a world’s false love The deadly reach for the poison where fruit once hung
Yet now this tree is cut down, three nails and two beams crossing the barrier of the unwhole and Holy Death defeated for my unfaithful heart to redeem!
Oh, that you sought me, red and wretched and weeping, and to let me gaze upon your beauty all the days of my life
What sweet surprise: rags traded for the robes of a King
I am a little tuning fork set out in the presence of God. I vibrate with Reality: I cannot describe this. I am cold to the touch electric burning current of God. I am here for the Melody, the soft percussion, the dissonance; Come, dance.
I cannot choose to resonate with chords already struck. I do not set out for communion when that Great Yes has built already the symphony in, around me, pulse my veins still no waves.
My confession is the long stoplight, My communion, with the inconsistency inside. Difficult people are my call and response is my prayer.
I hold my hands out for wine, absolve me. Go in peace making.
21And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them.
Out of love, God did not send Adam and Eve away naked but prepared proper clothing for them. Despite our disobedience, God still loves us and desires to draw us near (Ps 103). God clothes them with skins, which requires the shedding of blood – the shedding of blood to cover God’s peoples’ shame foreshadows Jesus’ blood sacrifice on the cross to cover sins.2
22 Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of us in knowing good and evil. Now, lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever—”
Historically, man is a horrible judge of right and wrong, and in this wickedness, we see how God’s dictation of right and wrong was a gift, not a self-serving rule. So is his commandment that wicked people not be allowed to live forever.
“Us” refers to the three-person trinity of God. From before the beginning of time, all three persons – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – have been.
23therefore the Lord God sent him out from the garden of Eden to work the ground from which he was taken.
24He drove out the man, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the way to the tree of life.
Work is a gift from the Lord, but toil in working is the result of the fall and part of Adam’s curse (Gen 3:17-19).
God’s expulsion of Adam and Eve reveals that He is a God of justice. He is holy and perfect, and in order for humans to be near him, they must approach him rightly. This paradigm is much like our relationship to the sun, which is good and lifegiving, but so powerful that it burns us without proper protection and distance. Jesus Christ, who sacrificed himself to clothe us in His righteousness, allows us to approach God (2 Cor 5:21).
The fall of man is the beginning of the tension between what should be - wholeness - and what is - brokeness. Because of man’s sin, and therefore their separation from complete intimacy with God, all of creation begins to decay (Rom 5:18-19; 8:22-23). God calls Christians to join him in the work of restoring wholeness to the world through relationships, service, and vocation.
LAUREN GILBERT Class of 2022 Economics and Public PolicyLETTER FROM THE EDITORS
1. O’Connor, Flannery. Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose. Edited by Sally Fitzgerald and Robert Fitzgerald. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1970.
DETANGLING TENSION
1. Martin Luther King Jr. 1963. “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” University of Pennsylvania. https://www.africa.upenn.edu/Articles_Gen/Letter_Birmingham.html.
DON'T WATER THE FLOOD: A CALL TO CARE ATTENTIVELY FOR THOSE STRUGGLING WITH ANXIETY
1. Pamela Taulbee, Solving the Mystery of Anxiety , (Science News, Society for Science & the Public, 1983), 46.
2. Anand Patel, James B. Fowler, Neuroanatomy, Temporal Lobe, (NCBI, U.S. National Library of Medicine, 2019).
3. Taulbee, Solving the Mystery, 46.
4. Rüdiger Vaas, FEAR NOT , (Scientific American Mind, Scientific American, a division of Nature America, Inc., 2004), 69.
5. Ibid, 69.
THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN: EXPLORING A CHRISTIAN'S RELATIONSHIP WITH SOCIAL JUSTICE
1. “Identity Politics.” Merriam-Webster. Merriam-Webster. https:// www. merriamwebster.com/dictionary/identity politics.
NARRATIVE FORM: ONE SIZE DOESN'T FIT ALL
1. Young and Saver, “The Neurology of Narrative.” https://www. jstor. org/stable/3685505
1. Victor Hugo, Les Miserables (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell and Co., 1887) http:// www.gutenberg.org/files/135/135-h/135-h.htm
2. Ibid.
3. Pope Francis, "General Audience," 5 September 2018.
1. Vos, Geerhardus. Biblical Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1948.
2. Adams, Gwenfair Walters. (2020, May). Lesson One: Introductions and a Theology of Spirituality. [Lecture]. Gordoon-Conwell.
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