Merit always called to me. I grew up in a Christian home with loving parents who had no expectations but that I would regularly attend church. Little did they anticipate that I would exceed these expectations. In high school, I quickly became the core leader of our church’s youth group. I led worship every other Sunday, either shredding electric guitar riffs or strumming my friend’s acoustic guitar while belting high notes. After sermons, I facilitated discussion groups; being the same age as my peers fostered a stronger connection between me and them than what the adult staff could establish. Finally, I led a small group that would meet outside of church, going over a Bible study plan that promoted genuine spiritual growth. The youth pastor would frequently entrust me with various relational and administrative responsibilities, envisioning me as a future pastor in the making. The kids admired me and regarded me as a competent older brother and mentor who could give both spiritual and academic advice. And as any loving Asian parent would, my mom would brag about me to the aunties and uncles in church, filling me with pride. I was convinced I had done enough to earn the acceptance of my Heavenly Father. Yet at the same time, serving in my church community was tiring and unsatisfying. I chased absolute perfection in how I led my ministries; how could a perfect God tolerate imperfection? An off note during guitar solos would cast doubt on my abilities as a worship leader. Skepticism and fear wormed into my faith and theology as peers rightfully disagreed with me in discussion groups. And when it became difficult to manage a stressful academic year alongside church responsibilities, I felt inept and worried I was falling short of God’s expectations. I lived a similar narrative to the story of the rich young ruler. This ruler was deemed sinless in the eyes of men. In the Jewish district of the Roman Empire, he was likely a synagogue leader or Pharisee---a figurehead in his community and well-loved. Unlike the other Pharisees who vehemently opposed Christ, this ruler demonstrated a rare humility. While most Jewish leaders were hardened to Christ and His message, this man displayed an openness to Christ, even addressing him as “Good Teacher.” The rich young ruler approaches Christ, asking Him how to enter heaven. With his wealth and merit, he is confident in what he has to offer for salvation. Out of everyone, he believes he is the most deserving among all. Christ responds that he must keep the commandments. “Easy for me!” the ruler thinks. He keeps and has kept all the commandments that Christ listed out. The man is delusional. Humans are chronically sinful and Christ knows this ruler breaks the Law daily. But Christ does not explicitly rebuke the man for his ridiculous claims. “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” The ruler, thinking of his possessions and status, walks away sorrowfully, rejecting the Savior of the world and his salvation. In poetic fashion, Christ exposes this man’s true condition. As a “perfect” man, the rich young ruler disobeys God, breaking his self-proclaimed perfect streak and committing his “first sin” by holding to his own strength and merit. So much for being “perfect.” His futile attempt to gain salvation through perfect obedience only highlights the impossibility of such a task. Throughout his life, the rich young ruler amassed good deeds to his name and adhered to the commandments well. His days were decorated with acts of charity, and nearly empty of sinful debt. Living in the luxuries of his virtue, he became more morally affluent than any other person. Yet as he sought to enter the kingdom of God, he came to a profound realization: his merit could not purchase eternal life. Despite the grandeur of his earthly accomplishments, the pathway to salvation demanded a surrender beyond material wealth - the relinquishment of his merit. In his hour of reckoning, he could not place his faith in Christ, for his own merit rendered him blind to the offer before him. He forfeits eternal riches and returns to his worn-out, tiring, and prideful life of self-sufficiency. In the depths of my servant’s heart lies a desire that insists that more effort is needed to satisfy the divine. It insinuates that God’s favor hinges on both quantity and quality of service, that my worth is determined by the magnitude of my own goodness and ability to purchase eternal life through works. Christ gave purpose to my life: to glorify Him through discipleship and congregational work. But that purpose was corrupted and morphed into a relentless pursuit of achievements. I subconsciously believed that by tirelessly serving others and radiating Christian virtue, I could secure my place in heaven and earn God's approval. Yet in the eyes of God, our most virtuous deeds are “filthy rags,” lacking the righteousness required to truly please Him. When we try to serve through our own efforts, God is not glorified; we end up rejecting the very redemptive work that God has already done. His victory seems incomplete and we feel the need to stack more merit on top of His. Amidst the busyness of my spiritual endeavors, I lost sight of the true essence of Godly obedience. Service became about earning God’s favor and salvation. But by His grace, I came to realize how wrong I was. He helped me trust in Him as my Savior and enjoy His grace daily. He opened my eyes to His overwhelming victory over my sins, and the sufficiency of His merit to purchase me from the shackles of sin. Christ’s perfect life, sacrificial death, and resurrection have wiped clean my sinful records, earning me a place with Him in heaven. In two weeks, I will graduate from Berkeley and conclude my four years of service at Crossroads Christian Fellowship. The life of empty toil and perfectionism my high school self endured is now a distant memory. Throughout my college journey, I gradually stopped seeking God's validation through my service. Instead, God renews my heart's desire daily to enjoy the riches of His merit, surrender my achievements, and embrace Him and Him alone as my Savior. No longer am I a rich young ruler who relies on his own insatiable works. Rather, I am an heir to Christ's glorious inheritance, serving and obeying Him out of gratitude. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. - 2 Corinthians 12:9 This blog post was written by Allen Cao, a fourth year from Crossroads Christian Fellowship.
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Sing to me the sweeter end of sadness,
I have known it from a root Tearful ascend until the branches spread To cover two and happy Filter light and all the lovely things of Air by subtle indexing Venture there the pairing speckled entry To the realms of heaven high. Yet determined thus my sight is overgrown; Yields to petals, if believed! Blinds, or softens, vision bright -- Forget this illustration, There's a better thought arriving, Or implanted, merely held, Merely touching, you would have it, Might the fruit of fitness find. Though in fact it offered itself From the very first display. Though in fact is better than to Dwell alone imagined. Returned as fast to these fitful Branches hanging, maybe then Hindered since to leave the eyes for Works inspired of a loss Removed by course, by tract of time. Sing again what sadness leaves, Strange accommodation of the mind, Resting, if not falling, if Not the hope arresting, framing New and newly baring blue Addendums to the grayish sheet -- O, I see this now in gold, All in gold, and I might see this yet! By rest, by green, by grown, beset. This is the second poem on our blog written by fourth-year TAUG student Ian. All in the undying lands, all in them undying,
All to drifting, dreary ends evermore declining. All of rock to dust despair, Wherefore dust are wont to wear, And all in the undying lands, all remain. How long have you travelled to the edges Of the prison fields, Scouring for monuments of bone Beneath the succulents? What fragile frame is left behind you, Fading as a whisper out of time, Emerges as the shrieking wind? Compose yourself Compose yourself as one in the undying lands. To whom all authority lies forfeit, Compose yourself. I am what I am only In the hollow place I speak and effect nothing I am changed in every part by every part Surely there is a passing come near A balm of fire for the leaves And I am a longing to decay in better meadows I am a moving uncertainly propelled by airs I am what I am only in the emptied after Ian is a fourth-year English major who alternates his free time between Augustine and the Avengers. This post is the seventh in a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on TAUG and here for more information on hearhere.
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit Of This and That endeavor and dispute? Better be merry with fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit. - Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat XXXIX Two months ago, my world started falling apart after it was hit with a wrecking ball in the form of an email. “Please leave. Don’t come back. See you on Zoom.” Getting kicked off campus was a wake up call to how serious the coronavirus pandemic had become, and in the two months that have followed that fateful email, I watched the outside world fall apart. The thousands of people who fall ill and die daily, the millions who have lost their livelihoods and the thousands more essential workers whose health is compromised are a testament to stark economic inequalities and the drastic under-preparation of most countries’ healthcare systems. In the past two months, I watched my life mirror the outside world and fall apart as well. My carefully ordered life at college unraveled with an alarming swiftness, my seemingly important hustle and bustle on campus morphing into a grey monotony during the lockdown. As the march of days and weeks became indistinguishable from one another, I found myself trifling with various hobbies and watching a string of TV shows in an attempt to fill up the hours. I began reading books and didn’t finish them, started projects half-heartedly and abandoned them a few days later. Simultaneously, the thinly veiled hollowness of my activities sowed doubts as to whether my on-campus obligations had also been mere activities to fill up time, with no inherent purpose of their own. As I attempt to make sense of how the pandemic has disrupted ‘normal’ life both on the individual and collective level, the mythical Greek hero Sisyphus comes to mind. How it must feel to have the rock he was pushing roll back down just as he reached the summit is how I imagine it must be to have our lives scrambled by the pandemic. The individual and collective rocks we had been pushing have started slipping out of our grips and rolling downhill, propelled by rapid changes everyday. For some of us, the rock that we had been pushing uphill was a potential career, a degree, or goals to work towards, now suspended in uncertainty. For me, the rock was a knowable, plan-able future as I prepared to go into my senior year of college. However, considering that I currently have safe shelter and steady access to food and other essentials, the disruption to my life has not been as drastic as for others. All around the globe, students are facing housing insecurity, small business owners have lost their livelihoods, and people have lost loved ones. Many more continue to risk their lives to treat patients and keep our tables supplied with food, even as the healthcare and economic systems they work within are under strain or crumbling. Just like Sisyphus’ punishment to endlessly roll a rock up a hill only to have it fall back down, the social systems and individual lives we carefully build seem doomed to eventually fall apart, leaving us to start over. This time it is a pandemic, but regardless of the cause, human history confirms that lives often get interrupted or derailed, and whole civilizations disintegrate, usually in ways that are out of our control. To see this, we don’t even have to look very far. The 20th century, most of it within the lifetimes of people alive today, was fraught with wars, natural disasters, whole nations dissolving, atrocious genocides, and devastating pandemics. This seeming guarantee that our established ways of life will be knocked asunder reminds me of the conclusions that the author of the book of Ecclesiastes reaches. After surveying human activity under the sun, the Qoheleth (translated Teacher) realises that it is all futile, like chasing the wind. Under the Qoheleth’s critical eye, the pursuit of pleasure, of possessions, of wisdom, and any other activities that we assign special significance to, turn out to be part of an endless cycle of human striving. The generations that have lived before us have had their own rocks to roll uphill, whether it was collective pursuits to advance societies, or individuals’ pursuits to live a fulfilling life. Those rocks have eventually been rolled back down by some global or individual catastrophe. The generations that will come after us will also have their own rocks to roll uphill, whether it is some social ideal to strive for — be it justice or peace, or individual fulfillment and satisfaction. Those generations too will face some calamities, possibly ones even worse than COVID-19, and their rocks will rush downhill. Fully accepting the conclusion that all of human activity is a futile effort to roll rocks up hills distresses me because it removes the gravitas and sense of purpose that I would like to assign to my activities. This is especially true during the lockdown, when the hours and days threaten to blend together. And certainly, other people have found more optimistic ways to interpret these abrupt changes to their life, using their newly free time for much-needed reflection on what truly matters to them and realigning their priorities accordingly. Although I cannot deny that these solutions have given people peace of mind and a restored sense of purpose, they seem shaky to me for the same reason that our initial ways of life were vulnerable to being knocked downhill. Who is to say that these new activities we take up to define ourselves by will not be blown away? How do we structure our lives so that the next set of activities we commit ourselves to, whether as individuals or communities, won’t also start rolling back on us, crushing us in the process? I don’t know that there is an end to this cycle of building and having what we build knocked down, of crafting lives for ourselves only to watch them tumble down, knocked over by an unexpected catastrophe. As I have been straining to figure out how to appropriately respond to the profound sense of untethering this has caused in me, I find myself drawn to Camus’ concluding words in the Myth of Sisyphus: “The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill [one]’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” Perhaps, we must imagine ourselves happy as well. At first glance, these words smack of the absurd. How could we imagine someone happy when they were condemned to an eternal, purposeless fate? The fact that Sisyphus’ rock is doomed to always roll back down hill is only cause for despair if we define his purpose to be reaching the summit and staying there. As a result, we can never imagine him happy since he is guaranteed to fail over and over. The same goes for us; if we define our purpose by our accomplishments and the permanence of our actions, it becomes difficult to imagine ourselves happy. However, there is another way to live: we can do what Camus suggests and focus on the step by step, allowing the struggle, the everyday business of pushing our rocks, to fill our hearts. The Qoheleth echoes this same view when he “[commends] the enjoyment of life, because there is nothing better for a person under the sun than to eat and drink and be glad. Then joy will accompany them in their toil all the days of the life God has given them under the sun.” This encouragement to shift our attention to the everyday, ordinary, aspects of being alive is woven throughout the Qoheleth’s reflections about the vapor-like, ungraspable nature of human existence. And over and over, we are reminded that even when we are chasing the wind and not catching it, even when we’re rolling a rock up a hill knowing full well that it will come back down, our hearts can be full. We are allowed to imagine ourselves happy, without any qualifiers. I am still learning what it means to do that. During lockdown, I am starting with resisting the temptation to assign permanent and solid purposes to every single thing I do. Instead, I am learning to find contentment in simple acts of eating and drinking, in calling friends and family, and doing schoolwork for its own sake. As hard as it is, I am imagining myself happy by resting the immediate and the present, and holding my grand purposes for life loosely. The recognition that our activities and ways of life can be knocked out of our hands anytime and rush downhill doesn’t have to stand in the way of finding contentment. Instead, we can walk back down hill and shoulder the rock, ready to begin again, without shackling ourselves to the end result, the attainment of the summit. Once this pandemic has passed and “normal life” has been restored, push with all your might whatever rock you will have picked up, and let the struggle be enough to fill your heart. Thummim Mekuria is a junior at Pomona College majoring in Philosophy and Astrophysics, with a minor in Studio Art. This post is the sixth in a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
Every day for the past three weeks in quarantine I have made my bed after waking up. It’s a very small thing, something that a large percentage of the population already does. However, much to the disdain of my mother, I have always kept a messy room. Three weeks ago, you could probably count on two hands the amount of times I made my bed in the morning. But one day I realized that when my bed was made, it made my room look a lot better, and I felt really good about finally putting the decorative pillows to use instead of letting them collect dust on my floor. Making my bed when I wake up has become something of a habit. The first week I started it, I was aware of what I was doing, that I was taking the time to straighten the comforter and throw a soft blanket on top before arranging the pillows. Now, I wake up and don’t even think about what I’m doing. Instead I think about what I’m getting for lunch (since quarantine usually has me starting my day at noon). If I keep it up, I think to myself, making my bed will become something I can’t start my day without; it will become a subconscious pattern. I am certainly not the only one taking advantage of this time to make little improvements. A quick scan of any social media outlet will show that people have found very creative ways to keep their minds occupied in this season of being stuck inside. People have found new hobbies and invented new challenges in an effort to make the passing days more worthwhile. Contrary to popular belief, though, research suggests that it takes about 66 days to form a habit, not 21. Sixty-six seems like a lot, but the act of ingraining something into a subconscious act takes time and patience. The great thing about creating healthy habits is that it’s never too late to start and it gets a little easier every day. I have been thinking about a few passages in Scripture a lot lately that I think speak to creating one of the healthiest habits of all: positive thinking. In the book of Phillipians, a letter from the apostle Paul, he writes to the church in Philippi saying, “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things" (Phillipians 4:8). In another letter to the church in Corinth, Paul writes, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 5). It’s pretty obvious that the way we think shapes our everyday lives, and both of these verses speak into that. From a scientific perspective, positive self-talk has been shown to improve confidence, focus, and endurance in everyday life. As college students, it’s easy for us to get trapped by our own negativity and complaints. Berkeley students and students at many elite colleges and universities have a reputation of priding themselves on being miserable. For me personally, it’s easy to tell myself to “think positive thoughts” one moment, then slip back into a circle of negativity the next. The concept of taking every thought captive then seems daunting, especially during this pandemic. Is it really possible to only think about what is true, lovely, and admirable? Alone, we cannot do it. But by God’s grace and through His wisdom, we can form habits even when it seems impossible. The creation of any habit starts with wanting to reach a goal and then making the effort to work toward it. People who run marathons (not me) did not get to where they are overnight. They wake up, train, and make sure they are fueling their bodies well. I am not an expert on running marathons or positive thinking by any means, but I would argue that the process is similar. When you read 2 Corinthians 5:10, we see that every thought has to go through a sort of “test.” It has to jive with the Word of God. If any thought fails that test, we are to actively mold it into something else that will. That is like the “training” aspect of positive thinking. If we can pluck out or reshape the thoughts that are negative or untrue, it stands to reason that more positive thoughts will be the result. We have to “fuel” our minds with the Word of God in order to do this. It would be impossible to inspect each thought without knowing the criteria we are measuring it against. Romans 12:2 says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will.” In order to rewire our brains to think godly thoughts, the Word of God must renew us every day. Just like it makes me feel good to put my decorative pillows to use, it also gives me joy to be using passages from the Bible to test my thoughts and reframe my thinking. Rather than letting the Bible collect dust on the nightstand, we can use it not only to deepen our relationship with God, but also as the filter that keeps us from falling into destructive downward spirals. If we allow it to, the Bible will remind us what is true, lovely, and admirable. This is not to say that we should not feel and work through all of the bad moments in life. Our emotions are God-given; mourning and grief are certainly valid, especially at a time like this. However, some thoughts are unhelpful, holding us back from what God has in store. Thinking things like, “I am not good enough” and “I can’t do this” doesn’t lead to anything productive. Dwelling on the past and things we can not change has the same effect. In this challenging time, I would argue that it is more important than ever to stay positive. I, along with everyone else, make mistakes every day. Some days, I am really good about controlling my own mind. But there are a lot of days where I allow small things to affect my thoughts, mood, and actions. 2 Timothy 1:7 says, “For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.” This verse inspires me to rise to the occasion, trusting that God will help me win the war against my own negative thoughts, even if I lose some battles here and there. Sydney Booth is a first-year at UC Berkeley intending to major in Molecular and Cell Biology. This post is the fifth in a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere. Why is it so hard to get out of bed? As the semester rolls to a close, motivation seems to be evaporating at a greater pace than before, even as our workload continues to increase. The last few weeks of a normal school year are nearly always the busiest — final exams, projects, and papers are compounded by the need to bid farewell to our peers. Yet this spring, it feels incredibly different. Online classes seem to be sputtering to a close rather than charging through the finish line, and each Zoom call seems to be longer than the last, with fewer compelled to show up while the rest trickle in wearing pajamas. Our seemingly universal loss of motivation and energy belies a deeper explanation for our hollow lack of vigor, and should prompt us to consider the underlying foundations of our motivation. By comparing our situation to the parable of two houses from the Gospel of Luke in the Bible, we can better understand why sources of internal motivation serve as a solid, lasting foundation, whereas sources of external motivation only generate the illusion of permanence. As we examine our array of external motivators, we start to see just how rapidly they have lost relevance and meaning. Take, for example, the dwindling job market and the bevy of canceled internships. Our once hopeful and competitive outlook on our future prospects has been swiftly replaced by a somber sense of resignation and uncertainty. As we scramble to find contingency plans and remote opportunities, the overwhelming feeling of futility can quickly diminish our motivation to keep searching for the next resume-building opportunity. Similarly, the once-pervasive need for productivity on campus — to be a holistic student not merely invested in academics, but also a wide range of extracurriculars — has been replaced with a desperate search for ways to entertain ourselves. Week after week, new trends, memes, and forms of entertainment have taken hold, from playing Animal Crossing to baking sourdough bread, as evidenced by the sudden scarcity of Nintendo Switch consoles and all-purpose flour. Even being in community, where expressions of selflessness imbue our lives with much greater meaning, has been undeniably difficult. As we reduce all of our normal human contact to video and audio channels, our mental health has understandably taken a toll. According to a recent article in the National Geographic, spending hours calling on video communication platforms is “extremely hard on the brain,” leading to fatigue and overstimulation. Holding onto the false expectation that virtual communication can somehow serve as an adequate substitute for productive, physical interactions only leaves us tired, jaded, and unfulfilled. These few examples lay bare the reality that a motivation and energy for life built upon our human ambitions, desires, and expectations can be easily disrupted. Just like “a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation,” we may find the lives we’ve built for ourselves swept away by the unpredictable winds of life; the things that once anchored our reality tossed about like waves on the ocean. While some of us have found ways to adapt to, distract from, or cope with our respective situations, many more are anxiously awaiting the day we can just forget about this unwanted, destructive interruption and return to our normal pursuits. Yet to forget that we can and should use this time to strengthen the foundation beneath our motivation only guarantees the return of aimlessness and meaninglessness. This crisis will pass, and the things that once motivated us — ambition, societal pressures, money, friends, family — will all return in full force, likely just as they were. But if we don’t undertake a serious, mindful evaluation of what keeps us going in life, we’ll simply find ourselves asking yet again, “Is this really it?” Instead, we ought to follow the example of the other man who was well-prepared and unshaken in the face of a ruinous flood. When building his metaphorical life “house,” he wisely “dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock” (Luke 6:48). Likewise, we can strive to carefully rebuild our foundations in this time, using the weeks and months to come as a chance to rediscover and reimagine the true motivation behind the things we choose to do. As our lives gradually return to normalcy, we need to drill past the surface level indicators of our motivations and dig deeper until we reach our genuine, intrinsic motivations. But as we burrow deeper in self-reflection, we may find our own wells and aquifers dry — depleted from years of trying to make it on our own. Carefully curated Instagram feeds have belied a deep need to be accepted; meticulously crafted resumes have disguised a deep need to be valued; endless swiping on Tinder have hidden a deep need to not be alone. But faced with the choice of continuously trying to draw water from our own dry wells or drinking from “a spring of [living] water welling up to eternal life,” we can still choose to “never be thirsty again” (John 4:13–14). The living water that Jesus offers does not promise to miraculously wipe away our feelings of loss and lack of energy; nor does it seek to replace our friends and family who push us to be our best. Rather, it nourishes and refreshes the dry, cracked beds of our hearts. It reminds us that we are lovable just the way we are, that we have already been accepted by God, and that we will never be alone. It’s living water because, if we let it pour into ourselves, it brings back life — life eternal — that sustains and is abundant. It’s this life, and only this life, anchored in One who is greater than, and not tied to the passing sands of our ever-changing world, that truly satisfies. Evan Chuu is a fourth-year at Pomona College majoring in Linguistics and minoring in Spanish. This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
With nearly all avenues of social interaction being off-limits due to COVID-19, it’s no surprise that people, both young and old, are using the Internet to engage with others. And it’s not just the people that we know in real life; we interact with countless strangers in various ways. One such way is meme pages, which are nothing new especially for college students like me. (As a UC Berkeley student, I have a good amount of pride in our claim to one of the first college meme pages: UC Berkeley Memes for Edgy Teens. Now, many major universities across the country have pages named in a similar manner: Harvard Memes for Elitist 1% Teens, for example.) These pages are forums where students can share inside jokes about their university and the common experiences there, and though the memes on college meme pages could generally be understood by anyone, they are particularly relatable and have special value for students who share the same campus, administration, and overpriced restaurants. Memes aren’t just created by college students to generate cheap laughs, though – they often speak to serious topics such as mental health, family pressure, and relationships. Many memes also have some element of self-reflection (i.e. a meme about spending all day in bed looking at memes), which offer a window as to how people are using and viewing memes. In general, people seem to see memes as a way of coping, certainly before COVID-19 but even more so now. Memes may give a sense of hope, but I wonder whether making light of a situation is a sustainable way to cope. I’ll be the first one to scroll through some memes when I want to laugh and have some levity; finding joy in small things is absolutely essential right now. But there are difficult things in the world and in life, and simply forgetting about the darkness isn’t a complete solution. If we are to embrace the real darkness and brokenness of the world, however, we need a hope to rely on that is secure. For me as Christian, that hope is in God’s promises: that he is and always will be with me, that there is an eternal future with God, and that God has control over everything. These promises give Christians real hope that isn’t dependent on ever-changing circumstances and that allows us to see reality without despairing. But it’s not just that memes are providing hope by offering an escape. Due to the crisis, students across the globe now share remarkably similar experiences and feelings as they make the journey back to the family home or otherwise and start taking their classes online. Mirroring that shift, a new page has emerged in the last month: Zoom Memes for Self Quaranteens, which now has 604,000 followers. The sheer amount of people that follow these silly images speaks to how relevant they are, and just how well they’ve been able to capture the college student cultural zeitgeist. Memes often describe feelings which are somewhat embarrassing (for instance, having limitless free time and yet still accomplishing no work) – things which we would otherwise keep to ourselves. Memes allow us to fulfill a deep desire we all have – the desire to be known, not just for who we appear to be, but for the people we really are, flaws and all. Memes assure us that what we experience is not unique to ourselves; yes, many other college students are also showing up to Zoom classes in bed. There is certainly satisfaction to be found in this sense of being understood, but there’s something that we all need beyond just being understood: to be loved. As a Christian, I believe there is a God who knows and understands every detail about me, including my faults, and still loves me unconditionally. The popularity of meme pages also speaks to how people find something deeply, almost profoundly, satisfying in the experience of sharing a small image that encapsulates the collective feelings of you and your peers in a clever way. You laugh about something that thousands of other people are also laughing at; you tag your friends to share in the experience. These meme pages have become a forum which provides a common narrative that validates our feelings and experiences and provides a sort of community, even as we are physically separated. We have an innate desire to relate with others about our shared experiences, and to feel like we are part of a larger story. Just as stories bound ancient cultures together, meme pages are one small (but significant) example of the ways in which we as human beings gravitate toward stories as a way to relate to one another and create a shared identity and community. Christians have their own story about who we are as people, including where we as humanity have come from and where we are headed. It’s a story that is deeply relational, and all about being known and loved – from God creating the first human, Adam, and then creating Eve, thus the first human relationship – to that relationship being broken by sin, when brokenness entered the world. The story ends with redemption – God restoring our relationships with each other and with Him, and thus allowing each one of us to be fully known by others, no longer bound to hide our own brokenness from one another. We live in between these two bookends, where pain and suffering persist, and the promise of redemption is still on the horizon. Though memes may give us a sense of not being alone, the Christian story assures us that, though the details are different, we share the same journey as every human being throughout history. We occupy an “in-between” space: existing in a world rife with suffering and broken relationships but also a world with bright shimmers of hope – even in something as small as a meme page. Emily Kinnaman is a third-year at UC Berkeley majoring in molecular cell biology and minoring in history. This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
Pictured above is the coronavirus that is currently wreaking havoc on the world. Protein structures like these have always drawn me in because they allow me to visualize that which is hidden from the naked eye, allowing me to see the invisible. These precious images are usually created through X-ray crystallography; the breakthrough method of its time used to discover DNA, which ties all life together. Recently, though, an innovative method known as Cryogenic Electron Microscopy (Cryo-EM) is creating a similar paradigm shift in structural biology to characterize protein function and structural motifs. High resolution structures from both methods give scientists the ability to run protein-docking computer programs that can sift through a database of potential cures for diseases, including cancer, essentially allowing scientists to exploit the structures of proteins and deadly viruses through computation in order to disarm them and prevent them from attacking the body. Each protein structure incites curiosity within me because it holds so much information just waiting to be unlocked. I find these microscopic macromolecules incredible, and I am left with no option but to reflect on the intricate and creative design, which to me must have an intelligent mind behind it. It is in this deep interest of mine that SARS-CoV-2 (the official name of the virus that causes COVID-19) first meaningfully seeped its way into my life, through an article my advisor sent me about the novel virus CoV spike 3-D Cryo-EM structure created by researchers at UT Austin. The structure published in Science, gave credibility to the new, emerging Cryo-EM method that can forgo the expensive and tedious crystallization conditions which can take years of research to achieve by pulling a thin layer of ice over the protein and shooting beams of electrons. The microscopy method can capture up to 800 images a day with atom-level resolution, giving a dynamic projectile of the actual protein movements. The structure of the virus brought hope for a cure to the scientific community as an avenue for inhibitor analysis —running programs to decipher readily available pharmaceuticals that stop the novel coronavirus dead in its tracks. Seeing the structure that causes COVID-19’s vicious nature after four weeks indoors and cases in the U.S. numbering well over half a million stirs within me both awe and horror. This tiny spike of a virus has caused hundreds of thousands of deaths and countless more to come. It is what breaks its way into human cells and has broken into our lives. Such a seemingly perfectly calibrated, well-adapted, beautiful design is out of our own understanding – even the most advanced and revolutionary methods have only inched us towards any semblance of relief. I thought seeing the virus would bring me more comfort, but it has only made me recognize that there is a far-stretched chasm of knowledge between the maker of this virus and humanity, and it will be at least another year until we understand it well enough to stop it via vaccination. Current research methods are lacking within science and even more when faced with the glaring endless stream of questions that come with the pandemic. Should hospitals be allowed to hoard hydroxychloroquine, a treatment for malaria, on the slight possibility it can treat COVID-19 patients? How do we overcome the systemic racism in the healthcare system presented by demographic statistics of population deaths? How do we work towards housing the homeless population during this global crisis? If we successfully create a vaccination, would we sell it for profit? Who would get the first batch? As we face the realities of these questions, people are being confronted with the fact that science does not hold all the answers – and it shouldn’t. Here in the US, we’ve come to over-rely on knowledge derived from science, and the perceived safety it brings.. But in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis, uncertainty is becoming the norm as unemployment rates rise and public health systems are strained to the breaking point. In order to reconcile this uncertainty that envelops humanity, we must adopt a more holistic worldview, which must include more ways of knowing than just science – those of philosophy, ethics, and of faith. For me the knowledge that comes from science, the understanding that comes from philosophy, and the wisdom for decision-making all come together in my Christian faith. I take solace in a God who cares for humanity, so much so that He offers His own infinite understanding. In the book of Proverbs it says, “For the LORD gives wisdom; From His mouth come knowledge and understanding” (Proverbs 2:6). He has the physical understanding of the exact pathway that follows as the CoV spike binds to the protein receptors on any cell in the circulatory system, and He also has the answer to the systemic inequity that has unsettled all our hearts. I believe that God, in His time, is presenting humanity with both scientific knowledge and answers to the problems we face; both made complete with one thread: “[Jesus] is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). He is not leaving us to fend for ourselves, but offering us the ability to put our lives in the hands of someone who holds a wealth of knowledge. These are the most consoling words I can hear in these uncertain times. As someone who loves science and is fascinated by the world of scientific research, it’s incredibly easy for me to become enchanted by the achievements of humanity. This crisis is a timely reminder that no Cryo-EM structure or reading about potential inhibitors from highly regarded journals can truly save. Science can allow us to survive, and many times not even that, but it cannot teach us how to live. I certainly don’t have all the answers, but I rest humbly knowing I do not need to have all the answers because He already does. Michelle Garcia is a second year at Pomona College with an intended double-major in Computer Science and Chemistry, and minor in Math. This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere. Last year, I happened upon a beautiful, antique copy of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. I happily added it to my collection, not thinking much more about it aside from its general retelling of the life of Christ, a story I had always heard growing up in a Christian family. This week, though, I sat down and reopened it with a remarkably different perspective. I read with a heavy awareness that navigating a pandemic in the season of Lent has presented a most profound opportunity to reflect on my faith. In the constant and overwhelming developments of COVID-19, I have observed some parallels between life in 2020 and life in the first century. In the matter of days, our world has become unrecognizable. So many have lost their jobs, their loved ones, their lives. Healthcare professionals are risking their own health to serve their communities; scientists are working endlessly to develop a vaccine; and governments are scrambling, debating, and compensating to try to manage the crisis in the best way possible. We have far more questions than answers, and we are, by definition, in desperate need of saving. The life of Jesus also began in a time of unrest and wondering. Jews, like Jesus and his earthly family, were under Roman rule, and political tensions mounted as Jewish zealots sought rebellion. The Christmas story tells of a Roman census being conducted at the time of Jesus’ birth, disrupting citizens’ schedules and obligating them to return to their hometowns. Even more, as an infant, Jesus escaped a mandate from King Herod ordering the murder of all firstborn sons in the land. Yet, among all this chaos, three wise men traveled at length throughout the desert–following a star in the direction of the chaos, not escaping it–in search of the Christ. Borrowing from the biblical record, Ben-Hur’s creative retelling of that search includes one of the wise men saying, “We are far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient.” Although in this pandemic, many of us are physically quite the opposite–we are ordered to stay in our homes, not far from them–the comparison remains that we are far from what feels like home. Much like the time of Jesus’ birth, many of us have been required to return to our hometowns. Amid the panic, pain, and distress of COVID-19, Americans are still trying to navigate a census year and an upcoming presidential election. We are far from normalcy, security, and routine. As we await a resolution to this crisis, we are forced to be patient, by default if nothing else. Yet, like told in Ben-Hur, God is with us. Several years later in the life of Jesus, when he was in his early 30s, a series of events took place that are remembered now as Holy Week. Holy Week includes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, and it observes Jesus’ crucifixion and the events surrounding it. The Biblical events of Holy Week include some of the greatest betrayal, tragedy, and lament in history. On what is now observed as Maundy Thursday, Jesus, knowing the suffering awaiting him, lamented in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was then betrayed by his disciple, Judas, which led to him being taken into custody and sentenced to death. Then, on Good Friday, Christ’s crucifixion included unimaginable mocking and torture. As a Christian, Jesus’ sacrifice is extremely meaningful to me; yet, as a Christian living in a pandemic, COVID-19 monopolizes my thoughts. I am grappling with the ever-rising death count, attempting to establish a routine while working from home, and preparing for my first-ever digital Easter service. The pain I am enduring is nothing compared to the physical torment Jesus experienced, but it is pain–and a peculiar version of pain with which I am just now becoming acquainted. As I coped with some of this discomfort by immersing myself in reading, I was struck by another passage in Ben-Hur, an excerpt illustrating the earth’s anticipation of the Christ: “The stillness was more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.” Remember that Jesus’ suffering took place on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday was different. On the eve of his resurrection, the world was quiet. The Bible does not speak of any events on Holy Saturday; it was the Sabbath. Saturday was a day to listen. In all the chaos of COVID-19, I have noticed a particular awareness, a desire to be present for our loved ones and our communities, otherwise forgotten in a healthy world. Our world, afflicted by this virus, is not healthy; it is vulnerable. But in that vulnerability, might it be possible that heaven is once again stooping low and whispering? Might it be, that as we observe the life, death, and resurrection of Christ–the acts which brought ultimate salvation–some 2,000 years later, that heaven is calling? Might it be that the resemblance between the life of Christ and this season of pandemic are not coincidental? If it is possible–and I believe it is–then Christians have a special responsibility this Holy Week: to listen to that whisper. As we observe Holy Week, considering the parallels between Jesus’ life on earth and the reality of this pandemic, let us remember to listen. In a crisis unlike anything we’ve experienced in our lifetimes, rife with noise and fear and heartache, the Easter story remains. Christians worship a savior who promised, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” The resurrection and the life–even in a time of death. Kara Anderson is a 3rd year at UC Berkeley studying sociology and demography. This post is the first in a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere.
“I felt like the rug was pulled out from underneath me” is a phrase I heard multiple times last week and with good reason: it almost perfectly encapsulates the collective feeling of the student body as, in a span of four days, we went from not knowing or discussing anything about the college’s coronavirus plans, to being asked to leave campus in a week. I understand that things change fast in a global pandemic, and sometimes quick decisions and rapid responses are required for the good of the public health. But that doesn’t change the shock of how quickly it all happened. Monday night I was playing in the season opener for 5 on 5 basketball intramurals, talking with my teammates about how we had a good chance at winning it all this year. Tuesday night I was talking to my friends about how we would navigate the new limitations on programming put forth by the college in response to the pandemic. And by Wednesday at noon, I was writing thank you cards to friends and faculty, saying goodbyes, and packing boxes. The days since have not brought much better or calming news, for me or the world. We college students have quickly realized that being sent home was a byproduct of the larger problem consuming the United States and world in general. Since last week, we have seen the quickest 30% sell off in the stock market ever, even quicker than what we saw at the heights of the Great Depression. The economy is grinding to a halt, with members of the Federal Reserve thinking unemployment could hit 30%. My dad is sitting at home without work, and I can’t help but wonder whether or not I will get news in the coming days of my own job offer for the coming year being rescinded. Hospitals are packed, thousands of people are dying across the globe, and we’re facing shortages of medical supplies and protective equipment. My mom, who works in the medical field, isn’t provided a mask due to shortages and isn’t allowed to bring one in herself, and is working multiple over time shifts. There are shortages of medicine, food, and cleaning equipment and streets are eerily empty. It’s a weird, unsettling time to be alive. It’s uncertain times like this where I am rudely and acutely reminded of my humanness. Modernity has brought about technological and scientific advances which have made our lives so comfortable and decreased the uncertainty with which we have to live. No longer do we need to pray for good harvests, for we have learned the science behind agriculture. We no longer need to pray over childbirth, for advances in medicine have caused infant mortality rates to plummet in almost all parts of the world. “God is dead”, the modern man can say. Even people of faith, like me, can oftentimes seemingly afford to forget about God, because we ordinarily have things under control and in our own hands. But this reliance on and recognition of man alone also leaves us in a precarious position for when our abilities fail. We have indeed mastered much of the world, but every once in a while something happens — a forest fire, a pandemic, a natural disaster, that reminds us that we are not yet fully in control. What do we do when we realize that God perhaps isn’t dead? That we don’t have everything under control and need help? How do we respond when the rug is pulled out from underneath us and even the ground under the rug is shaking? For me, as a Christian, the words of the Old Testament prophet, Habakkuk, provide an interesting answer, and one that I have found much wisdom and solace in. The book of Habakkuk is a small book, 5–10 pages in length, towards the end of the Old Testament, the pre-Jesus portion of the Christian Bible. Recorded in it are the lamentations of the prophet Habakkuk, as he sees iniquity amongst the Israelites and learns of the coming Babylonian invasion and exile. It starts with the prophet crying out to God to lament the evil he is seeing in the world, “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not hear? Or cry to you, ‘Violence!’ and you will not save?” (Habakkuk 1:2). Many times over the course of the last week, I have lamented as Habakkuk did, mourning to the Lord the loss of my final semester of college, the suffering of the world, and the coming economic devastation. But God, through the words written in the book of Habakkuk, gives me and Habakkuk both a humbling answer that reminds us of our humanness: wait. God tells Habakkuk that he is doing “things [he] wouldn’t believe if seen” and that his answer is coming, he must “wait for it; it will sure come, it will not delay”. Though I may be demanding an explanation for what I am seeing, God is reminding me, through His message to Habakkuk, that He does not owe me an answer nor will He provide it on the time scale I set forth; that I am human, my abilities and perspective limited, and there may be a good reason for the rug being pulled out from underneath me that I simply cannot see right now. What the book of Habakkuk tells me is something that I think would be beneficial for everyone, regardless of faith background, to consider: to accept our simple humanity and wait in hope. We do not, and cannot, know what is going to come out of this, and there are only so many things we can do to ameliorate the situation. Sometimes, the only thing we can do when life hits us hard, when the rug is pulled out from underneath us, is to accept it. This is, after all, the basis for acceptance therapy, a popular form of psychotherapy shown to reduce anxiety and depression. What I think the Christian perspective provides though, which goes beyond waiting and accepting, is a reason for hope. For after God tells Habakkuk to wait, he also tells him a vision of a day in which “the righteous shall live by faith”, foreshadowing the coming of Jesus Christ some 500 years later, who in His death allowed anyone and everyone to not live by putting their trust in what they could see and touch, but by putting their faith in God, who is bigger than death, illness and decay. God reassures Habbakuk that though the present moment is bad, He has not forgotten about him, and He is still lovingly working for Habakkuk’s good. This knowledge allows Habakkuk, in the midst of anxious waiting, to be at peace and find comfort in God, and I think it can help a lot of us too. At the end of the book, Habakkuk still doesn’t have answers to his questions and his situation hasn’t improved. He still finds great brokenness and injustice in his society, and the coming Babylonian threat has not diminished. Habakkuk’s epiphany though is that his current situation is just that — current, temporary, ephemeral — but the God he trusts is none of those things — He is eternal, all-powerful, and never going to leave. This knowledge moves Habakkuk to write to close his book, “Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail, and the field yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold, and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places” (Habakkuk 3:17–19). I, similarly, still do not have answers to my questions, nor is the situation getting better any time soon. The economy is in turmoil, hospital rooms are packed, my dad is unemployed, and my mom is in danger everyday. I don’t know when I’ll get to see my friends again, or if my job offer will get rescinded, or when I’ll even be able to leave my own home. What I do know, though, is that I have someone on my side who loves me, who is for me, and has all the resources to see me through this storm, and that allows me to get back up even after the rug was so rudely and violently stripped from underneath my feet. And as I stand, in between my toes are no longer the threads of a life I’ve weaved myself. Now, I feel the steady, solid ground of an eternal God, and His eternal promise of love. Though the rug may be pulled out from under my feet and everything may be taken away from me, because I have God’s love, I lack nothing. Shy Lavasani is a fourth-year student at Pomona College majoring in Public Policy Analysis-Economics. |
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