In the Midst of Storms By Jeren Lanoue 08

“Take courage! It is I.” Matthew 14:27 (TNIV)

As we face the end of the year, it becomes increasingly easy to be like the disciples in this passage and focus on the storms around us. We battle the academic, athletic, or monetary storms that challenge us every day. However, it is important that we take courage and truly realize that we have been called to this juncture in life and that while the studying may be grueling, the competition stiff, and the job search dejecting, Christ is producing the ultimate achievement in us, character.

The storm itself should not warrant our attention nor should it stop us from seeing our goal: the face of Christ. Oswald Chambers says that God’s desire is for us to “see Him walking across the sea with no shore, no success, no goal in sight, but simply having the absolute certainty that everything is alright because [we] see Him walking across the sea.” Florence Chadwick, a famous swimmer of the 1950’s, stopped only one mile short in her attempt to cross a 26-mile stretch from Catalina Island to the shore of California because the fog was so thick that she could not see her goal. It took waiting two months, a clearer sky, and a second attempt to accomplish her goal.

Christ doesn’t promise clear skies, but what he does say is that He will strengthen us in the midst of storms.

Doubt Much? By Meg Lynch 10

I have noticed a trend in myself, and with other people at Gordon. In fact, I would say it is a common theme with many college-age students who have “grown-up” in a Christian home. Tell me if this sounds familiar: a kid lives in a comfortably-Christian home, grows up listening to Bible-stories, and goes off to college. There, he realizes that he can actually choose whether or not to attend church, begins to doubt the faith he has blindly believed since 1^st grade, and takes a step back. I’m not saying he turns and runs but that he begins to use his collegiately-crafted mind to wonder about these so-called truths.

Are doubts and questions an indication of weak Christianity? I don’t think so. A certain degree of questioning is necessary to achieve a personal faith—a faith that does not rest on the beliefs of those around us. “Does God truly answer prayer?” “Why would He allow so much pain?” “Is the risk of believing in something I’m not even sure of worthwhile and good?” These are all valid questions. If you have never wondered anything like this before, then I am incredibly jealous of you; you have been blessed with a trusting and steadfast spirit. For the rest of us, what does it all mean?

In my own life, there have been times when I’ve been frustrated by my doubts, and wondered why I couldn’t just believe. However, what is believing if there is nothing to question? God knows we don’t have it all together. Let’s just take a moment to stop and acknowledge that we never will. But that doesn’t mean we don’t or shouldn’t try.

One of the biggest problems with Christians our age is that we forget to try. We take the step back to evaluate our faith, but forget to follow-through. If you can sympathize with the questioning I have described, I urge you not to become so comfortable in your searching state that you cease to search. Ask the hard questions. But ask them with an open, willing heart and mind. Questioning God with a cynical heart will not produce answers.

The step back many of us take upon coming to Gordon is probably very healthy in order for any true spiritual growth to take place. However, I think there are variations of this stepping back that impede spiritual growth. While it is important for us to use our minds to question what has been preached, to discover a real faith, we must recognize that this has dire consequences if no actual effort towards a discovery is made.

Crazy by Colby Smidt 09

Three guys. One decrepit ‘91 Honda Civic. 9,000 miles. 14 days. This past summer, two of my younger brothers and I left New York for vacation in Michigan, then continued to San Diego, east to Virginia, and home to West Point. It was a blast. We beheld the Grand Canyon, hiked Half Dome in Yosemite, rafted in Colorado, and chilled at beaches on both coasts.

Tyler, Baker, and I spent most of the summer renovating a house—hard, dirty work, decent money, and great bonding. We knew a trip over the last weeks of break would complement the aching drudgery of digging out a basement floor. The job wasn’t actually miserable. In fact, shared sweat enabled laughter and learning. But there was something incredibly exciting about the idea of exploration, just the three of us cruising across the country. The roadtrip delivered a new self-made challenge of independence, discomfort, and adventure…plus more sweat and laughter.

The roadtrip stands for all the things we dream about and plan together. It fulfilled longings and aspirations. Instead of just talking and thinking about something, we did it. Now, we have a precedent. One dreamed-up adventure became a reality, so perhaps other ambitions can follow suit. Is this an overly romantic outlook? Perhaps. But that doesn’t make it any less valuable. This was a celebration of challenge, community, and love. Here’s my advice: insert something extraordinary into your life. Avoid the predictable “learn-earn-yearn” path through high school, college, grad school, internship, job, family, money-making, retirement, and The End. We plot our lives along paths paved with counterfeit securities that are a luxury afforded by our affluence. We must keep growing. Some script-defying adventure may be at once frightening and still vital to being and becoming our best. What’s stopping you? If you’re graduating with a dormant dream to do something crazy, do it. If there’s a lingering desire to backpack across Europe, hike the Appalachian Trail, or live in Africa, go. Now. There will be no better, more fitting time. College summers and that period after graduation are ideal. Live your dreams rather regret your over calculation.

Embrace challenge, identify and confront fear, and choose healthy aspirations even if they don’t fit a clear-cut career plan. At least once, we did. It meant so much that Tyler and I are going cross-country again this summer—on a tandem bicycle.

ALL THINGS By Michael Ingram 08

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

- Philippians 4:13 (NKJV)

I have learned a great deal by meditating on the context surrounding this favorite (mis)quote from one of Paul’s prison letters. In verse 11 we read, “For I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” The word content sometimes makes me think of sitting in a waiting room with my hands folded in my lap, but let’s substitute the word satisfied for content. “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be satisfied.” Think of reclining by the fire with a good book after a second helping of your favorite meal, or watching a sunset on the beach with your significant other, or cradling a newborn baby. Can you conjure up that feeling of utter satisfaction, of undisturbed rest and delight? That’s what Paul is talking about. He says, “Reclining by the fire or reclining in the stocks, I am satisfied. Resting under a sunset or wandering the earth like a nomad, I am satisfied. Experiencing the wonder of a newborn infant or fleeing by night in a basket, I am satisfied.”

Imagine feeling the exact same satisfaction in every circumstance of life. Just think about that for a minute. Paul experienced far greater things than most of us. He says so himself in verse 12: “I know how to abound.” In other words, “I know what it’s like to ascend into the third heaven and hear the audible voice of the Lord and see the unapproachable light. Believe me—I know how to abound.” And he also experienced far worse things than most of us. He reminds his readers, “I know how to be abased as well.” When you see that word abased, think facedown in the dirt with people trampling you underfoot. He is saying, “I’ve been initiated into the mud-faced life, and I’m learning it by heart.” This man knows suffering inside and out, yet he says, “I am satisfied in prison just like I’m satisfied in the third heaven.” What a state of being!

Then we read, “Everywhere,” at home or in a basket, lying on a bed or lying under a pile of bloody stones, “everywhere and in all things”—catch that phrase—“in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.” And now the final puzzle piece: “I can do all things”—catch that—“all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Do you see it now? This verse has little to do with money or job or stuff or half court shots; it has everything to do with suffering. Paul is saying, “Through Christ who strengthens me, who continuously infuses me with His own power as if through an IV unit, I am enabled to
suffer all things as He did, to live the mud-faced life and be homeless and despised much of the time with the same inner satisfaction that I experience in my most ecstatic moments.” Doesn’t that make beautiful sense? Honestly, unbelievers can abound and be satisfied for a time without the strength of Christ. All it takes is a job promotion, a Christmas bonus, a healthy baby, a healthy tax return, a cloudless sky. But it takes a truly other-worldly might to carry your satisfaction with you—just like Paul—into seasons of shadow and aloneness and pain. That is something the world simply cannot do without the strength of Christ.

You probably have this Scripture verse filed away in your brain already, but don’t pull it up anymore when you feel like asking God for a million bucks or a miraculous home run. Instead, cling to these words—and to the weather-proof satisfaction of Christ—when you find yourself in the school of abasement. ◊

PRODIGAL SON By Dave Kelly 08

I'm sure you've heard the story about the Prodigal Son. Whether you grew up going to church or not, you've heard the tale of the wayward youth who took his inheritance, left home, and began leading a life of self-gratifying behavior, went broke, returned home, and was welcomed with open arms by his father.

Now, if you've read the story carefully, you'll recognize a third character in the story: the older son. This son stuck by the father through thick and thin. He worked the farm with everyone else just as he was supposed to, and never turned his back on good ol' Dad.

Without tooting my own horn too much, I'll admit that I've been a Christian my whole life, and a pretty good kid at that. But that's not to say I haven't sinned. I've told a few lies. Okay. I've told a lot of them. I've lost my temper. I've neglected to treat other people with the dignity and respect that are befitting the image of God. But when you compare that to being a Christian my whole life, it never seemed like anything. I empathized with that older brother! It wasn't fair! He was obedient his whole life, and he got no extra reward for it. For years, this never made any sense, and I struggled with the story because of it. Then I had a professor explain this to me:

The idea of Grace made me uncomfortable.

I know. It sounds really stupid. But it's true. You see, we understand justice. We grow up being taught justice. But grace? Grace changes everything.

Grace, to our human understanding, makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. We like knowing that we are going to be forgiven for all the mistakes we've made and will make. It's the fact that God forgives everyone else too that makes us uncomfortable.

They hurt us. They need to be punished for it, and God is just going to forgive them for it?

It wasn't until college that I realized an important truth: even though I thought I was

the older son, I wasn’t. Nobody's the older son. We're all the Prodigal Son, and to consider ourselves any different is utter foolishness and arrogance on our part. To assume that our depravity does not run as deep because we sit in a pew on Sunday or sing a few praise and worship songs at a youth rally on Friday night is wrong. Thinking this way underestimates the twistedness and corruption of sin, and underestimating sin sells short the redemptive nature and miracle that is the Death and Resurrection of Christ. Have you ever thought about how evil sin is? Sin is so evil and so powerful, it took death on a cross by God himself in order to purify us and make us holy so that we could spend eternity with him.

The story isn’t even about us—it’s not about the sons at all. The story is about the father. What the younger son did is of little consequence. The fact is he left. He walked away. He high-tailed it out of there. The only reason the story tells anything of what he did on his self-exile is to highlight the grace of the father. The story isn't about the shame of the son; it's about how the shame of the son cannot stand up to the awesome power of the love of the Father. ◊

SOME THOUGHTS THAT RING TRUE By Abigail Geer '08

I recently was talking to a freshman friend of mine. She asked me, with a note of despair in her voice, if I feel pressured to date. God had been forming my thoughts for some time previous to her asking me this, and so I answered that I don’t. That comes and goes like the weather in New England, some days I feel no pressure, other days I sit in my room melodramatically thinking I’m doomed to turn into an old hag if I don’t hurry it up on the whole boyfriend thing. But as I said, God had been shaping my thoughts, and is continuing to, and this is some of what I’ve been learning:

When I turn my eyes to Jesus, the question of whether or not I’m in a relationship loses some of the importance, some of the pressure. When I turn my eyes to Jesus, I remember that He is the one in control of when I date and when I don’t, of what I do and where I go. I remember that I serve a God of infinite possibility. What He’s been teaching me is to delight in Him. When I do that, when I seek His Kingdom rather than power or a relationship or good grades, this is what I see: I see that on my horizon glimmer employment, graduate school, relocating to some as-yet undetermined part of the country or world; I see that around me are people who continually surprise me, work that I love to do, a campus to care about. These are things that don’t depend on my relationship status, but on God. Some of my friends will be graduating with rings on their fingers; I will hold my diploma without one. But we are all to run this race as though we were running for the prize—a laurel wreath around our heads—a ring of leaves.He is teaching me to fix my eyes on the day when this world of wedding and getting ends and we receive crowns of glory—rings of praise on our heads. He is teaching me to set my eyes upon Jesus, the author and perfector of my faith, and His Kingdom, and in this I am finding I am satisfied. The question of dating has paled—I can run single or paired. I tell you from the heart: God is good to us, seek Him, be faithful to Him. In your studies, in how you engage our community, in your relationships, seek to be His, and He will be yours.

The PROBLEM WITH "HOW?" By Jeren Lanoue '08

“Let the little children come to me” (Mark 10:14, TNIV)

I think we have all witnessed or participated in a conversation where a child’s answer to every statement is countered with the simple question “why?” For instance, little Johnny probably wouldn’t appreciate the idea that his parents won’t allow him to have sweets before finishing all of the vegetables on his plate. A series of “why” questions may follow until he is either satisfied or completely baffled with the answer. Why? “Because good boys finish their meals . . . because they want to grow up to be big and strong . . . because girls like boys that are big and strong . . . because they are more attractive . . . I don’t know, ask your mother.”

Young children are filled with curiosity and amazement that is clearly evident in their questioning. Likewise we, as children of God, should focus more on the “why” questions than on the “how” questions. “How” questions tend to do more with performance and accomplishment than the goodness of God. How am I going to pass this test? How am I going to pay off these student loans? How do I live a good Christian life? These questions tend to focus on our own personal actions before pursuing the Lord’s purposes and involvement in our lives.

Let’s examine the “How do I live a good Christian life?” question. The problem with the question is that it focuses on our own commitment rather than the Lord, His character, and His involvement in our day to day activities. We will find ourselves comparing our own lives to others rather than to the standard God has set for us. We will miss the point even if we set high standards by observing the very best role models in our lives. We are to pursue obedience to Christ and allow others’ faithfulness to encourage us and reveal a new way of being more committed to our own relationship with God.

Answers to “why” questions can more easily be related to Christ and applied to our lives. Why do I need to take this test? Why do I need to pay back these student loans? Why do Christians live the way they do? I need to take these tests to make sure that I am competent enough to be a good servant to my employer when I leave Gordon. I need to pay back these loans because God commands us to (Psalms 37:21, Rom. 13:8), and I need to keep my word to bring glory to God. I live the way I do because it brings me into a deeper communion with Christ. This slight change in attitude toward very similar questions allows for Christ to enter into our lives and intercede for us. Remember, if we seek Him, He will be faithful to help us with the “how” in life.

“And He took the children in His arms, placed His hands on them and blessed them” (Mark 10:16, TNIV).

BLESSED By Michael Ingram '08

It’s too bad for the poor in spirit,
for they’ll be ignored most of the time.

It’s too bad for those who mourn,
for they should just get over it and move on.

It’s too bad for the meek,
for they’ll never get ahead in life.

It’s too bad for those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they’ll eventually starve to death.

It’s too bad for the merciful,
for they’ll be taken advantage of.

It’s too bad for the pure in heart,
for they’ll miss out on a lot of life’s pleasures.

It’s too bad for the peacemakers,
for they’ll be the first to get hacked down by men bent on war.

It’s too bad for those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,
for they’ll eventually sell out and cave in.

-------

Sometimes I like to take a familiar passage of scripture and shake it up like a snow globe. I have found that I can learn a great deal by turning the well-worn words and phrases inside out or upside down, looking at them from behind, pulling them apart. It helps me to catch some of the hidden intricacies and ironies of the text. The funny thing is that if you were to stop a random fellow on the street and read these backwards beatitudes side by side with the real Beatitudes from Matthew 5, he would probably say that the first ones make a lot more sense. “That’s just life,” he might remark. “Meek people don’t get the promotion. Merciful people do get taken advantage of. And if you’re trying to find a pub that serves righteousness during happy hour—huh, good luck.”

In Jesus’ world—Matthew calls it the kingdom of heaven—things are so wonderfully different from said fellow’s world. From the very first blessing of His inaugural sermon, it is clear that Christ’s eye is on the least of this world. He is crowning them the kings and queens of his world. He is drying the tears of those who have been jackknifed by tragedy. He is pouring oil on the panhandler’s head. He is promising a feast to the famished and an heirloom to the wallflower. To all those who cannot take care of themselves, He lifts His hand in blessing, and to the poor—those who may be seen as deserving nothing, having nothing, being nothing—He offers everything. Now see if you can read these words with fresh eyes:

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

- Matthew 5:3–10 (NKJV)

THE SOUND OF THE EUCHARIST By Lauren Kemp '08

The churches I grew up in always had music playing while the congregation came forward to receive communion. Even in the Episcopal parish I attend now, there is typically a hymn or worship song that accompanies the pilgrims to the altar. But on this particular Sunday there is no music to bring the congregants forward. It is eerily quiet, with nothing but the sound of humans echoing around the sanctuary. Muffled voices of priests’ blessings over the bread and the wine are heard as the Eucharist is given, followed by more scuffling feet as the baptized make their way back to their seats.

This silence bothers me. Where is the organ to drown out the sounds of people walking across the room? Where is the hymn to hide the coughs and sneezes brought on by this cold January day? I don’t like the sounds of people, it ruins the aura of a high holy place.

I sit in my pew waiting for the signal that our row can approach the altar. I keep listening to the sounds of movement, sounds typically masked by a guitar or choral singer. I watch a young father bring his three children to the front, hushing his baby who makes small whimpers while they wait for the priest. I watch a couple holding hands and whispering in one another’s ear. I see my friend, who is struggling to decide if he is truly a Christian, walk down the aisle, his feet trudging with a heavier sound than those around him. I listen to the priests giving “this bread and this wine” to the open hands, knowing by heart what they are saying.

Shoes scrape along the floor. Babies coo. A woman sneezes. A college student speaks “amen.” An elderly gentleman plops his pew kneeler on the floor in front of him. His knees crack when he bends in prayer. A married woman’s ring scrapes the wood of the pew in front of me as she walks by. And I am now signaled to approach the altar.

The rubber of my boots squeaks along the floor that is now wet from the snow we have all tracked in. I am surrounded by the sounds of people moving toward and away from the place of Holy Communion. As I listen to the sounds of real people, this altar I am approaching becomes the threshold of humanity and deity – as if this were the Bethlehem where God meets flesh. I bring my sounds with me, and add to the echo of others while the bread breaks in my mouth and my teeth clink against the cup.

After receiving the body and blood of Christ, I go back to my pew and hear the rest of the congregation walk towards their Eucharist, pulling all the weight of their personhood behind them. Here come your people, Lord, I think to myself. Here come your people. Hear us scraping along, this ragamuffin group of people, with nothing more than physical bodies to bring before you. There is no harmonious symphony to be heard out of our movements, but yet we come, and yet you bid us to come.

I have become partial to this silence. I have found comfort in the sounds of humans approaching the altar of God. We walk together, vulnerable in our personal noise, hopeful as we come to Christ. It is the sound of transformation. It is the sound of the Eucharist.