What's the Point?

I cannot help you fully comprehend what is on my mind because I’m not the best at articulating my thoughts, but I’ll try.

     As much as I loved the idea of volunteering and service-learning, I was also just as skeptical of the whole concept. Why did people even participate in service-learning? I mean, what percent of the world’s individuals actually sets aside their time to truly volunteer out of the purity of their hearts? Through the service-learning center, numerous students put in their hours because it is required for their class, whether it is for social work, Spanish, education, or nursing. Some students participate in service-learning for volunteer hours on their transcript, some for their résumé. Some individuals do it for the praise, or to feel better about themselves for their “good deeds.”

     There is nothing wrong with the list I gave above; in fact, what the service-learning center and other individuals are doing is marvelous! But I cannot deny the cynical side of me that wished that I could look into the hearts of other individuals and call out their hypocrisy. As for myself, I was no different from the way I imagined the rest of humanity to be. I struggled with the question of my own agenda behind serving (and of course, learning).

     But now I know that’s not the point. The point is how an individual develops through the process of engaging in service-learning.  It’s that point of transformation we go through where we are no longer spending two hours to go help the poor and marginalized, but are going to visit a friend. I think everyone is capable of experiencing a turning point in their service-learning, where they find their hearts in the right place—without a selfish agenda. Or somewhere along that continuum. For me, it was through meeting a particular refugee family.

     I’ll be honest. In the beginning, I wanted to visit the family in order to have a sense of responsibility of making this world a better place. I was satisfying the parts of my heart where I felt helpless and disconnected to the rest of the world.

     But it was something about that raw human to human interaction. Cooking with them, eating with them, playing card games with them, reading to them, and sharing stories with them… It was no longer me versus them. This is going be suuuuper cheesy, but “WE” built this deep bond that I cannot quite explain. It’s the feeling of wanting only the best for them. It’s also the feeling of wanting to show them around Grand Rapids. It’s the feeling of joy when you notice their immense progress in English skills. It’s the feeling of wanting to mourn with them, as well as rejoice with them. It’s also the feeling of wanting to fight injustice in this world for them. I know that I have experienced the true reciprocity of the meaning of service-learning by befriending this family.

     I am not saying that my actions are purely pure from the purest of my pure heart. I’m a sinner, too. But I feel like I can now say that I am slowly walking closer to the way I want things to be.

-Sarah Lee

Ver Beek J Series

January at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, Michigan is blustery, grey, and more often than not, freezing. However, the weather does not deter the large crowds that gather for the January Series, Calvin’s annual conference of speakers who share their knowledge of and research on a wide variety of topics, including race, justice, autism, creativity, journalism, technological security, poverty, and God’s call for privileged people.

On January 22^nd, Kurt Ver Beek, a Calvin alumni who has spent over twenty five years living in Honduras with his wife, Jo Ann, spoke about the justice work in which they have invested. With a Ph.D. in development sociology, Kurt has always been determined to better the lives of the poor. However, when he and Jo Ann attempted to enrich their communities through development, they were confronted with the vicious violence that tore families apart and the pervasive corruption that threatened the wellbeing of their neighborhood. Kurt and Jo Ann became convinced that Honduras’ systems had to be altered for its citizens to live safe lives.

            Comprehending the difference between charity, development, and justice is central to Kurt’s thesis about the importance of security. Charity is the short-term alleviation of hunger or cold, and is necessary for immediate aid after disaster has struck. Development, however, entails long-term betterment and investment in a system. Many development organizations provide education, skills, and business loans for those in poverty. Kurt and Jo Ann were aware of the benefits of development over charity, but as they watched hopelessly as friends were gunned down by drug lords and corrupt policemen, they realized that beyond development, justice must be secured for Hondurans. Justice is the ultimate righting of systems. It is the all-encompassing healing of wrongs, and overcomes the fear brought about by violence.

            Kurt and Jo Ann began to enact justice by pursuing security and founding the Association for a More Just Society (AJS) in Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. AJS hired Honduran investigators who took on the dangerous task of looking into homicides and uncovering the antics of corrupt policemen. Slowly, homicide rates dropped as Kurt and Jo Ann’s neighbors began putting their trust in AJS and testifying as witnesses in court. Despite the risk to their own lives and a few tragic causalities to Hondurans within AJS, sections of Tegucigalpa became safer. One of these sections includes Nueva Suyapa, one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Tegucigalpa and Kurt and Jo Ann’s home.

            Along with seven other Calvin students, I studied in Honduras from January to May 2015. Our host families lived in a beautiful mountain town called Santa Lucia that overlooked Tegucigalpa, which sprawled below. Perched in our lofty mountain home, we would venture into Tegus for school, after a forty-five minute ride on an old, rusty school bus that chugged its way up and down the steep slopes. During some of these visits, we would attend a class taught by Kurt and Jo Ann, entitled “Poverty and Development (or more accurately, Justice).” Kurt and Jo Ann used their extensive knowledge of Honduras and its people to describe the economic and political state of the country. We learned about the messy stuff, the hidden stuff, the mundane, and the dirty. We studied food distribution, immigration, the impact of policy, orphanages, maquilas (loosely translated as “sweatshops”), waste management (sewage, basically), and the influence the States wields in Honduras.

            Kurt and Jo Ann’s class was one of the highlights of the semester not only because of the content, but mostly due to the sense of justice that roused our spirits every time we had class.  Kurt and Jo Ann’s lectures exuded genuine compassion for their fellow Hondurans. Not only did we learn about the many obstacles Honduras faces; we were also set afire with passion for justice work in the United States. We focused on the inequitable American education system that supports some in success while allowing other students to drop through the cracks. One of the classes permanently etched in my mind was when we wrote down all of the social issues we cared about, and formulated steps to address them. As I fervently wrote mine down, I realized the scope of my social concern was too broad, and that I’d have to simplify so that I didn’t get overwhelmed and lose all hope. The classes inspired and united us as young students, still inexperienced but nonetheless determined join the pursuit of justice.  

            My seven Calvin peers and I were drawn together over discussions about social justice. We shared our individual passions, delighted when they coincided and willing to learn from each other when they didn’t. Of course, simply discussing issues was not always enough; once, when we were in Nicaragua, I broke down and bawled, in front of several perplexed onlookers, over the weight of injustice and my inability to solve it. My Calvin friends were gracious, comforting me and listening to my weepy ranting. Justice isn’t always about doing; it often involves dwelling in pain over the situation, and oftentimes, only the support of your friends allows you to grasp at hope.

            Over a year has passed since my group and I arrived in Honduras. When we heard that Kurt was coming to Grand Rapids, we made plans to attend his talk together. We joined a mass of Kurt and Jo Ann’s students, who wore AJS tee-shirts and cheered loudly when he walked on stage, one of my friends waving a gigantic Honduran flag. The small, fiery community of Calvin students who had spent time with Kurt and Jo Ann in Honduras represents the young people who have been set aflame with passion for justice. We are united by a force that encompasses the pain, hope, indignation, guilt, joy, weariness, and communal spirit of justice work. Although we cannot save the world, we have been seized by a thirst for justice, like Kurt and Jo Ann, and the hope that we can start to make a dent in the wrongs that plague our societies. 

-Anna Lindner

On Flint and Terror

                It was already a week and a half ago that the first group of Calvin students loaded up trucks with water and headed to Flint. While time has passed, the problems that the citizens of Flint face because of their lead-leeched water, of course, have not. 

                As I continue to reflect on my brief time in Flint, one sentence by someone we met comes to mind.

My group was sent to a large warehouse in Flint that was the hub for receiving and distributing shipments of water. Upon arriving, we met Sergeant Keschtner, “Sergeant K,” who broke us into groups and instructed us through unloading water, filters, and test kits, counting the supplies, putting them in respective places in the warehouse, and then loading up the trucks with a certain combination of supplies from the stocks in the warehouse. At a low point in the work, Sergeant K explained her role in the National Guard. Reminding me of a superhero, by day she works at Planet Fitness selling memberships, but she is also a part of the Michigan Chapter of the National Guard, called on at any time to “respond to domestic emergencies, overseas combat missions, counterdrug efforts, reconstruction missions and more.[i] ” Each state’s National Guard is mostly called on by their governor, although on rare occasions, during a national crisis the President can send out a call. In fact, to illustrate the severity of the situation in Flint, Sergeant K talked about this: “Guys, the last time the National Guard was called on by the President was 9/11. Flint is the second time since you were in preschool.”

My mind couldn’t let this sentence go, and I thought: “The last time was a terrorist attack… wow.”

At first glance, these crises seem different—9/11 was a relatively isolated act by non-American religious extremists. The Flint water crisis is the tipping point of a crisis that has been going on for over a year. It’s a home-grown problem born of governmental neglect; the media-captured result of systemic injustices over time.

While different, terror is at the heart of both of these national emergencies. This past summer, after the attack of Emmanuel AME in South Carolina, the New York Times ran an important article with new research findings: since 9/11, almost twice as many terrorist attacks have been due to white supremacists and other American extremists than outside terrorists[ii]. The attack on Emanuel AME was an act of white terrorism.

While not fully white terrorism, the privilege and power of white supremacy has its fingerprints all over the Flint water crisis. America is a state built off of the enslavement of a people… and after slavery was abolished, racist economic and social systems developed under white leadership that contributed to the concentrated poverty and violence that Flint knows all too well.

~

I’ll stop here, because I know the context but not the details of what I’m talking about… After a long day loading water, the work of service might have been done (for that day), but the work of service-learning was not. Service-learning gives us a context and launching point for asking questions. As this reflection points out—I want to pay attention to the racialized nature of the current problems of Flint—from governmental neglect to the distribution of demographics in the city. It’s my (our) job now to fill in the details.

The Latin root of the word terror is terrorem, meaning, “fear, dread, the cause of alarm or terrible news[iii].” Maybe the goal of all of this—everything from bringing water to asking questions that begin to uncover the roots of the issue—is to stand with Flint and say: we don’t want terrorem anymore.

---

[i] "Legacy | National Guard." Legacy | National Guard. United States Army National Guard, n.d. Web. 03 Feb. 2016.

[ii] Shane, Scott. "Homegrown Extremists Tied to Deadlier Toll Than Jihadists in U.S. Since 9/11." The New York Times. The New York Times, 24 June 2015. Web. 03 Feb. 2016.

[iii] "Terror (n.)." Online Etymology Dictionary. Douglas Harper, n.d. Web. 4 Feb. 206.

The Wasteful Nature of Doing Worthwhile Things

I wish I was a better writer, which is almost the dumbest thing a college student could say, considering I live in one of the few places where writing classes regularly meet only a few hundred yards from my bed. On a more general level of irony, I attend a liberal-arts school, which includes by definition a mission to equip its students with the tools to communicate ideas effectively. It’s my own fault that I’m not a better writer. The explanation is quite tidy: the combined effect of coming to Calvin with English credits and choosing biochemistry as a major conveniently removed English from my curriculum. For three years, I was both relieved and slightly proud of this convenience. Only recently has my evasion of English come back to haunt me.

I am guilty of wasting time, which, I have discovered, is not a victimless crime. I’m awkwardly committed to finishing the things I started at Calvin, which don’t include becoming a better writer. They include taking science classes, captaining the swim team, playing in three bands and working in the Service-Learning Center. Not a waste of time, per se, but one can question the feasibility of it all. I can’t shake the fact that I’m only a passable biochemistry major, an often-aloof captain, an often-passive bandmate, and an often-exhausted-lying-on-the-floor Service-Learning Coordinator. I have chosen to divvy myself up optimistically. The pieces fail to satisfy. Each one screams for more of me.

I am fully aware that I have changed markedly in almost every aspect of my life. Swimming no longer keeps me at Calvin, though it was once the deciding factor to staying here. Though I used to consider grad school in neuroscience a foregone-conclusion, now I plan to pursue a life creating and performing music. Through a growing phase abroad in Hungary, I found a new interest in social justice and a call to be faithfully present in my particular place in society. My semester in Hungary, with its fermenting cocktail of countercultural ideas and people, ultimately led me to the Service-Learning Center.

I know that I will better understand and appreciate my time at Calvin in retrospect, but it provides little consolation right now. The sea-change that occurred about a year ago (while in Hungary) may have reversed my course at Calvin, but there is a lot of ground to be made up. I feel myself hurtling towards the end of my Calvin education, but I don’t feel any conclusions coming into focus. My life is accelerating, but, as the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle states, the current moment is too short to accurately determine the direction of change.

Advent Prayer

Advent Prayer

O come, O Come Emmanuel: And ransom captive Israel As Christians, we live between the two comings of Christ. We remember his first coming to be sacrificed and we anticipate his second coming to reign. The two comings of Christ are held together in Christian thought, action, and prayer at all times. They cannot be separated. When they are, it is the end of Christian faith, life and worship. The first coming without the second is a meaningless tragedy. The second coming without the first is an absurd impossibility. Jesus is born to bring God's kingdom. He dies to prove his kingship. He rises to establish his reign. He comes again in glory to share it with his people. Lord, Along with millions before us we eagerly await your coming. Jesus you cannot come again soon enough! Everywhere we look sin seems to be rampant. We know that at you are in control which you made very clear in your first coming, but Lord our hearts are heavy. We your people are exhausted by all the violence, lack of empathy, and downright hatred show by both Christians and non-Christian. We need your kingdom to come now! We want to fully devour the joy that we’ve only tasted. We want to be and your presence and enjoy your grace fully. You have taken us captive with longing for You, O Christ, And have transformed us with Your divine love. Burn up Our sins with the fire of Your Spirit And count us worthy to take my fill of delight in You That dancing with joy, We may magnify Your two Comings


--Evan Kroon

So Many Questions

I think that we are constantly thinking of questions throughout the day, week, month, year, etc. At least for me, I feel like most of my thoughts end with question marks—from simple, shallow questions to mind boggling questions that have been recently coming up that can probably only be answered by God. At times, this is frustrating, because I need answers, but not all problems have solutions.  

I tried to compile a list of some of the countless questions that pop up in my head. This may or may not be representative of the average female 20 year-old Korean college student from China who is attending a private Christian Reformed college in Grand Rapids:

What’s for dinner?

What happens when Jesus comes tonight?

Then my dinner won’t matter anymore, right?

Will I make it to heaven safe and sound?

Oh wait, do I have an exam this week?

What if I die young?

Will this exam really affect my life?

What do I even want to do when I grow up?

Should I graduate early?

Should I study abroad?

Should I drop out and open up a bar by a beach and provide counseling to my customers?

Why does time fly, yet 5 minutes feels like forever in class?

Why is the weekend so short?

Did God really choose who would go to heaven?

Then what’s the point?

Even so, should we care?

Why are some people so selfish?

What happens if I get deported?

Why is the sky blue?

How big is the universe?

Are we the only ones in the universe?

What if I am the only real person in my world and everything/everyone else is a figment of my imagination?

Should I watch a movie or start on my project?

How long can I survive without my phone?

Can I sneak in a nap today?

Why doesn’t God make himself visible and tangible so that we can have a conversation the same way I talk to my friend?

What is the function of cockroaches?

Will people notice my pimple?

How do people know when they are adults?

Do tyrants feel shame?

Did they have the potential to grow up to be good, but were nurtured the wrong way as a child?

Why do people fear the unknown?

Does my breath smell like pickles?

Will I be able to find a ride tomorrow?

Why do I feel like my life is constantly being chased by assignments, tests, and projects?

Are we meant to be living like this?

Will I concentrate better at a cafe?

Where should I live in the future?

What if I become homeless one day?

If our average lifespan was 40 years, would we be living differently?

Why am I so privileged?

How could I be blessed excessively, yet some individuals lack the basics, such as safe shelter?

Why don’t adults get summer vacation?

Why do I stress?

Why can’t people be more like me?

How can I be more humble?

Should I grow out my hair, or keep it short?

Why are some individuals such haters?

Would he have been able to say those words he wrote directly to the individual it was targeted towards?

When I get old, will I look back and say that I’ve lived a successful, fulfilling life?

Why am I writing these questions?

Why are you reading this?

Do you have questions, too?

 --Sarah Lee

Being With

I have felt at a loss for words, I have not known what to say. With Paris, with San Bernardino, with the refugee crisis, with the nasty conversation, if it can be called that, among presidential candidates, and with the recent events at Calvin. I feel stuck between two equally uncomfortable places. One is to care, the other is to not care.

Let me explain the struggle with both those choices. First, if I let myself care, if I don’t turn that switch off, I find myself in a place where I can’t actually do anything. I can’t actually act on that decision to care, and if I’m not able to do that, I’m stuck in a place of sentimentality. I try to avoid sentimentality.

On the other hand, I could try to not care. I could choose to believe I can’t do anything anyway. Why cause myself distress in caring? I didn’t know the 14 people massacred in San Bernardino. I didn’t know the college student from California who was studying abroad and died in the Paris attack. Why not just let it go? Swoosh. Done. Forgotten.

Now, I’m not as binary and elementary as that--I know the world is not black and white, and I have more choices than to care or not to care. But I can’t quite figure out what the intermediate would be.

I’ll also say that among classes, homework, work, and studying, this question does not consume my time and attention. However, it has been persistent, popping up enough times that I can’t ignore it.

So, what to do?

Well, I prayed, kind of. It was not without feeling uncomfortable, inadequate. It’s easier for me to give prayers of thanks than prayers of supplication. I struggle to not feel cheap in saying “help them, be with them, Jesus.” It feels like I'm saying it more for my own benefit than for theirs. With my head, I know that it’s not like that, so I keep on.

The article Jeff gave us before Thanksgiving (http://www.nytimes.com/2015/11/22/opinion/sunday/choose-to-be-grateful-it-will-make-you-happier.html?_r=0) was encouraging. It said “don’t express gratitude only when you feel it. Give thanks especially when you don’t feel it. Rebel against the emotional ‘authenticity…’” Rebel against the emotional authenticity. And isn’t that what we should do? “Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in all circumstances,” says 1 Thessalonians 5:16. Pray constantly.

I do want to throw out this disclaimer, a tidbit from my mental health nursing rotation: feelings are important, and should not be ignored. Rebelling against emotional authenticity does not mean ignoring your feelings. On the contrary, it means being aware of your feelings, and deciding to act apart from them (because sometimes feelings are not facts. Another tidbit).

So, I was sad when I read an article on “prayer shaming” (http://www.npr.org/2015/12/05/458505532/after-mass-shootings-people-turn-to-prayer-and-prayer-shaming). I was sad because, well, prayer is already hard to begin with, and I can’t say that I hadn’t thought about arguments against prayer myself. I can see why people would think them. "Your 'thoughts' should be about steps to take to stop this carnage," "Your ‘prayers’ should be for forgiveness if you do nothing — again," read some tweets.

The article ends with this paragraph:

I think a lot of people who pray don't think of it as a replacement for deeds, or an occasion to utter a gift list of desires. They pray to open their minds and hearts. They pray when words won't come, and emotions overwhelm. They pray to mark a loss, and to try to make a moment of peace in a landscape of turmoil. They don't see prayer as a substitute for action, but the beginning. The merit of prayer is what people do after we say Amen.

Generally, I was glad the article ended this way. I was glad Scott shared that, and I mostly agree. But I would change the last sentence. The merit of prayer is not first the action, my action, that results from it; that is secondary. The merit of prayer is that I am giving up my prayer to Jesus. I am surrendering, placing it not in my control. It is an act of faith and hope.

Also, to care or to not care can be framed in terms of connection or disconnection. To choose to be connected, to care, to pray -- that is a choice that matters, regardless of the resulting action. Prayer is a way of being with, of holding, of connecting with. It is a way to be still in the midst of what is. It helps us to not become desensitized to the tragedies.

On Friday, students, staff, and faculty gathered on Commons Lawn to pray about the recent hate speech incident on campus. We stood in a circle, as a community, and prayed. I left feeling like I had finally exhaled. I left with hope. And I’ll continue to pray, even though I’m not good at it.

Amen.


--Mariana Pèrez