Does Anyone Actually Read These?
An seriously unserious, but very sincere, case for Christ…at Cornell
by lydia huang
Dear Reader,
For some reason, you have clicked on this blog post.
Congratulations.
Today, my friend Muiyiwa literally asked me how to access the Claritas blog. If that doesn’t give you a picture of how irrelevant my writings are, what does?
My friend, it’s called a blog because you have to do nothing but click on a website.
So, dear reader, you might be one of three people who will read this in my lifetime. The other two people are me and my mom, because let’s be real, the vain and self-centered person I am means I don’t read anyone else’s Claritas articles except my own and only my mom gives me unconditional love. It’s kind of funny because I pour my heart and soul into these Claritas articles and leave them out on the ether that is the Internet having no idea whether it actually impacts anyone. It feels like I’m talking to myself (which is often how I feel in the Claritas GroupMe). Some things are never new.
Anyways, for some whatever reason, I guess you have no better things to do than read these words on a page. Don’t you have, like, more pressing things? An essay to write? A problem set due? Finally having the guts to break it to your crush that you like them (worst case scenario, there is always Psalm 34:18)?
I guess because no one reads these, I can technically rant about anything. Like, why do duck-billed platypuses glow in the dark? Is that why Perry the Platypus is turquoise? Or am I the only person who thinks that axolotls are really cute? Or, why do actin and myosin look a lot like an eight person rowboat? And why does BIOG1440, which is where I learned about all of these useless facts, exist?
Sure, I, for one, am a big fan of the more humorous things in life—like glow in the dark platypuses (platypi?) and capybara stuffed animals and Seinfeld. But as we all slog back into this cold and wet, dreary campus to start a new semester all over again, I wanted to write about something I have spent too much of my brain cells thinking about and definitely don’t get paid for doing so…yes, something even more important than glow in the dark platypi. That is, I would like to talk about God, my faith, and how He applies at a place like Cornell.
Upon having experienced a few semesters at Cornell, it quickly dawned upon my gray matter that it is quite hard to be unselfish at Cornell. Yes, unselfish. Despite being involved in a slew of campus ministry and volunteer efforts, I find myself, when I am on campus, still being more self-centered than I want to be when life is a pressure cooker of grades, extracurriculars, and accomplishments. Something I genuinely struggle with is the insane workload of being a student here, and what it means to care for others genuinely and deeply. For me, there is this constant, almost painful, tension of being a Christian and being faithful towards my education. My faith teaches me to “not do anything out of selfish ambition, but in humility, consider others as more important as yourself. ” [1] My faith teaches me to model my life after Christ—He who became nothing for others—yet built into the structure of Cornell, in its endless stream of exams to study for, problem sets, and assignments, and clubs is this inherent culture of self-praise and appraisal of others. If a friend needs to talk, or needs a ride to the dentist, or has a health emergency, how do I weigh the importance of that with an imminent problem set due that night, or a writing assignment? And, excuse mon français, but I’m also sure you have had moments where you go, “Wow, why do people suck here?” No one gives two pennies about who you are, and most people seem out for their own gain.
I guess I can’t blame others, as I probably feed into the same stereotype of the stressed and self-obsessed student, but it also dawned upon me that Cornell is a difficult place. Grade deflation, heavy workload, brutally cold weather. It’s a difficult place to keep your peace and your integrity.
Cornell is hard. But I’d argue it’s even more difficult to be a Christian at Cornell. It is infinitely harder to keep your values intact and not buckle under the pressure of the world around you: to keep the Sabbath when Monday has a prelim, to love others as yourself, spend time in prayer and honor His presence in the morning, to have humility, to forgive daily wrongs, to put the interests and wellbeing of others before you, to be honest when others cheat…The list goes on. In essence, it is a hard, hard thing to put on Christ, to be disciplined, consistent, self-controlled on a campus where self advancement is the goal. I have failed numerous times at all of these things. Yet, when I look back on a whole year, everything else pales in comparison to the worthiness of my faith.
I.
First, what does it mean to be a Christian? A Christian is someone who believes in the truth, goodness, and saving grace of Jesus Christ. Christians come in all shapes and sizes and varying imperfections, yet the heart of the gospel is mind-numbingly simple. In Romans 10:9, it says, “if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.” [2]
Who is Jesus? Every credible historian has conceded that Jesus lived and was crucified. As Christians, we believe that He was and is so much more. We believe in the simple yet terrifying reality that the God who created the universe, the same hands that hung the constellations and painted the night sky, were also outstretched on a cross for all the evil that was and is. That is the profundity of our faith—that God became man to die for men dead in their sins and won heaven for us. He is a God of mercy and love. Christians have access to an unquenchable joy in all circumstances because we hold this truth in our hearts. And this is perhaps why the Christians you know, though far from perfect, are annoyingly joyful and want you to come to church (or small group, or fellowship, or Mass)! It is because this story isn’t just a great tall tale, but true.
We stake our claim on the fact that “God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” [3] Jesus—the only Son of God—but born in a nameless town next to sheep and cattle. [4] Jesus of Nazareth—Almighty God, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace, Emmanuel, Christos Anesti —but a nameless carpenter. [5] Jesus—who healed many— never called himself a doctor, but suffered to save. [6] Jesus—the King of Kings—who died in a nameless grave. [7]
I have spent a lot of my life thinking about who Jesus is. Is He real? Is He God? Are the stories true? Is this all an insane lie? I’ve come to the conclusion that He must be real, simply because I unfailingly cry every single year during the crucifixion narrative, and I have often wondered to myself why I would if this were all fiction. I already cry easily, but when it comes to the liturgy of the Eucharist during the Mass and partaking in communion at Calvary, I never fail to crumple into a deluge of tears—every single time. I cry because it is just quite incomprehensible to me that there is a kind of love out there that is both unconditional and true.
“What is truth?”, asks Pilate. [8] Christ, I would answer. [9]
When the unabashed truth comes to the front of my mind—that I am a sinner caught and saved by the net of grace of an unrelenting Savior—that God truly loves me, all the world before me comes into clear view. It really would be quite delusional to believe in Jesus until you experience it for yourself. To confess belief in Christ is to believe that the living God, holy and pure, sitting in His majestic throne room in all of the splendor of Heaven, saw it fit to walk among the dirt with you and me. He not only came, but He came as an atonement for all sin so that you, one day, may be in heaven with Him. Once, we were spiritually dead. Yet, yet God chose to reveal Himself to us; He is a God that desires to commune with us, to teach us. He desires you to the point of death on a cross. Jesus Christ has saved your soul, and in this life where hardship is inevitable, our living hope is that God still loves you and wants to be with you for all of eternity. He peered out into all of creation and saw that you are worthy to be with Him. Until it sinks into your whole being that there really is a God out there who loves you so much, a God who willed you into existence and has real desires for you, a God who freely forgives all of the things you cannot forgive yourself for, a God who dwells in unapproachable light yet died for a scheming, hateful, selfish brat as I…until you experience the heart of the Father through the reality of the cross…you would never quite understand the profound reality that Christians hold within their interior life.
As my friend Jacob Brogdon beautifully put it, “Jesus is beautiful, and He is all the more beautiful because He is true”
II.
Second, what does all this have to do with being a student here? I dwell on the centrality of Christ and the reality of God because without that first principle, nothing else about being a Christian makes sense. C.S Lewis writes, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else”. [10] The beautiful thing about the Christian faith is that we believe that Truth is a person, and that person was Jesus Christ. I’d argue that a Christian at Cornell is someone who realizes in the light of who He was, our accomplishments and Cornell degree are incomparable—and we ought to live every day not just striving to be “successful” by Cornell’s standards, but to be a reflection of the “grace and truth” of Christ. [11] Upon reading Ephesians 5:1, I felt I had been very much falling short of the glory of God and instead only living up to the typical standards of a Cornell student (good grades, high-functioning, so on and so forth). [12] However, it hit me that the knowledge of Christ calls us to live up to the truth we have learned about Him. [13] Cornell is prestigious in the world’s eyes, but Jesus calls us to true excellence in the way we relate to the Father and ways we relate to each other. [14] The more I think about it, to grow more and more into His image and likeness is the most beautiful thing. I get to be gentle and lowly like Christ. I get to look at others through His eyes. To be more conformed to the Imago Dei, what else could possibly be more worth it in this life?
III.
Third, the living joy of a Christian is that we don’t do it alone! I praise and thank God for the gift of the Holy Spirit. Every day I am reminded that I can do nothing without the goodness of my Father! It is God’s very grace that sustains me through everything. Any goodness that I have is from God. It is He who created me, He who sustains my life, He who has created this world for me to study and steward, and He who guides me to do good works. [15] See what great love the Father has lavished upon us, that we should be called children of God! Could there be anything more beautiful than this? The tug of the Holy Spirit calls us to love, courage, and self discipline—and there is nothing more precious an aid than that at a place like Cornell. [16 ]
A lot of people ask me why I don’t do a lot of things considered “normal” on a college campus. I think I get really perplexed responses when I say I don’t feel the need to have social media and neither drink nor party. What do you do with your free time? I once got asked. Upon second thought, I guess I am kind of weird (LOL) because so many things are accessible, salient, and provide instant gratification. To be so transparent, it’s not because I feel like I can’t or that I have some moral superiority complex, but because I don’t necessarily feel the need to. I don’t want to. I don’t want anything that diverts me from running more fully towards who God has called me to be and the joy that comes from freedom being used properly. [21] We often think that faith is about religion, rigor and rules and moral righteousness, but really, at the heart of Christianity, is that you find your fullness of being human in returning God’s love.
I mentioned above how difficult it is to be unselfish at Cornell.Upon further reflection, I realized how that was a bit of a lie. It’s not just that it’s hard not to be selfish at Cornell. I’ve always been selfish. It’s always been about me me me (teaching kindergarten for a few hours will sure teach you a whole lot about human nature). It just so happens that being around similarly ambitious people finally slapped me in the face as to the extent of how much my life revolved around me, my goals, and my dreams. God, I believe, wants differently for us. He wants us to be more and more like Christ, to love one another and serve one another. In the Scriptures, it says: “This is how they know you are my disciples: that you love one another”.
During my time at Cornell, I’ve found that my friends who know and love God are the most selfless, kind, and giving people I know. Cornell is hard, but they make it easy because they are vessels of God’s love and generosity. Every Sunday for the past two semesters, Ava, Elda, Hannah and I unfailingly book it to Keeton’s Sunday lunch until our stomachs are bursting with chicken nuggets and veins runneth over with whatever MSG is in those things. We share our questions, joys, and hopes, and it is in these small moments I realize how precious it is to have friendships that are united by the Holy Spirit. Christ is so evident in these people, and He is so evident in the way that Joaquin Arroyo scrub-daddies away in the Chesterton kitchen, how Elda never stops checking up on me despite my lackluster response rate, and why, for whatever reason, Carleton will agree to drive two hours on a Saturday for someone to have a 15 minute appointment. These ordinary, everyday people have a secret: they know and cherish Christ. It is no longer themselves who live, but Christ who lives in them. My friends are a true testament to the Holy Spirit working in them. As Tim Keller says, someone who has the gospel running through their veins…these people live out a kind of life that is not their own, and they radiate with a kind of majesty that only Christ can draw out. It is among these awesome people that I experience His goodness in the land of the living, and it is this new kind of life that St. Paul experienced something that is worthy of dying for. To live is Christ, and to die is gain, he boldly proclaimed. The very seat of life, the very essence of what it means to live, is to be like Jesus Christ Himself.
If you’ve made it this far into this blog post, thanks for bearing with me.
As we all come back and start a new year, I’d challenge you not to shy away from the reality of Christ, but to bring it with full force onto a campus that truly needs His grace and truth. Sure, serving others at Cornell feels like swimming upstream, and there may be moments where you are the only person that does what you do. Just remember! To be a fool for Jesus is to be reasonable in a world turned upside down. There is simply nothing more full of joy. I have seen His glory, and that is enough for me! May Christ be exalted in all we do this year.
- Lydia
Sources
[1] Philippians 2:3-4 (NIV)
[2] Romans 10:9 (NIV)
[3] John 3:16 (NIV)
[4] Luke 2:7
[5] Isaiah 9:6 (NIV)
[6] Isaiah 53:4 (NIV)
[7] Revelation 19:16 (NIV)
[8] John 18:38 (NIV)
[9] John 14:6 (NIV)
[10] C.S. Lewis, “They Asked For A Paper,” in Is Theology Poetry?
[11] John 1:17 (NIV)
[12] Ephesians 5:1 (NIV)
[13] Philippians 3:8 (NIV)
[14] 2 Corinthians 8:7 (NIV)
[15] 19] 1 John 3:1 (NIV)
[20] 2 Timothy 1:7 (NIV)
[21] Galatians 5:7 (NIV)