Cliff Mak

The Wisdom of Talk

— Originally published in print // Permalink

“A nation that cannot write clearly cannot be trusted to govern, nor yet to think.”
—Ezra Pound

Among Christians at our school here—among some, anyway—there is a desire for unity between the numerous groups and fellowships that compose our loose and disparate body of believers. This is a desire that manifests itself through various events and gatherings, prayer houses and potlucks, all conceived as ways to draw Christians together or, at least, to create the semblance of togetherness, but when all these initiatives are bled and done, how together, may I ask, are we really?

Everybody will have his own opinion about the state of fellowship among us at Cal, but suffice it to say that “unity” shouldn’t be just another word for “uniformity,” no matter what the sloth of convenience might dictate. While a major portion of Christians here seems, unfortunately, to suffer from a general apathy towards exploring anything but the lowest common denominator of faith, a casual census would reveal that there is actually a great diversity of faith among us in both breadth and depth, albeit often obscured: the soft-spoken contemplatives, the hidden theologians and fiery prophets; in fact, we have as many groups swimming outside the Evangelical mainstream as we do drowning within.

And it is precisely this diversity on all levels which requires us to speak to each other, to write and think and argue with each other: for only talk will recognize and do justice to our diversity, only talk will make diversity the fertile ground out of which true unity grows.

But what about praise nights and prayer furnaces? What about Veritas speakers and Facebook groups and tables out on Sproul? Aren’t those enough for us? Aren’t they, well, even better? Yes, in one sense, they are enough for some of us. Yes, they bring some of us together for a short time, here and there, and bolster feelings of communal accomplishment and yet, they are not enough. Such initiatives in the name of “unity” are too specific to individual fellowships’ own cultures; they represent and are products of recent trends and fads moving amongst a select spectrum of Christian groups in which they are incubated, inbred, and institutionalized to such a degree that nobody even bothers to ask why those methods are to be preferred.

Perhaps, then, it will come as a shock that not every Christian is at home at praise nights or evangelistic crusades on campus: there is no better place than Berkeley, after all, to find people, especially Christians, who hail from such a multitude of different social and personal backgrounds. Which leaves us with the question of how we are to achieve any real unity, and we already know the answer to that.

Talk, conversation, dialogue, and writing, more than anything else, provides a forum where all can be equally represented—if so desired. (Hence we arrive at this magazine, which we hope will encourage honest and civilized discussion at Berkeley.) To talk is to articulate your own particular worldview, your heart’s own culture, and to listen is to recognize that other worldviews exist, that an Other exists, that there is an Other to be loved, whom you must love in Christ. To talk and to listen—this is the beginning of empathy, the seed of charity, the foundation of all love and the flame of the gospel. Talk is of a goodness.

In talking, too, we struggle together towards the discovery of truth. Informed by the manifold witness of its diversity, the Christian community is at once both primed and required to engage in intellectual discussions touching upon all facets of life. In this regard, it has been given an opportunity to outdo the university, as it were, in its own cultural agenda, set up to absorb in one place wonders from all corners of the globe without having to raise a wing and fly elsewhere. For this to be realized, however, we cannot only read and listen: we must think, speak, and write as well. So put down your Piper, and pick up your pen, for you cannot be countercultural by being stupid, friend. Talk is of our richest merchandise, the truth.

And talk, finally, is that primal power which has been set apart for the image-bearers of God. It was the Word that spoke the world into existence, the Word’s beauty to which Adam responded with his own words, the Word that guided Israel out of Egypt and gave her rest beyond the Jordan, and the Word made flesh that transfigures a groaning world still. In talking to each other, we are like Adam responding in awe to the beauty of our Creator’s creation, like the prophets creating and instilling beauty with their own incarnate words. Talk is of a beauty glorious.

So what good, then, is it to speak of the gospel if we do not speak to each other? What good is “unity in Christ” when Christ ceases to be the Word? These are questions we should take to heart as a community so diseased with silence. For there is no greater imperative for us now than to talk—in faith, in hope, and in love.

Sons of men, turn your ear.