Prayer

As I lined up for lunch in the dining hall, loading my plate with a corndog, fried chicken, and baked beans, a junior ambassador asked me to join his table. I was still asking questions about my freshman classes when he clasped his hands and said, “Excuse me for a moment.”

He quietly murmured a prayer. 

I was bewildered by such abrupt stillness in the air. Raised an atheist, no one ever spoke about religion in my household. I never anticipated coming face-to-face with faith because God was only a Western concept in Saving Private Ryan when soldiers prayed in life-threatening situations.  

With little knowledge about religion, I was excited when a friend invited me to attend a church service. Not knowing what to expect, I requested a seat in the back to observe this ceremony called worship.

Sunlight filtered through the richly-colored, stained-glass windows, illuminating the Baroque paintings portraying the life and times of Jesus Christ. The brown oak choir pews were goldenrod upholstered, and the lighting was warm and inviting. As the worship group and the lead pastor walked to the altar, rows of standing Christians, completely present in the moment, practiced their faith through music, prayers, and Biblical sermons. It seemed like everyone belonged here, like a family.  

Such meaningful experiences are common among Christian communities. However, what surprised me most was what I learned about myself.

Living 6,000 miles from home, I had missed that sense of familial belonging as I observed parents hugging their children and giving them words of encouragement like, “You did so well!” after a choir performance.

For the longest time following that first church service, I carried joy with me. As I continued to attend services, my Christian friends enlightened me with Bible readings and openly discussed their religion with me. Their words of faith, encouragement and practical wisdom inspired me. 

I started to contemplate my existence in this world. In my senior elective Moral Philosophy, I read Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and examined Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil. I designed a thought experiment with my class on Robert Nozick’s experience machine to display philosophical hedonism and utilitarianism in full scale. I debated moral objectivism and subjectivism in search of what I believe. These experiments and discussions often led to more questions about moral truth—none of the readings satisfied me, and the debates and conversations never resulted in simple answers. 

I battled my way through the writings of great philosophers to find answers to my existentialist questions, perplexed by opposing contentions that seemed almost equally valid. Bible study in the Christianity Club at my school offered further room for dialogue and exploration. In the early stage of my spiritual journey, there were thoughts and questions that I could not answer. I had doubts about a God who moves behind the scenes, and I struggled with unconditional forgiveness. But it was among this group of supportive peers where I was comfortable asking questions. I was also willing to listen to complicated answers and ponder conflicting ideas.

A good Christian has unconditional love for people and life itself. He is someone who respects and enjoys differences in people. He believes in good but, through good faith, also does good things. He can laugh at his shortcomings and turn every worried thought and fear into prayer and thanksgiving. His desire to love and support is stronger than his ego.

I am incredibly thankful for the unconditional love and kindness I receive from the Christian community. Their expressions of love and compassion communicate the true essence of Christianity to me. 

Last January, I became a Christian. 

Christianity calls me to develop my mind and spirit to bring about positive social impact, seek true moral purposes in my life, and live with a focus on service to others. As a Christian, I still have unanswered questions, but I have found peace in my heart.