by Kaity Kopeski
Editor-in-chief
Before I began writing this editorial, I knew exactly what I was not going to write. I was not going to write the typical editorial brimming with advice to upcoming students. I was not going to nostalgically remember my freshman year. I was not going to mention any summer epiphanies. I wanted my editorial to be fresh and original, with a dash of wit and subtle wisdom. Of course I still lacked a topic, so I began a quest for inspiration.
I began by reading the editorial section of the Yale Daily News. If any newspaper would have novel editorials, it would be Yale, which holds the title of “Best College Newspaper in the Nation.” While reading, I found exactly what I swore I was not going to write, editorials of remembrance and advice. In one editorial, I came across the words “brokenness and beauty.” These words were the theme of my debriefing time in Italy, after I spent my summer doing mission work in the Middle East. I and my classmates, who were scattered across the globe, met together for a few days to reflect, and attempt to process, the brokenness and beauty we witnessed this summer.
For me, it is easy to recognize the brokenness in my world, in my city, even in my own family. Brokenness appears in obvious, glaring forms. From the crumbling shacks that act as homes, to the starving faces of children, to the materialism and greed that flourishes in our own country, brokenness is an unforgettable fact of life. I, like most of you, am disturbed by this brokenness. I am outraged by the injustice and desperately want to help. While outrage to injustice is an appropriate, even biblical response, in my harping on brokenness I have a tendency to become blind to beauty. (Now is where I break my vows and write the forbidden editorial.)
During my freshman year, and quite a bit of my sophomore year, I spent most of days criticizing Bryan. I criticized chapels, and my required Bible courses, and mostly my fellow students. Attending public high school, Bryan was first experience of living within the Christian bubble, and I disliked it. I saw the brokenness at Bryan, and I was quick to point it out. So I disconnected myself from the school, and by extension, my classmates. Bryan is a community of people, and therefore brokenness is inevitable.
People are the most difficult part of life. (Learning to love my roommate was immensely harder than Dr. Kantzer’s notorious Shakespeare class.) And yet, people, relationships, are the most rewarding part of life. Within the brokenness is beauty.
Just like brokenness, beauty comes in various forms, although sometimes it’s more difficult to see. Nature is the one place I can always find beauty. Every fall I am mesmerized by the beauty of the trees, and I never look at the night sky without wonder.
Just as potent, is the beauty in people. While in Italy, I connected with one of my classmates. We’ve spent three years taking the same classes and eating in the same cafeteria, and yet we just recently had our first meaningful conversation. Despite our different backgrounds and personal style, we have similar fears and hopes. All it took was one look at each other freshman year for the both of to swear we would never be friends. I regarded her as a “naive, overconfident Christian,” and she, I am sure, had an equally low opinion of me. Our criticisms of each other hold elements of truth, for we are both flawed humans. Yet there is more that I simply didn’t see.
This upcoming semester I am looking forward to the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and yet I’m a bit saddened knowing it could have started three years ago. Recognizing the brokenness of the world is good, even necessary. Ignoring the brokenness is dangerous ignorance, but don’t let the brokenness overwhelm to the point of blindness to beauty.
This is my advice: find the beauty.
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