It was a warm, breezy evening in Glendale, Arizona. I had just completed another lecture in a course, “American Intellectual History,” as an adjunct instructor at ASU West, on the other side of the sprawling Phoenix area that stretched from the main campus in Tempe, to the new Western campus in Glendale. I was teaching in the Religious Studies department, more than 30 thirty years ago.
The class proved to be an exceptional one: filled as it was with highly motivated adults of a variety of ages (probably about 18 to 30 years of age). As the semester had passed its midpoint, we had developed a chemistry of reciprocal respect and humor.
I recall one session. As we had been studying the three Great Awakenings that spanned American religious history between the years of 1720 — the late nineteenth centuries, many issues had surfaced about the religious demography that has spanned nearly two hundred years. We had studied Jonathan Edwards, as the spearhead of the first Great Awakening that flooded the cold, New England frontier during the early years of the 18th century. So, as a lively group of some 25 students, I faced a regular schedule of stimulating dialogue that included pluralistic thought from students, many of whom had not even realized there was a strong, religious, Judeo-Christian demographic that had indeed shaped the early years of this country. The main text for the course was Henry Ahlstrom’s A Religious History of the American People. My own motivation for teaching such a course was born out of a deepened respect for the early years of my native land. Years before, as a graduate student at an extremely competitive liberal arts university in Connecticut, I had taken a class on this subject. I recalled being on the student end of Ahlstrom’s study, taught by a patronizing scholar who had nothing but pompous allegations to levy against the brilliant Jonathan Edwards’ Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God. I recall his dismissive, condescension toward Edwards, himself a highly educated clergyman. As a result, when the tables were literally turned and I found myself guiding the discussion among students of my own, I reveled in the freedom I enjoyed sharing the gifts of the 18th Century, firebrand scholar/preacher.
I recall one night in that classroom. Because of the powerful subject matter that we had covered, some volatile question/answer dialogue ensued. Several students began to ask me questions about my personal belief system. The typical undergraduate campus discouraged disclosure from faculty unless the views espoused reflected the conventional “wisdom” of the institution. The students were interested in my views concerning the period in religious history that we had been studying.
Toward the end of the semester, they began to pepper me with my views about the Godhead and the role of the church during the periods discussed. I paused at some of their probing questions. I knew it was one thing to share the commonly accepted criticism of the evangelical fervor that had indeed swept the early years of the United States. I also knew it was quite another to admit to any support of such views. Frankly, I knew my job could be on the line if my responses found their way to the academic power brokers of the school. The charge in the classroom that evening crackled with electricity. The students literally asked me what I truly believed about God, indeed, about the Trinity.
I recall rising slowly from my front desk and clearing my throat. I felt compelled to level with these truth-seeking students. I shared my conversion experience. Frankly, the class appeared to be spellbound. Suddenly, I was surrounded by applause. My eyes smarted with tears. These young people wanted truth!! I shared it. I left the classroom that night in a nearly beautified state. No negative ramifications occurred.
Many years have passed since that powerful evening. Changes have continued to occur across our campuses in this country. We have come close to eliminating opposing viewpoints altogether. As a result, even young Christian students no longer know what they believe. Many of these people would not be able to articulate understanding about the Virgin Birth or the Incarnation (many from evangelical congregations, I might add). Evidently, many “Christians” do not see Jesus as the
Way, the Truth, and the Life “When asked if Jesus sinned like other people during his life on earth, 30 percent of born-again Protestants either agreed or weren’t sure.” Another statement reads, “…the number of adults under the age of 40 who choose Atheist, Agnostic, or ‘Nothing in particular’ when asked about their position on faith or association with the church is rising to nearly 50 percent.”
New Survey Reveals 60 Percent of Christians Aged 18 – 39 Believe Jesus Not Only Way to Salvation
I recall a more recent experience in another classroom in a university not in Phoenix, Arizona—rather, in New York, New York. Some 12 years ago I was teaching a course in public speaking. The students were working on their informative speeches. It occurred to me that I needed to give them an example of one for them to be comfortable in the preparation such an assignment would entail. So, I presented the class with an informative speech that I had prepared on the 19th Century American poet, Emily Dickinson. I showed PowerPoint slide upon slide of the life, times, and poetry of the eccentric legend. One thing I included was the meter the poet used in several of her poems. I added that one could put the words of many of them to the tune of O Little Town of Bethlehem. Suddenly, a hand was raised. I paused and gave the student an opportunity to speak. She said that she had never heard of the Christmas carol. More hands went up as other students made the same claim. I then mentioned O Come All Ye Faithful et al. Regardless of one’s religious affiliation or lack, for that matter, I had assumed that such things were part of what most people thought of as general knowledge.
The classroom scenario described above is one of many demonstrations of the secularization of our society. It might seem to be of minor significance to most people. It isn’t. The students I had in that class were not simple; they were bright, upperclassmen, close to completing a baccalaureate degree. Yet they had never heard of songs and carols that had been sung for decades and in many cases, for a couple of centuries. As a girl, I recall the atmosphere in department stores, outside on city streets, during the month of December. Carols were played often. They were a part of the Judeo-Christian culture that defined this country. The old classic essay, Protestant, Catholic, Jew by Will Herberg (1955), identified such a demography. Obviously, that is no longer the case and hasn’t been for several decades. I recognize and respect that. However, Christianity seems to be taking a back seat in our current society. What do we do to combat the current campus climate? There is no easy answer here as many believers have found themselves unemployed with the charge of “proselytizing”. As the secular scholars appear free to express their views without such a charge, opposing viewpoints appear to be done away with, altogether. If only one view is given, with no alternative thought, propaganda is the result. There, in effect, is no viewpoint—rather, a programmed narrative that must be adhered to for job security. So much for John Henry Newman’s Idea of a University, a lengthy essay that, I suspect, undergraduates would not recognize the author, let alone the title of one of the man’s essays. Besides, Newman hales from the 19th century and as a “dead, white male,” carries no significance in today’s curriculum.
The above paints a bleak picture of the near future. Does it need to? I ask the question
rhetorically in the hope that the believing community will articulate its biblical worldview with confidence and conviction.
