[ This is part four of an ongoing series I call "Journey of One," which is meant to contain articles about me, my story, my journey, and the lessons learned from the life experiences. Here is part one: Journey of One: Brotherhood, and part two: Journey of One: Purpose, and part three: Journey of One: Mortality. ]
Journey of One: College
August, 1993: Steve and I arrive on the campus of Lincoln Christian College. We find our dorm rooms, unload our junk and begin to settle in. We were now officially Holers. Timothy Hall - or, as it was affectionately called, The Hole - was a sanctuary of brotherhood, comradery, and... testosterone. College life for me was filled with wrestling matches, boxing matches, intramural basketball, tackle football in the field with residents of Titus Hall (the other men's dorm, and our sworn rivals), practical jokes, gaming, watching zombie movies, or making our own movies. Or shooting each other with BB guns. During a boxing match, a music major chipped two of my teeth before I knocked him unconscious with a left hook. I'm not saying we always made the wisest choices. All I'm saying is, college was awesome.
Timothy Hall had a history spanning several decades. Being a Holer meant being part of long-standing traditions including (among other things): Midnight Mass (held at the beginning of the school year), Holerfest (featuring the famous Holerfest pig roast, held at the end of the school year), and my personal favorite, The Snowbird Classic.
Each year at midnight of the first snowfall of the year, Holers would gather together for the Snowbird, a race through the snow around the Seminary building. The rules were simple: participants had to run in nothing more than their underwear, and freshmen weren't allowed to wear shoes. The rules didn't apply to such things as cowboy hats, football helmets, capes, or other accessories (which I saw a few guys sporting). Each year a few of the more courageous young men ran the Snowbird in, shall we say, less than the standard clothing requirements. I am proud to count myself among the ranks of those dauntless souls who disregarded the cold and the snow (and the girls hiding in the bushes) to run around the Seminary building wearing nothing but a smile. That's right, folks: we were the future ministers and missionaries and teachers of the Bible. We were Holers.
Administration always hated The Hole. They were more concerned about their shiny Christian image, and saw The Hole as a threat. They feared losing financial support from the stodgy churchgoers who sent regular donations to LCC. Eventually they got their way, and Timothy Hall was closed for good and turned into an office building. Holers young and old were outraged, but there was nothing we could do. Still, I like to think the spirit of The Hole lives on in the hearts and minds of the men who once belonged to that dank, dark cave of a dorm. At least part of the spirit of The Hole still lingers in Timothy Hall. No matter what they do to that building, they just can't seem to get that peculiar smell out of it.
I suspect The Hole provided a much different Bible college experience for me and the other Holers than most other Bible college students. I know a college dorm is a college dorm, regardless of whether it's on a Bible college campus or not. But The Hole was different: it unified us, gave us an identity and even a sense of calling. Many looked at The Hole as a fraternity, and in many ways we acted just like one. Nowadays Holers maintain their sense of unity via The Official Holer Facebook Page. There's even an "Occupy the Hole" day now, where Holers from all over return to the building once known as Timothy Hall once a year to "retake the Hole." When Timothy Hall was decommissioned, Holers gathered on campus and removed the letters from the building (without the administration's approval, I might add. Typical of Holers). The letters are now scattered amongst some of the older Holers.
I have many good memories of The Hole, and still today harbor many strong emotions about it. At times those memories are bittersweet, because I feel disconnected now. The Holer motto was: "God First. The Hole Second. Everything Else Third." The Hole, perhaps more than any other factor, makes me wish I could still believe the way I did back then. Anger, even resentment, often overcasts my fond memories of The Hole. Why did I have to be indoctrinated into this religion? Why couldn't there have actually been any good reasons to believe in it? Such are the questions my emotional side asks. Christianity's mandate that it be ubiquitous in one's life - affecting every aspect of one's existence - is a necessary condition for its survival. If it can't be justified via evidence and reason, then it has to be reinforced in the mind of the believer somehow. Consequently, when I stepped away from Christianity, nearly every part of my life changed in some way. I had to step away. My reason, my conscience, my integrity, everything I uphold as virtuous demanded that I release myself from the confinements of this religion. Still, much like the prisoners in Plato's Cave, I had a hard time letting go in the midst of my liberation.
Today, many of my happier memories - like those of my time in The Hole - are associated in some way with the shadows of my former faith. Once in a while I'll rock out to an old song by a Christian band I used to listen to back in the day, and songs that Steve and I would listen to while hanging out in his room. Some of these songs are still favorites of mine, like this one:
Everybody Knows My Name - Bride [Album: Kinetic Faith]
I've come to terms with my past. If I want to listen to an old song that I used to love, who says I can't? This music is part of my past, part of my context, part of who I am still today. The Hole is the same way. I still wrestle with feeling like a pariah, but overall I am grateful for my experience. Having been there, experiencing Christianity "from the inside," has made me a better skeptic. It's easy to look at people two-dimensionally, especially on the Internet. When I come across criticisms about how "Christians are like this" or "Christians do that," I think of The Hole. Yeah, sometimes the criticisms are spot on. Being a Holer didn't make one immune to the common foibles of Christians. But many times the criticisms don't really reflect who I was when I was a Christian, or the community of my brothers who made up The Hole, or other Christians I have known or with whom I associate. When I see people criticize Christians poorly, I tend to speak up. I'm not defending Christianity; rather, I'm defending skepticism. Attacking straw men doesn't help the cause. If we are going to claim to think critically, then let's do it right.
— Dead-Logic
