The Heart of Our Work: Stories of Meaningful Studies in Liberal Arts

The Heart of Our Work

STORIES OF MEANINGFUL STUDIES IN LIBERAL ARTS

A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS BY OUACHITA BAPTIST UNIVERSITY FACULTY

The Heart of Our Work STORIES OF MEANINGFUL STUDIES IN LIBERAL ARTS

A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS BY OUACHITA BAPTIST UNIVERSITY FACULTY

Trennis Henderson Amy Sonheim Brooke Zimny

Editors Ashley Carozza

Designer

Funded by The Council of Independent Colleges and The Lilly Endowment Inc. Ouachita Baptist University, Arkadelphia, Arkansas 2019

 

There was no one here but us fanatics: bird-watchers, infielders, detectives, poets, rock collectors, and, I inferred, specialists in things I had not looked into—violin makers, fishermen, Islamic scholars, opera composers, people who studied Bali, vials of air, bats. It seemed to take all these people working full time to extract the interest from everything and articulate it for the rest of us. —Annie Dillard, An American Childhood

TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

Amy Sonheim Pr e f a c e

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Michael Cox T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n C hri sti an Studi es

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Nancy Hardman T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n N atural Sci ences

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Myra Houser T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n Soci al Sci ences

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Rebecca Jones T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n H umani ti es

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Ryan Lewis T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n Fi ne Arts

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Bryan McKinney T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n B usi ness

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Rachel Pool T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n Educati on

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Ben Utter T h e H eart of Meaningful Study i n I nterdi sci pl i nary S t u d i e s

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Amy Sonheim A c k n o wledgm ents

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Preface Amy So nhe im , Professor of English School of Humanities

In the fall of 1939, England declared war on Germany. In the face of death, Oxford faculty and students seriously questioned if they should continue to study art, philosophy, theatre, or poetry, when such endeavors felt, by comparison, rather unnecessary. Having fought in World War I, C. S. Lewis responded by preaching to his colleagues and students the sermon “Learning in War-Time.” Reasoning from Paul’s admonishment to early Corinthian Christians, “Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God” (KJV I. Cor. 10:31b), Lewis reframed the question from what to do for God and country to how to do for God and others. Lewis offered that everything or anything one does must be offered to His glory so that if one is called to study poetry, he pleases God by doing so wholeheartedly.

Eighty years later, Ouachita faculty have noticed that our students—and their parents—anxiously approach studying liberal arts in college, again, as if it is unnecessary. For some, studying liberal arts is not their calling; however, if you relish understanding how to design the electrical lighting for stage or you are curious about black holes in the universe from physics, then we offer you the opportunity to answer God’s spectacular callings in your life by studying such marvels wholeheartedly at Ouachita.

In fact, Ouachita Baptist University practices full immersion in the liberal arts.

Her faculty believe in opening their students’ minds and enlarging their souls to God’s surprising callings by immersing them in eight schools of diverse method, practice, and content: Business, Christian Studies, Education, Fine Arts, Humanities, Natural Sciences, Social Sciences, and Interdisciplinary Studies. At first, students feel that stretching their attention across eight schools of thought spreads them uncomfortably thin. Yet, contrary to popular opinion, studying in the liberal arts is not skimming along the surface, knowing a little about a lot.

At Ouachita, studying the liberal arts is diving deep.

Since 1886, Ouachita faculty and students have gathered at the river, the Ouachita River, in the pastoral tradition of top-tiered liberal arts universities (Oxford gathered at the Thames) to draw away from distractions in order to focus not on ivory towers, but rather on reality. For a brief time in our students’ 1

lives, we offer them the chance to immerse themselves in experiential learning of manifold disciplines, refreshing and reshaping their understanding with critical thinking and hands-on projects, exploring their own lines of inquiry through self-initiated research, getting outside of their comfort zones through the honors program, service learning, speaking other languages, and studying abroad. For us, immersion is wholehearted. Ouachita aims for wholehearted study by anchoring God’s love to His creation through all the liberal arts.

Much like the Ouachita River flows in multiple seams, eventually joining in harmony, at Ouachita, liberal arts studies offer distinct pathways to give students direction by connecting them to the world in myriad ways. At first, to persons outside the liberal arts tradition, valuing studies in and of themselves (not studying for grades or merely for careers) may seem counterintuitive to practical work. Actually, however, when a person genuinely studies, closely observing new evidence, lively reading the histories of cultures and societies not her own, honestly questioning the connections between contradictory systems, such immersive studying can renew her mind and soul. At Ouachita, studying wholeheartedly glorifies God now. As my colleague in humanities Sarah Smith recently said to me of her own very particular calling from her Lord to be a reader, “I can’t love Jesus if I don’t read books.”

In The Heart of Our Work: Stories of Meaningful Studies in Liberal Arts, faculty articulate what it feels like for them to dive deep with their students into the liberal arts, voicing vibrant stories that represent each of the eight schools at Ouachita. Speaking for his training in Ouachita’s Christian Studies, Dr. Michael Cox warns students that reading the Bible is risky. Representing Natural Sciences, Dr. Nancy Hardman writes of collaborative learning, plunging into her studies alongside her roommate, while students themselves at Ouachita, both majoring in speech pathology. As a historian in the Social Sciences—which also include psychology, sociology, and political science—Dr. Myra Houser witnesses how her students learned to empathize with African societies by asking difficult questions. Within Humanities, Dr. Rebecca Jones reflects on how her collaboration with English professor Dr. Doug Sonheim created an independent film study program on campus, challenging students to engage with and listen to documentary filmmakers on such evils as lynching by attending Sundance Film Festival in Utah. From Fine Arts—which flourishes in many fields of music, worship arts, musicology, music education, music industry, musical theatre, theatre, studio arts, and graphic design—percussionist Dr. Ryan Lewis says “yes” to God’s repeated directives, resembling a trained actor saying “yes” in an improv ensemble. Now serving as Dean for Business, Bryan McKinney connects his undergraduate majors in psychology and history 2

to his practicing of law. Education professor Dr. Rachel Pool tells of guiding her student who loved musical theatre but needed to understand math well enough to “see mathematics as an art form,” to develop study skills that involved acting and singing out the mathematical processes. Speaking for Interdisciplinary Studies, English professor Dr. Ben Utter commends his students for reading fiction to delight in perspectives that take destructive biases to task. In short, Ouachita faculty confirm that studying the liberal arts is the opposite of navel-gazing; instead, the richly distinct views of the liberal arts can transform students into wide-eyed realists who better connect to others and to God. At Ouachita, because we see all truth as God’s truth, Christ will always be the rock in our river, disrupting our plans in adventuresome waves. As alumni can testify, a liberal arts education is not a clear-cut course to a career, even if one seeks a preprofessional degree. Instead, like a boulder in a mountain stream, Christ breaks open unforeseen channels, creating eddies, multiplying seams that flow at separate speeds. At the same time, our constant faith in Jesus Christ secures our futures in Him without holding us in a dead space, surprising us with newly cut channels of wonder and purpose that we never dreamed possible when we stood at the water’s edge.

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY IN CHRISTIAN STUDIES

Michael C o x , Adjunct Instructor of Biblical Studies Chesley and Elizabeth Pruet School of Christian Studies

May 2019 marked fifteen years since I graduated from Ouachita Baptist University. It also marked the first time that I have not lived on a college campus since moving into Old Daniel Hall in the fall of 2000. I—along with my wife, Terese, and our children—have spent the last fifteen years living in residence halls on four Christian colleges because we love asking students a significant question: Why are we here at this university?

This question helps focus the point of the investment of money and time— tuition, room and board, and four years—on its single goal: We are here to grow.

This question can be asked in a more specific way at a Christian college: What does it look like for your life to be shaped by faith in Jesus, learning in all academic disciplines, and community?

Answers to these questions don’t come easy. They must be earned. Ouachita offers a unique setting for pursuing answers. Here, 90 percent of students live on campus eating, studying, playing, worshipping, and serving together. From dorm room to classroom, students strive to grow.

I have found this vision so compelling that I have lived in the dorm guiding students in their pursuit of the vision while pursuing graduate and postgraduate degrees in Bible and theology. But in my two decades of dorm life I’ve learned that there’s a shadowy side to this vision that doesn’t often make it into promotional materials. As with any rewarding endeavor, there also are risks. In this essay, I explore what I consider the greatest of these risks.

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G ETTING TO KNOW T W O S T UDE NT S I frequently passed him in the daily comings and goings around the residence hall where Terese served as resident director. As is common on a small campus, we said “hello” but didn’t know one another’s names. I knew that he played soccer—and I’d been to enough matches to know that he was pretty good. I had the impression from these limited interactions that he cared about nothing beyond soccer and a good time.

That summer I taught Interpreting the Bible online in which I got to know students well. As is common, I knew students only by name, not by face.

These summer online courses typically filled with students who thought that Interpreting the Bible online would be an easy way to get three credits while working and travelling over the summer. Kyle was one of many who was surprised to discover otherwise. Through his assignments and interactions, I quickly learned that Kyle had grown up going to church and reading the Bible, that he was pre-med and played soccer. He was humble, but I could tell that his friends respected him as a leader. As his instructor, I looked forward to grading his work each week because of how he was learning to read the Bible and the world more carefully.

In Kyle’s telling of the story, I challenged him in the first week’s homework assignment to do better work, to push harder, and especially to listen to the Lord while doing his homework. He did. And he now says that the course changed his life.

As the summer course wrapped up, I told Kyle that I’d like to meet him when he arrived back on campus. He knew who I was, so I told him to stop me and introduce himself. Early that semester he did just that. Only then did I learn that I had badly misjudged him as the guy who cared only about soccer and a good time.

This story illustrates two kinds of character on a Christian university campus. My mischaracterization of Kyle is common enough: someone comes to university to pursue fun and distract themselves with sports, parties, or video games. These students may check the boxes necessary to walk away with a degree, but their schoolwork is empty. Less about lacking smarts and more about lacking eagerness, they do not pursue their schoolwork as an opportunity to grow into the kinds of persons who fill up their place in the world. They squander the investment of money and time and, while they may have a degree to show for it, they have not flourished. On the other hand, Kyle flourished at college because he filled up the 5

vision; he pursued all of his schoolwork—and especially that for Interpreting the Bible —as an opportunity to grow, to meet the Lord, and to join God’s work in Kyle’s whole life—from dorm room to classroom.

R I SK AND REWARD OF BIBLE RE A DING Now that we live off campus, we live within a few miles of the Baltic Sea. Recently, while exploring the forest between the sea and us, we found a tree whose trunk, about three feet from the root, grew horizontally for about fifteen feet before making its vertical climb to the bottom of the sky. Our boys stopped to climb the tree and I found myself wondering about its story. I imagined the tree as a sapling. When its neighbor—an old pine—failed to resist a strong Baltic gale, the elderly neighbor fell on the young tree’s supple trunk, pinning it to the ground. Then, during the summer’s twenty hours of daylight, the sapling lifted its head, drawn to the endless light of the sun.

Like this tree, people cannot help but be formed. Whatever shines brightest in our estimation draws us like the sapling to the sun. We start life supple and resilient; our life trajectories are easily bent or twisted. But as we age, we become less supple, less able to change direction; our trunk hardens where it is—strong enough to bear the weight of years of stretching to light. But unlike the trunk, we can be drawn to other lights. What happens if we’re drawn to something less bright than the sun?

These days my work with college students has shifted from dorm room to the Bible classroom at LCC International University in Klaipėda, Lithuania. I find myself thinking about this question on their behalf. Consider Pharaoh, who—in a participation with God Himself—finds his heart hardened (Exodus 4:21; 7:3, 22; 8:15, 19, 32; 9:7, 12, 34; 10:1, 20, 27; 11:10). He encounters the living God and is faced with a choice: Will I submit to or resist this One who claims authority over me? Or consider the many characters who encounter Jesus in Luke’s gospel. Each is faced with a choice: Will I submit to this One who can do what only God can do? Or will I resist, walk away, or even plot His demise? In both cases, any response to God that is anything but wholehearted allegiance leads to one’s own demise.

Because people cannot help but be formed, reading the Bible is a great risk— perhaps the greatest risk. I’ve found this risk particularly great in the Bible classroom where students are required to read the Bible. When reading the Bible, we encounter the Master of the Universe, but if we are unprepared for this encounter, we may hear His words and fail to heed them. Hearing without heeding deforms us into people who resist God. We unwittingly ask Pharaoh’s rhetorical question: “Who is the LORD that I should obey him?” (Exodus 5:2, 6

NIV). Failing to heed His words forms us into those who answer, “No one of consequence.” We may recover from such deformity and lift our heads to the brightest light, but we shall not always be pliable saplings. Soon we may harden in our deformity.

For this reason, I suggest that failure in a Bible course is not an “F” on a transcript, but seeing the work as a slog rather than an opportunity to meet the Master of the Universe. I refer to this risk as the occupational hazard of a biblical scholar, but the risk is present to any who would read the Bible—and especially those who would read it academically.

Reading the Bible is the greatest risk, but the reward is greater still. Investing in this reward has more to do with eagerness than smarts, humility than “rightness.”

If we read with a posture open to His words, with a commitment to submit to the Creator of the Universe, then even homework becomes an important part of God’s all-things-new project. What is more, saying “Yes!” to God reforms us into the kinds of people who are ever more eager to join Him in this project. An eager humility is the stuff that makes our very lives supple and bendable. This eager humility results in a lifting of our heads to the brightest light.

The risk of academic study of the Bible is great, but greater still is the reward.

The investment of students’ time and energy and minds and souls in these courses is an initial deposit in the account of lifelong learning. The trajectory of this investment is not linear but exponential. Careful reading of the Bible and the world informs the part we are to play in the world; playing our part reforms us into truer actors in the unfolding story. As God makes us new, we join Him in His all-things-new project.

TH E OPPORTUNITY OF F A IT H A ND LE A RNING Historically, the “uni” of the university was the unifying discipline of theology.

Known as the “Queen of the Disciplines,” theology provided the window through which all inquiry made sense. The invitation of the university was not simply to look at the world through the window, but to climb through the window and get busy learning. This is the opportunity that Ouachita offers in its two CORE Bible courses. Survey of the Bible explores the overarching narrative of the Bible: creation, fall, redemption, and consummation. Interpreting the Bible equips students with the skills necessary to read both the Bible and the world carefully.

Together, these two courses assume, first, that God unfolds a story where He is making all things new in Christ and, second, invites people to play their part in that story. The entire curriculum then affords students the opportunity to climb through the window and play their part in the world.

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Survey of the Bible and Interpreting the Bible help form the core of Ouachita’s CORE curriculum; they unify the university’s curriculum by offering the story by which all other stories make sense. Arts and sciences, beauty and wonder, theory and skill—all of it is drawn together into a unified narrative where God works to make all things new. He not only makes these areas of inquiry new, but He calls us to use these as instruments of that project.

This essay is not an apology for the inclusion of Bible courses in the curriculum.

They’re already there. If you’re a student, you will take them. Rather, it is an invitation to engage these courses wholeheartedly. It is an invitation to raise your expectations: Will you engage the course expecting to meet the Creator of the Universe? Will you join Him as He makes all things new? The invitation is less about smarts than eagerness, “rightness” than humility; it is, in other words, about the student’s own attitude toward the Master of the Universe and His communication to her as she learns to read the Bible more carefully.

Engaging these courses in this way opens a new way of seeing the world and engaging all of life. Whether while students explore beauty and wonder in the classroom or as they enjoy a Tuesday dinner in the Caf with friends, these courses give eyes to read the world and see God’s work in it from dorm room to classroom.

So will you enter into these courses—and all of your courses—with a posture of humility, with eagerness to engage Scripture, and with a desire to join in God’s good work of making all things new? After all, that’s why you’re here.

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY I N N AT U R A L S C I E N C E S

N a ncy H ardman , Edna and Freda Linn Professor of Communication Sciences and Pre-Medical Studies J. D. Patterson School of Natural Sciences In the last few years, I have had semi-serious conversations with myself about retirement from this almost-thirty-year gig as a college professor at my alma mater. I tell my dean that “my exit light has been illuminated,” to which he usually responds with a head-shaking smile and the words, “No, because I just turned it off, so it can wait another day.”

But thirty years? How did I get here in the first place—to this place I had never even seen before I started my freshman year? And then to return to twelve years after graduation as a professor?

During my freshman year I was a math and business major, but in the fall of my sophomore year, my roommate and I were walking to register for classes and had each decided to change our majors. On the count of three, we opened the school catalog to see what major we each turned to—I landed on speech pathology, and after reading through a couple of the course descriptions, my roommate and I became speech path. majors. And just to make things interesting, I decided to be an English major as well. Why not? I liked to read. Even though my roommate wouldn’t add English as a second major, I did convince her to take a Shakespeare class with me for which I have yet to be forgiven.

Following graduation, I worked as a speech pathologist in the public schools, with preschool educational cooperatives, and by contract with home health agencies and hospitals. I worked as an apartment manager, an English teacher, and as a dean’s administrative assistant. I had an in-home daycare so I could stay at home with my two toddlers, earned two master’s degrees, started doctoral studies in colonial and Southern literature, and finished a doctorate in higher education with an emphasis in speech pathology and Southern literature. And then I started my tenure as a college professor. And this is where I was meant to be, at this place and this time.

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P R EP A RING TO MIN IS T E R A ND ME NT OR On the surface, it may appear that I was unfocused or didn’t have a clear vision of a career. My journey “from there to here” obviously was not linear, but filled with many zigs (often missing the zags), a couple of “recalculating route” episodes, at least one or two U-turns, minor fender-benders, maybe a roundabout for good measure, and then here I am, a few years from retirement.

But I believe I did follow God’s lead to be a faithful servant through discernment with Scripture, prayer, and having a willingness to serve regardless of my current job. Each of those experiences allowed me opportunities to minister and serve those around me. But those experiences also served as preparation to best minister to and mentor the students and clients/patients who were to pass my way in the years to come. My future was always in His control and under His direction; I was to be faithful and found worthy of my calling in the present. If there was ever a doubt that God can work with and through anyone, all I have to do is to look in the mirror.

Vocation. Profession. Job. Career. All are terms used when talking about what one may do for a living, but usually are separate from the idea of ministry or serving others—that’s only for those who are “called” to the ministry or who are in “helping” professions such as nursing. College students typically are guided to choose a major that will lead directly to their anticipated future job, career, or profession—what one will do for a living in the future. The focus seems to follow a direct path to reach point B by way of point A: “Once I have the job, I can use it to serve others. Once I graduate, I can work and then have time and/or money to be involved in ministry at my church or go on a mission trip. But until I get my degree, the way to serve and minister to others is through activities outside the classroom.” Wait! Stop! Not true!

I jokingly tell students and families that when they enter our building of MosesProvine Hall (affectionately known as Mo-Pro), they are on holy ground. If Moses could part the Red Sea, just think what we can do in this building. I take loving jabs at my peers from Christian studies who use one of our classrooms each semester by telling them not to be surprised if they find themselves taking notes about what ministry really looks like in the holy land of Mo-Pro. Although it is all in good fun, I also am voicing my belief that the “call” to ministry is not major-specific or limited to a particular building or activity, but that all followers of Christ have been called to ministry. We must understand that our vocation—at any point in our lives—is to follow God’s voice and to be found worthy of our calling. But for many students, their lives are compartmentalized so that ministry lives outside of the classroom and being a student lives within the classroom. They see the two as incompatible.

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C O NN ECTING ACA DE MIC S A ND MINIS T RY My students are good students. They work hard. They study hard. They look to the future. They are ministry-minded with active involvement in backyard Bible clubs, Big Brother/Big Sister, ElderServe, mission trips, Bible studies, and as youth workers for discipleship weekends. But academics and ministry? Hmm, that’s different—at least in the beginning. Enter clinical practicum.

Second semester of their sophomore year, my students receive their first client/ patient assignment for speech therapy practicum. Typically, this is in a group setting with other beginning student interns who will spend the semester working on social language activities with adults who have intellectual disabilities and/or autism. The students are nervous, scared, and marginally uncomfortable about the unknown variables. Yet, after the first couple of weeks, they start seeing their clients as human beings with the need to communicate in their world. My students grow defensive of these adult clients and develop more of an awareness of the prejudices held by their roommates or friends and family about those with autism or other disabilities. For most of our students, the idea of ministry starts taking shape. They realize that the simple act of planning and preparing for their therapy session is more than a homework assignment for points. I sense a flicker in their words and actions as the idea starts to take hold—it could be ministry.

They just can’t reconcile it yet in their minds. But it starts to simmer. So I wait.

At the end of this first semester of practicum, the student interns take their adult clients to a Ouachita baseball game. A few weeks prior to the outing, the students plan the social language activities that will prepare their clients for the game, such as ordering at the concession stand and cheering for the players. This year, the head coach was so excited about the outing that he wanted the clients, wearing team jerseys, to be introduced on the field with the team. And he asked that one of the clients throw out the first pitch. Preparation for these activities became the focus of the language therapy. In our meetings, I tell the students to ponder if this is ministry or just a field trip—and to plan accordingly. I look into their faces and I see a student smile. I give her a nod, and she attempts to articulate her understanding to the others. This one student is stepping out of her comfort zone by thinking for herself, not just repeating what she has been told, but starting to realize how her student life, her prayer life, her daily life, and her desire to minister to others have all intersected as she begins seeing from a different perspective.

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EM B RACING MINIST RY IN T HE P RE S E NT T E N SE Third-year students take courses in language development that cover the lifespan from birth to geriatric. As we progress through the semester, their personal experiences start making their way into the class discussions—their weekend job at the church nursery or as a nanny during the summer, working at a camp for kids with special needs, a dad who had a stroke, a grandma who has dementia, an aunt who is getting hearing aids. They ask questions: “What do I tell them?”; “How can I help them?”; “Who should they talk to about …?”; “Do you have advice for …?”; “Why aren’t they doing something?”

Without realizing it, their worlds are starting to merge and their view of ministry is changing shape. They have a glimpse of understanding about why they continually are reminded that “whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” And “whatever” includes honoring Him in the classroom through academics as well as outside activities. Again, I wait and watch and try to facilitate opportunities for them to continue with this subconscious smoldering of reconciliation between academics and ministry in the present tense.

Mid-semester a student announces in class, “Guess what one of our other professors said in his class today?” She continues with, “He said that at this place and time we are called to be students, and that we are all called to ministry.” I nod my head in agreement and smile. I know who they are talking about and what words will follow. He says, “Speech pathology is a great example of how students must be good stewards of their class time and studies because of the ministry opportunity of working with clients or patients—right now, not in the future.” And then follows more discussion as some of the older students share their journeys to the understanding of how every aspect of life contributes to the noble calling to minister to each other and those around us. As they share their journey, without even realizing it, they are continuing their acts of ministry by mentoring their peers and helping them shape their identities. It’s a good day in class. It’s a good day in Mo-Pro.

In spite of myself and my meanderings, I have ended up exactly where I was meant to be. And maybe the dean is right, the exit light can wait another day.

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY IN SOCIAL SCIENCES

Myra H ou s e r, Assistant Professor of History W. H. Sutton School of Social Sciences

“I think we’re asking the wrong question here.”

Those words hit me abruptly. In the midst of the lesson, one of our upperclassmen—and a survivor of several Ouachita African history courses— spoke up. And he was mostly right.

We were dissecting a book on religion in colonial Tanganyika (now part of Tanzania), and I had asked what I thought was a simple question. A historian posited that the people she’d written about had a “true” belief in a religious system—be that Christianity or Islam or a traditional religion—and that we could interpret what that was. She argued that getting to the heart of this belief should drive how we viewed who her subjects were in an age of colonialism.

My response to the class: We know that faith is important, so what do we think about this assertion that people either believed or didn’t believe what the archival record indicated they believed?

The student who spoke first pointed out that maybe, as another author of another book we’d studied during another semester argued, the real question was not what did people truly believe in this 200-year-old context, but what did it matter that they believed—that they acted—upon something? After all, we couldn’t quite put ourselves in someone else’s minds, but we could try to interpret their actions.

Maybe raising our own sympathy toward those actions would lead us back into knowing something about the nature of faith.

H OW CA N WE BETTE R UNDE RS TA ND OT HE RS ?

That point cut to the heart of our class, whose central question was this: How can we try to better understand how people interacted with those they believed were very different from themselves? Maybe, also, how did people in

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an era of immense economic, social, political, and even religious change try (or not) to better connect with each other, even when they knew they could not comprehend what was happening in someone else’s head? Their inner thoughts, emotions, and even motivations for action will always remain a little mysterious, no matter how hard we study or how much evidence we compile. What, then, do we make of our interactions with a person in the past or present?

That central theme has driven much of my academic and faith journeys, which have evolved in tandem. I grew up in southern Africa, the child of American missionaries—or, more accurately, the child of one American missionary and one third culture kid whose identity would always be in flux. From before I can remember, I found myself answering people’s questions as soon as I met them.

Where were my parents from? Why did they do this work? Did I adhere to their same faith? On which continent would I rather live? Okay, but no, if I had to decide and I couldn’t have both, which would I choose, because surely I liked one more?

While I know that I can never fully understand someone else’s life experience, I maintain that the questions third culture kids get are a little unique. We probably are more aware than most children of the impact our parents’ faith and professions have on our own lives. We recognize from a young age that we usually are treated with a bit of curiosity in any of the places we call “home.”

We grieve deeply, knowing that many of the people who have most influenced us will never meet or understand each other’s worlds, and knowing that no matter where we live, we always will feel at least a little out of the water.

In my case, I realized early on that people best learn about each other through questions. While some of the questions people would ask of me betrayed disdain or a voyeuristic curiosity, most reflected an attempt at genuine empathy. And so I began asking questions of myself. What did I believe? Who was God to me, when many of the people in the ecumenical environments where I grew up carried vastly different perceptions of this same God? Was my faith my own, or was I parroting it from my parents? Should or could I have a calling and career that embodied me as well as people believed my parents’ callings embodied them?

Why did my parents and their colleagues teach overseas that Jesus always was asking questions and telling parables, when folks we met in American churches seemed to believe that He was providing roadmaps and literal answers? And where the heck was I going to call “home” when I had to choose, anyway?

I also realized fairly early on that I could ask questions of other people. After all, that seemed to be a natural part of meeting someone and acknowledging their contexts. With the changing regional and geopolitics that accompanied the 14

end of apartheid during my childhood, there were plenty of questions to ask.

How did social and political systems affect individual lives? How did people identify themselves in an era when identities seemed forced upon them? Why did the stories that friends told about their lives not match the history lessons we learned in school? These questions kept me busy reading for answers during two years of homebound chronic illness, and they certainly kept me busy when our family moved to the States and I started high school. At that point, the questions I encountered changed. Did I ride elephants to school? How many languages were there? Is it true that South Africans are more racist than Americans? Had The Lion King been filmed anywhere close to where we’d lived?

If my life was going to involve these questions, I thought, I should choose a field of study that allowed me to seek answers.

ASK I NG QUES TION S IS P A RT OF LIF E Choosing a career is not a seamless process. Neither is training for one. For most people it is not an easy process, and for almost all it is not a linear one.

It often requires some deep wrestling with oneself and others about passions, callings, ambitions, interests, abilities, and—crucially—identity. Many of the students who sit in my classes or office ask questions about these themes, wondering aloud whether they will find happiness, parental approval, income, or identity within their work. Some are seeking—like myself and so many third culture kids—work that is both personally fulfilling and closely tied to their perceptions of self. Some are seeking a complete disjuncture. And while these are important, it also is important to understand the centrality of the questions themselves. After all, the average American changes careers—not just jobs—three times during his or her life, and around 80 percent of Americans eventually work in fields not related to their major. Technological shifts that we cannot anticipate mean that many of our students will wind up working in fields that do not yet exist. Since we can’t train students for jobs we don’t yet know about, we strive to teach transferable skills. In my discipline this means focusing on skills such as asking questions and seeking answers, thinking critically, reading carefully, and expressing oneself clearly. So learning to ask questions and embracing liberal arts traditions are key not only for personal fulfilment, but also for professional success. The problem is, we don’t always know what questions to ask. Sometimes, we don’t even know that it is okay to ask, and that is where both academic social sciences and Christian tradition can be so helpful. At their intersection, they teach us that asking questions is part of life, and they teach us to be compassionate in doing so.

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From high school on, journalism and social sciences intrigued me. It seemed that people who worked in those fields had a socially acceptable ability—maybe even a mandate?—to ask personal questions and then assess people’s answers. As my own students say when they find something that clicks, I soon realized that this was my life!

Not everyone finds that to be the case. Many of the folks who move through my African or Caribbean history courses will never travel to the regions we study. Most, if not all, of them will choose not to become professional historians of these areas. But teaching them about these regions has remained incredibly meaningful. Through the process of graduate training, research, and facilitating discussions such as the one I mentioned at the beginning of this essay, I have learned how to ask better questions and, more importantly, how to teach students to ask questions. These are useful in professional environments where employees work alongside or on behalf of people very different from themselves. They are useful in responsibly planning service, mission, or even vacation work and seeking to further understand a place with which they will engage directly for a week or two—and in memory likely much longer.

This leads into a deeper understanding of the varying images of God within which we are all created. They are useful when moving to Dallas or Northwest Arkansas or West Texas or the East Coast, regions that are home to some of the country’s highest concentrations of people who have relocated from Africa. As a couple of former students found, such questions are useful when graduate school and job interviewers hone in on classes and research topics that demonstrate a breadth of character, interest in the world, and willingness to work hard to learn about new things. And they are useful when engaging in the simple task of asking questions of ourselves and the people around us in order to better understand our fellow humans. As the student above pointed out, we cannot always assess someone’s inner thoughts—nor should we always try—but we can try to assess the actions that result. In doing so, we can sometimes come to understand people better.

AL L QUE S TIONS ARE ME A NINGF UL As a parent to two kids who are, incidentally, probably the smartest and most talented in the world, I’ve come to understand anew the ways in which we ask questions and seek answers. Some of these are an extension of parental worry.

What are the long-term prospects of a particular area of study? What is the value in spending time on a particular concept when that time is such a limited resource? Will this be meaningful? Of course, those questions have different answers for everyone. For myself, the path to finding meaningful work took several detours through majors, internships, and angst about fields in which I 16

never wound up working. But these were not in vain. A strange combination of a communications internship, a major in a language where I do not serve as a professional translator, and one of the only history courses that fit into my schedule one semester set me inadvertently on the path to the little people who now call me Mami. I could not have orchestrated that, and it did not ultimately fit into my career plan, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. My own personal and professional lives have become more meaningful for learning to ask questions and master skills that did not always directly correlate to résumés or job interview discussions. They have certainly enriched my ability to connect with students who are seeking to better understand the world around them— and to watch with pride as they come to understand academic connections.

The same has been true for my students, and I’m so glad. No matter what life has looked like prior, university provides such a rich opportunity to ask questions. I have found such deep fulfillment in teaching other folks how to compassionately and responsibly raise these questions of themselves and others.

Some questions have easy answers. Many do not. Some are stressful. Some are useful in ways that are hard to map out. They are all meaningful, as they lead us into our careers, our conceptions of self, our families, our faith journeys, our lifelong homes, and our compassion for the larger world around us. With all due respect to my student, that probably makes all questions the right ones.

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY IN HUMANITIES

Rebecca Jon e s , Associate Professor of Communications School of Humanities

Red carpets. Celebrities. Pop culture. Robert Redford. This is what I thought I would encounter when I ventured to Park City, Utah, for the 2011 Sundance Film Festival. Nearing completion of my doctoral coursework in communication studies, I was first drawn to Sundance through an elective course on the rhetoric of independent film for what I considered a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience.

My expectations confronted a reality that was much more vibrant and significant than I could have imagined. To say my time at Sundance was transformative is not hyperbole. The week spent in the snow-covered mountains of Utah brought new ideas to my attention; the films I saw did what Sundance films are best at—they “afflict[ed] the comfortable” by telling the stories of people whose experiences were quite different from my own. They taught me, and they touched me with portrayals of humanity that I would not have beheld if not for my immersion in the world of independent film.

Further, my study required that I attend the Windrider Forum, a daily gathering of students from colleges, universities, and seminaries on film, faith, and culture. These sessions helped to make sense of the deluge of films I saw.

Most significantly and in connection to my vocation as a person who seeks to nurture the communicative growth of young people, my experience birthed an idea—to find a way for Ouachita students to glimpse Sundance narratives that might disrupt their comfort and change them for the better.

EXP ERIENCING LIF E - GIV ING DIA LOGUE S Three years later, in partnership with Dr. Doug Sonheim, the Ouachita at Sundance program invited students to see for themselves films we hoped would inspire growth and change. Since its inception, five groups of students have feasted at the table of independent film offerings available each January in Park

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City. Benefitting from the insight of scholar-theologians leading conversations at Windrider, our students have been participants in life-giving dialogues with filmmakers about the stories they have chosen to tell.

Diverse subjects have captured the hearts and minds of our students at Sundance. Issues and histories of injustice, mental and physical health dilemmas and treatments, political upheavals, racism, disenfranchised populations, euthanasia, the crisis in Syria, identity development, environmental disruptions, immigration, theology, and many other important subjects have come into focus in the documentary and narrative films presented at Sundance. These films confront the most significant challenges facing our world—often inspiring broader cultural conversations following their Sundance showcase. They ask audiences to listen, question, and take something more than idle entertainment with them as they exit theatres. Sundance films invoke questions of appropriate response, and our students wrestle alongside their professors and others at the Windrider Forum to know what to do with what they have learned.

In January of 2019, we struggled with what we learned about the history of racial terrorism presented in the documentary Always in Season. With its graphic images and compelling evidence of community involvement in acts of violence that have gone largely unpunished, the film was difficult to watch. Aiming to tell the story of the history of lynching in America, the documentary takes an unflinching look at communities that committed, tolerated, and suffered racial terrorism in the era preceding the civil rights movement. It also raises questions related to contemporary injustices. The film advocates for heightened awareness of a shameful portion of American history, arguing that understanding is necessary for justice, for healing, and for reconciliation.

Five Ouachita students and I gathered for the film’s premiere. Immediately after the screening, a time of audience response unfolded. Film viewers stood to pose questions and make comments to the film’s director. Poignantly, a member of the audience sitting a few seats away from our group stood to say that the history recalled in the film reflected his family’s story. He said his grandfather had been the victim of lynching and that the shame his grandmother and father felt in the wake of their loss led them to avoid speaking of the tragedy that had befallen them many years earlier. The man described wounds that still exist in his family because of this sense of shame. Always in Season carefully pointed to the demoralization that both victims and perpetrators experienced, and the filmmaker argued that these feelings remained remarkably tender even in next generations.

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As we left the venue, one of my students, troubled by what she had seen and heard, asked, “What are we supposed to do with that?” Her question reflected a sense of helplessness in the face of systemic injustice that dates to our nation’s inception. I wrestled with a similar thought and could only offer an assurance of the value of empathetic listening as a step toward greater understanding.

A few days later, I recognized the man from the film’s audience as a co-attendee of the Windrider Forum. During a time of response to our experiences of the week, I heard him share his reaction to Always in Season. Soon after, I had the chance to speak with the man, whose name is Phillip. I thanked him for allowing strangers into his family’s story and asked his thoughts on what those troubled by racial division can do. Phillip had given my question extensive thought through his pastoral ministry and his work as a Fuller Seminary doctoral student. He shared a vision of actions that confront racial inequities that he used in a recent sermon.

He said we can “learn, listen, lament, and labor.” In relationship and through education and even through film, we can learn about what has happened and what is happening. Further, in conversation we can listen to the experiences and thoughts of others. We can lament, empathize, and grieve with those who suffer, and we can labor alongside others through praying, educating others, and standing for justice.

In conversation with my students, I shared what I learned from my new friend.

My students and I agreed that we are better for having seen Always in Season— just one of many 2019 films that left us undone.

Upon returning to the familiarity of Ouachita’s “bubble,” our students continued to reflect on this and other films they found challenging, puzzling, beautiful, motivating, or encouraging. Several films carried complex themes that drew us into serious conversation with one another. In these often spirited exchanges, we sought to understand perspectives and to share meaning as we grappled with questions about what we should do next. What could we do with what we had learned? Would we pack our Sundance experiences neatly into a box of memories that would be left untouched, or would we move beyond our comfort to something more? Our interaction with the writings of several scholars helped us consider the possibilities.

EXP L ORING WAY S T O C A RE F OR C ULT URE From artist, speaker, writer, and director of Fuller Seminary’s Brehm Center for Worship, Theology, and the Arts, Mako Fujimura, we considered ways we might care for culture through generative or fruitful living. According to Fujimura, “When we are generative, we draw on creativity to bring into being something fresh and life-giving.” In Fujimura’s view, “Culture is not a territory to be won 20

or lost but a resource we are called to steward with care. Culture is a garden to be cultivated.” Fujimura generously gave his time to join our group for dinner and conversation during our visit to Sundance. His message to us to “press into [life’s] brokenness” while encouraging one another and embracing joy in caring for culture left us with much to consider in light of the films.

Andy Crouch’s 2008 Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling explores creating and cultivating culture—what Crouch calls living as “artists and gardeners.”

Crouch explains that artists and gardeners share some similarities: Both begin with contemplation, paying close attention to what is already there. The gardener looks carefully at the landscape; the existing plans, both flowers and weeds; the way the sun falls on the land. The artist regards her subject, her canvas, her paints with care to discern what she can make with them.

And then, after contemplation, the artist and the gardener both adopt a posture of purposeful work. They bring their creativity and effort to their calling. The gardener tends what has gone before, making the most of what is beautiful and weeding out what is distracting or useless. The artist can be more daring; she starts with a blank canvas or a solid piece of stone and gradually brings something out of it that was never there before. They are acting in the image of One who spoke a world into being and stooped down to form creatures from the dust. They are creaturely creators, tending and shaping the world that original Creator made.

Robert Johnston and Craig Detweiler enabled us to consider ways God might work through film. These two leading authors in the conversation on faith and film helped us explore views on ways our Creator may reveal Himself through film narratives. Johnston’s historical overview of theological responses to film showed us that a variety of approaches emerged since the origin of film, starting with avoidance, moving to caution, later to dialogue, appropriation, and even, for some, divine encounter. Detweiler’s work argues that the theology of general revelation can affirm the mystery of divine encounter that some viewers describe.

Finally, Steven Garber’s 2014 Visions of Vocation: Common Grace for the Common Good challenged us to ponder the question, “Knowing what I know, what am I going to do?” Garber contends, “Knowledge means responsibility, and responsibility means care.” Recognizing human imperfection and brokenness in the world, Garber recounts stories of people who have attempted to mitigate difficult 21

circumstances, in hope, to do “something rather than nothing.” Further, Garber articulates, “We live between possibilities, between what ought to be and what will be, between what is and what can be. And always, our longings are complex because our loves are complex because we are complex.”

I NH ALING IDEA S , EX HA LING A C T IONS Students in our group seemed to inhale the ideas curated in this course and exhale their desire to do as Garber suggests—to step in and do … something. We saw them be moved by Sundance films and challenged to discern what to do with what they knew—to serve as artists and gardeners seeking to care for culture.

Several students aimed to share their Sundance experience more widely on campus. Through class assignments and campus presentations and in conversation, they talked about what they saw. They also worked with campus partners to present an independent film screening that featured a Sundanceinspired time for audience response. In this way, we modeled the experience of engaging in meaningful conversation about film with our community.

As individuals, we saw several students moved to deeper reflection and action.

One student found inspiration from a film about a family’s experience with disability. To heighten awareness among his peers, he invited students to create pottery while blindfolded in an effort to mimic the experience of making art without the benefit of sight. Another student, moved by a documentary about the shortcomings of America’s mental health system, planned for a new organization that will raise awareness and provide support for students facing challenges with mental health. A third student engaged in conversations of significance about her faith development as integrally connected with her experience with media. She considered ways God might be shaping her in light of her interaction with media.

The time these students spent at Sundance affected them. Sundance films, Windrider conversations, and course interactions disrupted their comfort and changed them for the better. As the influence of Sundance continues to unfold for our students, I hope they reflect holistically on their time in Park City, perceiving intellectual, emotional, embodied, and spiritual understandings that brought development and even transformation. Further, I hope these reflections continue inspiring care for culture through cultivation and creation, knowing and loving the world despite brokenness, and recognizing God’s ability to draw them to Himself through any means, including images presented on-screen.

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY IN FINE ARTS

Ryan L e wis , Associate Professor of Music School of Fine Arts

I am standing against a cinder block wall in my middle school band room in my hometown of Charleston, South Carolina, nervously tapping my knees with a pair of cheap yellow plastic bell mallets in one hand and a dirty brown pair of drum sticks in the other. It is hot and sticky outside, but I am sweating indoors because today is the day – the dreaded Scale Test Day. Our ex-military band director curtly shouts my last name into the band room from inside the instrument storage closet, and it is my turn to march to the scaffold. I trudge to the pock-marked snare drum and surprise myself by playing a decent five-stroke roll despite my moist palms. I set down the sticks and shift to the silver bell kit. I pick up the bell mallets and play the B-flat major scale perfectly, except for my inexplicable ability to strike the E and F bars simultaneously with one mallet.

With a sigh of relief and a questioning grin for the band director, I quickly exit my crucible to the freedom and comfort of my percussion comrades.

My consistently unprepared compatriot hurriedly asks me to show him the notes of the B-flat major scale. I use my fingers on a battered xylophone to show him how to find B-flat and then hastily concoct a silly way to remember the shape and pattern of correct notes. His name is blared out, and he pounces across the room and into the storage closet.

His five-stroke roll is better than mine, but he always has been better at snare drum.

Now is the moment of truth. Through the thin door, I hear him methodically strike each note of the B-flat major scale all the way to the top, and I indulge in a knowing smile.

On the way down, he misses only E-flat. He exits the pit of despair with a booming grin, knowing he pulled a rabbit out of the hat and passed the dreaded scale test.

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I congratulate my friend, and he heartily thanks me for showing him the doublesmile shape the notes of B-flat major create across the keyboard. What I imagine to be a fatherly pride swells within me. Unsure of the sensation, I smile with satisfaction at my friend and inwardly at myself.

Later that evening, I lay smiling on my bed, self-satisfactorily staring at the ceiling, and whisper contractually, “I’m going to be a music teacher.”

WH Y I AM A MUSIC E DUC AT OR This is the story of why I am a music educator. This watershed moment gave me a sense of purpose, a confidence that I was good at something and could help others succeed. How did it happen? Why did it happen? I did not realize until years later that it was because I had followed God’s calling for my life, which would become a calling to guide others to their callings. Without realizing it, I had heard God’s triangle. Ting!

Oftentimes in comic books, when the characters get an idea or suddenly know exactly what to do, an exclamation point appears above their heads. In films, instead of an exclamation point, we hear a triangle, bright and clear, like a metallic bell. This usually happens when a character is confused, not sure what to do, at an impasse and then ting – the individual has a moment of clarity and knows what to do, where to go, and how to do it.

If you will indulge me in a percussion analogy, I think God has a triangle, and we can hear it when we are in His presence, seeking His will, asking His Holy Spirit to show us the right thing to do.

In II Kings, frustrated with the Israelites, Elijah travels to Mount Horeb, the mountain of God, and Scripture says there was a great wind, an earthquake and a fire – but God was not in those. Then came “a gentle whisper” or “a still small voice.” Guidance from God does not often come to us in obvious ways. His is a still small voice, quiet, powerful and personal. Psalm 46 says we are to “be still and know that I am God,” and that means listening for the distant, metallic ting of the triangle, being aware of the Holy Spirit nudging us to follow God’s direction.

P U RSUING GODLY C HOIC E S A ND BOLD DE C IS I O N S We make godly choices and bold decisions by being open to God’s guidance, tuning in to Him, and then having the faith and obedience to do what we should do. Looking back, I recall many times in my life that I was in tune with God and made bold decisions after hearing the ting of His triangle.

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In graduate school, I was inspired by a performance by a talented Chinese musician. Ting! Nervously, I approached her after a concert, praising her beautiful playing and offering to collaborate sometime. She threw me a CD, said it was track seven, and that she would email me. Months later, she was invited to perform at Carnegie Hall and asked me to join her for the performance.

After graduate school, I found myself teaching elementary school music at a tough, rural school where I taught 800 students each week. I drove to school each day in a carpool, and one day one of my fellow teachers said, “Your church needs a youth director. You should apply.” Ting! In a few months, I began working as a full-time youth director, the second of two jobs I never expected to hold that involved teaching and music. In both places, the students taught me how to teach, and I am a better professor because of them.

In doctoral school, I took an American Music course, which included a major research paper. Ting! I was performing a ragtime xylophone piece by George Hamilton Green, a celebrity percussionist from the early 1900s who I knew was someone important in the percussion world, but did not know a lot about.

That research paper on Green first turned into my dissertation, then into published journal articles, and later into a presentation and performance at an international convention, manifested as a curated museum exhibit, fueled master classes at several universities and workshops, and finally solidified into a forthcoming book about the entire Green family and their contributions to American music.

There is a saying in the music world: “Each gig gets you the next gig.” In the same way, each godly decision and bold choice moves us further toward the center of God’s will and what is right for the Kingdom. When we are in touch with God and do what we are supposed to for His Kingdom, it means that others around us will too – family, co-workers, students, audiences.

It was a long, circuitous path to Ouachita, and we should all be careful when claiming God’s will, but I am sure that Ouachita is where God wants me to be.

And I am not just happy, but thoroughly content knowing that my family and I are where we are supposed to be, doing what we are supposed to do.

My calling is to be a meaningful part of every student’s life as a musician, teacher, mentor and coach. I pray that I make the right decisions in weekly lessons and Percussion Ensemble rehearsals, give the right guidance in advising sessions, say the right thing when needed in a Steel Band rehearsal or chatting in the hallway between classes. I hope to inspire students to be their own best 25

teacher, help them learn to make their own decisions, and look for God’s direction for their lives today, tomorrow and into the future.

Teaching and performing music reflects my identity in Christ because I am trying my best to do God’s will in my life and keep the appointments He has for me each day. That means I also am seeking to do God’s will and fulfill His purposes in the lives of my wife and children, coworkers, church members, fellow musicians, and most especially in the lives of my students at Ouachita.

WH AT HA S GOD CRE AT E D Y OU T O DO? As students, if your calling involves music, you must ask, “How do I get better at music? How do I prepare for the future? How can I serve and glorify God during college as well as after college?”

Many students come to Ouachita knowing that they are going to major in music, but they are not sure what area because there are so many possible paths available, including performer, music educator, church music minister, composer, songwriter, arts administrator, music therapist, audio engineer, acoustician, conductor, intellectual property lawyer, music journalist, music librarian, music management, and more.

Music students explore and learn in all of these areas to help guide them to the correct calling and career path. I have seen many students begin at Ouachita as a music major in one area, then peek behind a new musical doorway, and change to a different major because they were exposed to a multitude of musical niches they did not realize even existed. It is my job as a music professor to be a guide as students travel upon and make decisions at the myriad musical forks in the road. This exploration gives students the opportunity to determine what their musical interests and talents are, what their calling is, what God has created them to be and to do.

I have seen students go into the field of ethnomusicology and travel to Europe for research because of a project they researched in a Music History course. I have seen students major in Music Performance after working with guest artists who I bring to campus or when students perform in a summer program or international competition and conclude that they really enjoy practicing and performing. Students become Music Education majors because they discover that they are not only good at helping their fellow students, they are hooked on the feeling of witnessing others succeed. These students pursue teaching because they find it so rewarding to be a positive influence in a student’s life.

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If music is your calling, you absolutely can serve God through music, both now in college and in the future. College music study does prepare now for a later professional career, but students often lose sight of how they serve God during college in the daily grind of classes, projects, rehearsals, and performances.

Music students serve God in innumerable ways! We are blessed to do something only a fraction of the world population can – perform beautiful, challenging, poignant, entertaining music for thousands of people each academic year on campus, on ensemble tours, in churches, in retirement homes, in elementary schools, and in children’s hospitals.

The issue that often rears its ugly, doubting head when music majors start to question the worth of their calling as musicians is that we, as musicians, do not see the immediate effects of our performances upon the lives of others around us – fellow students, faculty, staff, administration, individuals in the community, local churches, our family. The reality is that we may never know who is in the audience that day and the positive, perhaps life-changing effect we have on those for whom we create music. With each concert, we have the opportunity to say something through music that is important to at least one person out there in the sea of seats, something profound with the power to make people feel different emotions, to change the way they think about racism, war, love or faith. But we also should not underestimate the power of simply making people smile because what that one person may need is an opportunity to relax for a moment, set aside their worries and heartaches, and just enjoy entertaining music.

You are reading this right now, at this moment in time, for a reason. Do you know what it is yet? Are you listening for God’s direction, for His plan, or are you focusing on your own itinerary? Will you listen for God’s quiet voice, for His direction? Ting! Do you have the faith to do His will, to make godly choices and bold decisions?

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY IN BUSINESS

Bryan M cK in ne y, Dean, Associate Professor of Business Law, and University Counsel Frank D. Hickingbotham School of Business

As an undergraduate student pursuing majors in psychology and history, I dreamed about any number of things I might become—perhaps I’d become a lawyer or a counselor, or I might even follow in my father’s footsteps and begin a career with the YMCA. I even visited a few seminaries, thinking that people who desire to serve God through their work might work in a church. In all the hours I pondered what my future might look like, I never imagined I might one day serve as dean of a business school. During my undergraduate season of life, I wanted to find and do God’s will.

I believed God knew the number of hairs on my head. I still believe that, by the way, even if the number is slightly lower now than it was a few decades ago. And if God knows the number of hairs on our heads, then surely He cares about where we spend forty to fifty hours a week for the indefinite future. Surely, I thought, God would honor my desire to find and follow His will for my life. So, I prayed and I studied and I waited for a word from God. And I waited. And I waited a bit more.

And God was silent. I mean, radio silent.

And I was frustrated. I mean, really frustrated. So many of my friends seemed to know what they were going to do. Some were called to be teachers. Some were called to be pastors. Some were called to be business leaders. Some were called to be doctors. I just wanted to be called. But no; God was silent—or so I thought.

Then, if I have ever experienced an epiphany, it happened. One morning as I was reading through 1 Thessalonians, it was as if God had reached out from the pages of my Bible (this was a real Bible, by the way—back then our phones didn’t fit in our pockets and also serve as our Bibles and cameras and general time wasters) and proclaimed, “I’ve not been silent. I spoke very clearly to you a couple thousand years ago.” The words of 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 provided the clarity I had sought: “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”

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It all began to make sense to me. God might care more about my spiritual condition than who signs my paycheck. And this was a liberating realization. Suddenly, I realized I was walking smack in the middle of His will for my life, even as I had no clue what my future profession might be. I loved the remaining months of my studies at Ouachita, and I wished like crazy that I’d stumbled upon 1 Thessalonians a few years sooner. I took stock of where my strengths and interests were and eventually chose to pursue a career in law. I began as a private practice attorney and then transitioned to Ouachita, where I had the opportunity to teach students about the law and tend to the university’s legal needs. And now, I have the amazing opportunity to serve as the dean of the Hickingbotham School of Business.

Each day I seek to joyfully, prayerfully, and thankfully embrace my work. Some days I’m more successful than others, but I never questioned whether I made the right decision after finding 1 Thessalonians.

C AL L ED TO DO “ST UF F A ND T HINGS ” If I have ever experienced a second epiphany, it happened a few years ago when one of my heroes in life shared her life story with my Sunday school class. This woman served as a missionary for decades. She was and is bold in her faith. She prays like nobody I’ve ever known. I had heard amazing stories of her time on the mission field. Before she began talking, I imagined I would hear tales of God working through her much like we read in the book of Acts.

As she began to tell her story, it became clear that I would hear of no such tales.

Rather, she said that God called her to do “stuff and things” for Him. That’s it. Stuff and things. Nothing fancy. Nothing attention-grabbing. Just stuff and things. She changed a lot of diapers. She taught kids to read. She put Neosporin on banged-up knees. She took fruit to people in the village. She made sure her kids had Christmas and birthday presents on a missionary budget. And sure, she was part of moments that might’ve been recorded in the book of Acts, had they occurred 2,000 years ago. But when she thinks back on her journey, she was simply called to do stuff and things.

If that was her calling, I surely wouldn’t expect a higher calling. Her simple threeword description—stuff and things—has helped me find meaning in some of the monotonous things that can otherwise fill my day. I must confess, helping a student decide between a 10:00 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. MWF course offered by the same professor just doesn’t seem to be the most important conversation. And I doubt telling a student advisee (for eight consecutive semesters) how to find the sequence numbers in order to do his part in the pre-registration process would have made the cut to get in the book of Acts.

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But I have come to appreciate that these are the stuff and things of my journey.

I can look for reasons to be frustrated about spending my days having these conversations. Or, I can joyfully, prayerfully, and thankfully embrace my version of stuff and things.

After all, if I can’t believe that my stuff and things matter, why should I expect my students to care about the mundane stuff and things of their days? If I don’t enthusiastically embrace conversations about schedules and degree plans, how can I expect my students to embrace the details of their work, such as studying for quizzes and diligently taking notes in my 8:00 a.m. class?

C O NN ECTING BUSINE S S A ND T HE LIBE RA L AR T S Speaking of my students, I believe they are uniquely situated in a business school operating within a university grounded in the liberal arts tradition. As I was interviewing for the role of dean, I spent significant time exploring what the university says about a liberal arts education. I feared my business school colleagues might not readily accept me as dean, because of my “liberal artsy” psychology and history majors. And, I feared my university-wide colleagues would never fully embrace a thriving business school within a liberal arts university. My sense is that too many people perceive a disconnect between business and the liberal arts.

However, the more I explored, the more convinced I became that a business degree in the context of a liberal arts education is a beautiful thing. There are far more synergies than pressure points. Ouachita claims that the person educated in the liberal arts tradition possesses not only knowledge and intellectual skills, but also the inclination and ability to apply them to appropriate ends. Students in our business school are busy applying entrepreneurial skills in business plan competitions or applying financial literacy skills in the Ary Fund. Students educated in the liberal arts are capable of self-reflection, which often leads to the assumption of responsibility for problem-solving—that’s exactly what our students are attempting to do through our various Enactus projects that seek to find solutions to problems involving hunger, access to education, and poverty.

Ouachita claims that those educated in the liberal arts will demonstrate the skills of articulate communication, which is the ability to present ideas in a clear, effective way—and derives from skills in information-gathering, conceptualization, abstraction, logic, the use of language, and the ability to understand the positions of others. And, individuals educated in the liberal arts are inclined to serve the common good, to continue learning after formal education has ended, and to seek meaning in life.

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D I SCOVERING WHAT MAT T E RS IN LIF E All too often, business people are painted as narrow, self-oriented people who care only about their own advancement. But our best students, and the people who come back to invest in them, are far better than this. In fact, they often look a lot like the picture of a person educated in the liberal arts. They are effective communicators. They are serving the common good through charitable contributions, service to non-profit boards, and investment in our students.

They continue learning—about themselves and the people they serve. And the best ones are about much more than their businesses. They are on a journey to discover what matters in life. Ultimately, they, too, are doing stuff and things.

My prayer is that we all will joyfully, prayerfully, and thankfully embrace the stuff and things along our respective journeys.  

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY I N E D U C AT I O N

Rac hel P ool, Associate Professor of Education Michael D. Huckabee School of Education

I always have been fascinated with the scriptural phrase “Well done, my good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21). I also have often imagined what it will be like to hear those words being said to me. I know that in order for those words to be spoken, the actions and decisions that I make here on earth need to embody a life of meaningful work.

When pondering a profession to pursue, I had only one thought and that was to become a teacher. My grandmother, mother, father, and sister were all teachers, so choosing this path and witnessing the Kingdom’s work that would be required of me were undeniable. I knew that I would need to be thoroughly prepared to enter the classroom, not just with the knowledge of mathematics or the best pedagogical practices, but also with an understanding of all facets of scholarly learning that a liberal arts education could provide.

Beyond choosing education as my profession, my first course of action on my path to embodying a life of meaningful work was to choose Ouachita Baptist University as the place from which to earn my undergraduate degree. This important decision set into motion experiences both inside and outside the Ouachita classroom that would shape me into the educator I am today—one who recognizes that each student has been created in the image of God and deserves a future, no matter his or her circumstances.

EAC H S TUDENT CRE AT E D IN GOD’ S IMA GE During my fourth year of teaching, I had a student who suffered from anxiety and depression. She had failed the course the previous year, so when she came to me, her belief in herself and in her abilities was shattered. She had lost hope and was desperately searching for validation that she could succeed. I knew that it would take all of the skills that I had acquired, practiced, and modified at Ouachita and

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in the previous three years in the school setting to let this student know that she had value, that she was capable, and that she had been created to accomplish amazing things in her life.

Because of my liberal arts background, I knew to first start by gaining an understanding of her holistically, and not just isolate her mathematical ability.

I knew that her passion was for the fine arts: acting and singing. I knew that she was unbelievably creative and thought abstractly. I also knew that she was a fierce friend to a few girls in the class. With all this in mind, I began to help her see mathematics as an art form, to develop study skills that involved acting and singing out the mathematical processes, and to work collaboratively with her friends to help solidify her understanding of difficult concepts. I did not want this student to let her past define her. Rather, I wanted this student to know that she was created for greatness and that her unique talents could be used to overcome many obstacles in order to reach that greatness.

Nine years later, I heard back from this student, and she indeed had achieved greatness. She had graduated from college and had gone on to pursue a career as a teacher. I can only imagine the lives she will impact, especially for those students who will have similar background stories. She will be able to help students cope with failure and find the steps needed to reach success. Because she personally experienced the benefit of someone investing in her, she will make the investment in others and help them to see how uniquely they were created.

EAC H S TUDENT DE S E RV E S A F UT URE During my first two years of teaching, I taught in a Title 1 school district. The circumstances that these students were facing were heartbreaking. In my firstand second-period classes, I had several students who were members of a gang.

These young men sought belonging, self-worth, and identity. Although I could not change the circumstances, because of my preparation at Ouachita, I was able to develop a classroom atmosphere that gave these young men leadership opportunities to peer teach the mathematical processes, provide them with openresponse word problems to help them realize that there is more than one solution to a problem, and give them second chances when they made mistakes in order to reaffirm that it is okay to choose a different path.

Next, in my third period, I had a student who made a split decision to get into a car with a friend who drove too fast around a curve. My student flew out of the passenger side and was permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

Because of his fortitude and determination, he decided to come back to school

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that same academic year after going through rehabilitation. I decided to match his fortitude and determination and made sure to keep him up to date with the lessons he had missed and to help him stay on track in order to progress with his peers and enter his senior year of high school.

For my fourth period class, I had a student who would get sick almost three times a week, and his doctors could not determine the reason why. He was a tenth-grader who was taking my eleventh-grade math class in order to catch up to the advanced math track for graduation. Because he missed a lot of school, he would come to every Saturday tutoring session to relearn all of the lessons. His perseverance paid off, for he got on the advanced math track, graduated with honors, and was accepted to Johns Hopkins University.

Finally, in my fifth-period class, I had a student who told me she was pregnant.

She had a very kind, sweet disposition but lacked the motivation to finish school and earn her diploma because no one expected her to finish or even cared if she did. I knew that this diploma could open doors for her in the future, and I strived each day that she attended to encourage her to finish strong, value education, and consider long-term decisions with a broader perspective in mind. In the end, she did finish her senior year, and during teacher appreciation week, she brought me some of her and her siblings’ leftover Easter candy to say thank you.

For all of these students and so many more, I did not want their past circumstances to define them. Rather, I wanted their education to help redefine them. My hope was that the lessons taught in my classes would go beyond just learning the math standards. Ultimately, I wanted to provide hope for the ones who finally were able to catch on, security for the ones who needed consistency in an inconsistent world, and vision for the ones who could not see the potential within themselves.

K I NG DOM WORK H A P P E NS E V E RY DAY Before entering Ouachita, I always thought that my preparation for being a teacher would be found in the classes that ensured I was competent in my field and had acquired the skills to teach in ways that best met my students’ needs.

Looking back, I realize that my calling, my preparation for my life’s meaningful work, was developed in every single class that I took at Ouachita. Each class I took showed me how to make an investment in someone’s life by teaching me how to communicate effectively, research and analyze a situation accurately, and demonstrate grace and understanding appropriately.

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For me, Kingdom work happens every minute of every class period, every single day. If an individual’s desire and calling is to become a teacher, he or she will accomplish a lifetime of meaningful work. I have no doubt that, with the preparation provided through a liberal arts education here at Ouachita, an aspiring teacher can make an eternal difference by investing in others. I believe that teachers who take up this calling and see their students as part of their lives’ meaningful work will hear those affirming words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

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THE HEART OF MEANINGFUL STUDY I N I N T E R D I S C I P L I N A RY S T U D I E S Ben U tte r, Assistant Professor of English School of Interdisciplinary Studies, School of Humanities

“Do this work until you feel the delight of it.”

—Anon., The Cloud of Unknowing (14th century)

WH AT IF BILLY GR A HA M HA D HA D A S IS T E R? Among the rituals of a college professor is the bi-annual reading of student course evaluations when they arrive a few days after the posting of final grades. I am especially interested in the feedback from my world literature students, most of whom are not English majors and minors, but students from other majors.

They haven’t enrolled because they wanted to, but because a certain number of humanities credits are required in order to graduate. A liberal arts education is an all-you-can-eat buffet, and though some come with hearty appetites for what is spread before them, even many of these are a little finicky about letting the dishes touch each other. Plenty of my students appear to wonder what a literature class could possibly have to do with their business or biblical studies or speech pathology major. They came for the fried chicken main course, doggone it, and that weird curry dish that I’m forcing them to sample had just better stay on its side of the tray!

Knowing this, I had told my students that I was especially interested in hearing how they had found our world literature class relevant to their major coursework.

But one thing I forgot to tell them, I realized as I settled in with my coffee and began reading, was to kindly remember to avoid using the word “relatable.” There it was in the first comment: “I hadn’t really expected to enjoy this class, because I’m not really a reader, but some of what we read turned out to be pretty relatable.”

I sighed. For years, this word, “relatable,” whose growing popularity I started to notice about a decade ago, has permeated my students’ speech and writing like holes in otherwise good cheese. What on earth could I have against such an 36

innocent-sounding little word? Don’t I want students to relate to what they’re learning? The trouble is that it’s a vacuous placeholder meant to signify approval or disapproval but saying almost nothing. To describe something as “relatable” is to say little more than that it is “able to be related to,” without conveying the faintest idea of how or why all this wonderful relating is taking place.

So, you found Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave “really relatable”? Well, terrific! So, is that because you have some personal experience with enslavement? Or perhaps you mean that there’s something about Douglass’s storytelling so powerful that you found yourself experiencing the trauma of his memories?

The deeper problem with “relatable” is that it so often carries the implication that it is the duty of a story to come to the reader, rather than the other way around. In these terms, the sign of a good text is ease of access, and the mark of a good professor is the ability or willingness to serve them up for the easy consumption of students: here you go! It’s tasty and you won’t need a knife; heck, you’ll barely have to chew!

What’s doubly maddening about relatability as a default metric of approval is that of course I want students to be able to relate to the texts and ideas we encounter, and to relate them not only to themselves, but to the rest of their studies. Helping them to discover and create those connections is at the heart of what I do. But relating, as anyone who has spent time even with their own relations at a family reunion will know, can often be hard, and that difficulty is part of the process. Truly relating demands generosity of spirit, a willful extension of sympathetic imagination. It requires careful reading, sustained attention, and the sacrifice of time necessary for both. It also takes the courage to be vulnerable to the new and unusual, to venture out from the safe familiarity of one’s own cultural enclosure.

A few years back, one young woman wrote a world literature paper in response to Virginia Woolf ’s essay, A Room of One’s Own, in which Woolf argues that the achievements of women have been limited by lack of resources and societal freedom, and not by any inherent inferiority. To illustrate the point, Woolf engages in a famous thought experiment. What would have happened, she speculates, if Shakespeare had had a sister, every bit his intellectual equal? In Shakespeare’s time such a woman’s fate, she concludes, would not have been a happy one. Likely she would have been laughed at, forced to rely on the support of unworthy men until, her ambitions thwarted and her brilliance stifled, she killed herself in despair.

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In her essay in response to all this, my student, a biblical studies major who has since graduated, wrote with brave candor that it had been with some reluctance that she had opened her anthology of world literature and begun to read the assigned text. “All I knew about Virginia Woolf was that she was a feminist, something I had been raised to think of as un-Christian.” As she began reading, however, she found herself charmed by Woolf ’s brilliant wit, and then aching with indignant sympathy as she learned of the barriers to women’s higher education that existed in Woolf ’s day. “I began to feel a kinship with this strong, intelligent woman whose culture would not allow her full use of her gifts. I am studying theology in a denomination uncomfortable with letting women preach. Maybe I have more in common with Woolf than I thought.” And then, upon reading about Shakespeare’s hypothetical sister, “I suddenly wondered, what if Billy Graham had had a sister?”

D I FFERE NT PONDS , S A ME A QUIF E R Having read all the evaluations and having achieved a perilous level of caffeination, I found myself in need of another ritual, a head-clearing run along a trail in some woods near my house. About a mile in, I spotted a little pond through the trees. I left the trail and trotted over for a look, and for some reason—maybe I was thirsty?—I thought of the phrase “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” Just as quickly, this brought to mind my high school history class, which had not been on its best behavior the day our poor, longsuffering teacher declared with an air of disgusted resignation, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink!” I knew we had earned his irritation and I stayed contritely silent. Still, part of me wanted to protest, “But students are not horses! And shouldn’t we be skeptical of anyone trying to make us drink anything? You’re the one who taught us about Jonestown!

‘Beware the Kool-Aid,’ you told us!”

“Poor Mr. Poindexter,” I thought as I neared the pond. I can hardly blame him for scolding us, or for resorting to tired old clichés. Still, it’s one I have tried to avoid using ever since th—but these reflections were cut short by a startling burst of activity. A snapping turtle and an enormous frog splashed into the water at my approach and a shy, beautifully patterned snake withdrew into the leaves.

Perhaps the proverbial horse is smart not to drink; who knows what grows in ponds? It is wise to question the agenda of anyone presuming to lead you to such places. But wonderful things may dwell there, and there’s no way to notice if you don’t get close enough to see. You may find, if nothing else, your own reflection, even through the surface scum, and begin to know yourself differently.

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I have stretched the poor metaphor far enough—but stretching is kind of the point. Metaphor, simile, allegory, symbols: these are literature’s stock in trade, all of them reaching to compare unalike things. As such, there’s something inherently interdisciplinary about them. I tell my students, “Everything is more complicated than it appears on the surface, and connected in surprising ways.”

Different ponds may be fed by the same deep aquifer.

TO SEEK OR NOT T O S E E K The “liberal” in “liberal arts” comes from the Latin liber, meaning free and unrestricted. Sadly, I doubt that many of my students would characterize their academic experience this way. So many mornings in class, they look far from free. Instead, they look distracted and worn. Some of them merely have Xbox hangovers from all-night gaming, of course, but in fact it is often the most diligent students who seem the most anxious, beset with the urgent question: What is the calling on my life?

How can I blame them for being impatient with anything that seems unrelated to trying to find out what their work is and then preparing to do it? But what they seem not to realize—what I want so desperately for them to realize—is that the work they are anxious to prepare for has already begun!

Odd as it may sound to students, the longer I teach the more I feel that my calling is not so much to profess confident expertise as it is to help them learn to name and navigate the unavoidable fact of their own inadequacy, and, in so doing, to better sympathize with the inadequacy of others. As writer David Dark put it recently, “Fiction reminds us that we don’t know what we’re doing.”

The point is not to become epistemological nihilists, but instead that at some level we are to work with imperfect knowledge. By recognizing that fact, we can live more humbly but also imagine more boldly, drawing nearer to the accuracy we seek, whether what we’re after is the right word, a coding solution, or a medical diagnosis and treatment plan. “There are more things in heaven and Earth,” Hamlet tells his friend Horatio, “than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” and although this can be read as a rebuke to the supposed confident certainty of the natural sciences, I prefer to read it as a mantra of exciting possibility.

Of course, students might well reply, it’s all very well to quote Hamlet, but one can’t be Hamlet! Choices must be made and action taken!

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I remember that feeling… because I so often still have it. To such students I would say—and do say—that my life has only confirmed one of the great lessons of literature, which is that uncertainty is not an anomaly, an abnormal state of being to be addressed so that one can move on to a life of decisive action. It is inherent, and all of life’s decisions must participate in that uncertainty. Hamlet’s remark to Horatio is, at least for me, also a summons to faith. Anselm of Canterbury said that the Christian life is one of “faith seeking understanding.” That we will achieve understanding is not, alas, a forgone conclusion.

But if fiction reminds us that we don’t know what we’re doing, poetry can help us see that, as Wordsworth wrote, “all that we behold is full of blessings.”

Among the lovely things that my students wrote in their evaluations was this, from a biblical studies major: “I suppose one who is dedicated to studying the Creator should expect to find Him throughout the creation, which I believe forms the basis for a Christian liberal arts education.”

The fourteenth-century English mystic who wrote The Cloud of Unknowing conceived of God as both intimate and unknowable, and urged prayer until “nothing lives in the working mind but a naked intent stretching to God.” It occurs to me that the work of prayer, “stretching to God,” is like the work of metaphor, stretching to discover resemblance in difference. It is like the work of imagining ways to relate to texts or care for people, even those who feel desperately “unrelatable.”

The work is hard, and it is good work, and it is now.

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Acknowledgments The mission of Ouachita Baptist University thrives on being “a Christ-centered learning community.” Our mission embraces the liberal arts to ready students “for ongoing intellectual and spiritual growth, lives of meaningful work, and reasoned engagement with the world.” For such purpose, in the academic year of 2018-2019, Ouachita focused on understanding how we might better foster “lives of meaningful work.”

The Heart of Our Work is born out of the desire of Ouachita faculty and staff to support our students as they puzzle out their own answers for this sometimesnettling question, “What should I do?” We first wish to thank our students for being vulnerable with candor to explain to us their anxieties about vocation, but more importantly, for students’ explaining to us their challenges with homework and practice, which is the heart of our work. Such bright, diverse students continue to make us as staff and faculty love whom we get to work with and what we get to do.

We feel deep gratitude to our president Dr. Ben Sells and our vice president Dr. Stan Poole for helping us manifest our desire to support our students through this book of essays. It was President Sells and Vice President Poole who facilitated our partnership with The Council of Independent Colleges, an entity which enabled us to apply for and receive a generous grant from the Network for Vocation in Undergraduate Education (NetVUE) that was fully funded by The Lilly Endowment. We are indebted to these entities for their oversight, helping us broaden and deepen the conversation of helping our students find their callings. The Council of Independent Colleges, The Lilly Endowment, and Ouachita Baptist University’s own Birkett Williams Endowed Lecture Series financially supported our bringing author Steven Garber to Arkadelphia from Vancouver, his lecture and campus conversations sparking a semester long faculty-and-staff book study of his Visions of Vocation: Common Grace for the Common Good (2014) in the fall of 2018. Our thanks to Rebecca Wallace of Sodexo Catering and her staff for gracing each lunchtime book study with fortifying delectables, provided through the office of President Sells.

Behind the scenes, making arrangements and solving problems, Tracey Knight, Missy Lewis, Dr. Byron Eubanks, Rachel Roberts, Tim Harrell, Tammy Barnes, and Laurie Huneycutt worked out kinks with their masterful efficiency and know-how.

This book was physically created through the expertise and wisdom of Trennis Henderson, Brooke Zimny, Ashley Carozza, and Haydn Jeffers. Thank you so much.

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ON THE COVER Mallorie Svercauski

Something Beautiful pencil, pen, adobe illustrator

A Ouachita student, Mallorie entered Something Beautiful in our 2019 Beloved Community exhibit, illustrating Dr. Martin Luther King’s call to make space for all of us at the table. Mallorie notes, “This piece should inspire the viewer to share their life with and get to know someone who comes from a completely different walk of life.” Mallorie pictures the good work of building community through coffee and books with five images of hands. Poetically, “hand” symbolizes work.

As Solomon says, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). Such Christ-pleasing, creative, and reasonable work is at the core of Ouachita’s mission.

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We want to know your story about meaningful work. Let’s talk.

We are here to help as you explore career options that align with your calling.

Contact us or schedule an appointment.

OFFICE OF CAREER & CALLING careerandcalling@obu.edu • 870.245.5283 410 Ouachita Street • Box 3776 • Arkadelphia, Arkansas 71998-0001