The Unlikely Disciple Part 8

"Malone."

"What'd he say this time?"

"Some c.r.a.p about my girlfriend."

The past few weeks have been filled with ups and downs for Paul. First came Spiritual Emphasis Week, when he got saved. That kept him on cloud nine until the following week, when he attended football tryouts and narrowly missed making the squad. He spent three or four days moping around the hall, talking about how badly he'd been robbed. Then, forty-eight hours later, during Liberty's prefrosh recruitment weekend, a seventeen-year-old high school senior named Lauren approached Paul to ask him for directions to the student center. He walked her there, they spent the rest of the day together, and by the end of the weekend, they had fallen in love. Lauren lives in Florida, but they decided to try a long-distance relations.h.i.+p until she arrives at Liberty in the fall.

Now, there's another problem. A few days ago, Ryan Malone, one of our hallmates, began criticizing Paul's new relations.h.i.+p. The issue, he said, is that Lauren is white, and Paul is black, and Ryan is . . . well, how can I put this? Here, I'll let him introduce himself.

"My name is Ryan, and I am a good ol' boy," he told me over our first handshake. "I try to make that very plain. No use hidin' what you are."

Ryan, a born and bred Georgian, comes from the Larry the Cable Guy school of southern heritage. Which is to say, he embraces all of the sub-Mason-Dixon stereotypes unabashedly--wears red flannel s.h.i.+rts, has the Dukes of Hazzard Dukes of Hazzard theme song as his cell phone ring tone, and intones things in his sleepy southern drawl like, "Wee-oo, now that lil' lady right there has a big ol' hitch in her giddy-up." He has thick silver braces, which, combined with his accent, make him nearly unintelligible. For the first week of school, I honestly thought his name was Ron. theme song as his cell phone ring tone, and intones things in his sleepy southern drawl like, "Wee-oo, now that lil' lady right there has a big ol' hitch in her giddy-up." He has thick silver braces, which, combined with his accent, make him nearly unintelligible. For the first week of school, I honestly thought his name was Ron.

I liked Ryan/Ron when I met him--he's a charming guy, and he calls me Yankee Doodle on account of my northern heritage. But last week, when we drove off campus for lunch, I got my first glimpse of a less charming part of his personality. On the way to the restaurant, we pa.s.sed a black man and a white woman holding hands, waiting to cross the street.

"Did you ever notice that when you see a couple . . . like that . . . it's always a black guy and a white girl?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know, a couple like that like that."

"An interracial couple?"

"Yeah. I don't like to see that in public."

He tapped the steering wheel. "You know, that's how wrestling started--bunch of colored guys fighting each other over white girls."

I looked at him for a facial read, expecting to find him smiling. But no, he was drumming away on the steering wheel, whistling along nonchalantly to Huey Lewis.

"So . . . hold on," I asked. "You really don't like to see interracial couples?"

"Not if I can help it."

Ryan looked over, saw my face, and continued: "You have to admit, dude, there are differences between blacks and whites. I don't care if you think it's stereotyping. It exists. They're normally raised in a . . . poor lifestyle, I guess. It's not because because their skin is black, but it happens that way." their skin is black, but it happens that way."

Without prompting, he added, "They think we owe them something--reparations or whatever. I don't regret slavery, because if it weren't for slavery, this country wouldn't be what it is today."

When I was preparing to come to Liberty this semester, I got a lot of questions from my friends and family about the school's racial heritage. The link between right-wing Christianity and the African American community has been historically tense, and people wanted to know: Are there black people at Liberty? Don't they have a ban on interracial dating?

I hoped to send back a happy report. After all, Liberty's website and brochures feature lots of photographs of contented-looking students of all races. I read that Liberty's racial breakdown (roughly: 80 percent white, 10 percent black, 10 percent other) is fairly average among American universities. There are at least a dozen nonwhite guys on my hall, and I hadn't noticed any signs that they were being treated differently than anyone else. But given the amount of buzz surrounding Paul's new girlfriend, I can't dodge the issue.

Earlier this week, after one of Paul's friends told him that Ryan objected to his new relations.h.i.+p, Paul decided to take him to task. What followed was an hour-long shouting match involving, at some points, more than a dozen people. I got to Ryan's room just in time to catch the tail end.

"I am not a racist!" said Ryan.

"Hold on," said Paul, his eyebrows at full mast. "You wouldn't let your daughters date black guys, but you're not a racist?"

"It's just too big a difference," said Ryan. "It's just the way I've been raised. You want to be bringing home a certain kind of people to your family."

"What do you mean 'a certain kind of people?' " asked Marco, a friend of Paul's.

"He means white people!" Paul said.

"Leave Ryan alone, man," added Judd, a stocky, linebacker-looking guy from Virginia. "You guys just don't understand what it's like."

I should say, first, that Dorm 22 is not at all evenly split on the issue of interracial dating. Only two or three guys, Judd included, have come to Ryan's defense. The night after the Paul/Ryan standoff, Stubbs the RA addressed the conflict at the weekly hall meeting.

"Guys, I understand there have been some comments about race on the hall. As a friend, and also as your brother, I'm asking you all to guard your speech so it will be pleasing to each other, as the Bible says. But also as your RA, I'll remind you that any racially insensitive comments are punishable with eighteen reprimands and a $250 fine."

It was heartening to hear nearly everyone on my hall condemning Ryan for his harsh words and good to learn that Liberty has a rule on its books about racial hara.s.sment. But tonight, out of curiosity, I started to do some research on Liberty's inst.i.tutional past with respect to race. What I found was illuminating.

Liberty's racial past, it turns out, is somewhat murky. When Dr. Falwell was planning his Christian school in the early 1970s, one of his primary models was Bob Jones University. Bob Jones, of course, is the fundamentalist college in Greenville, South Carolina that became nationally known for its ban on interracial dating, which remained in place until the year 2000. There's no evidence that Liberty has ever banned interracial dating, but some have suggested that Liberty and its feeder school, the K-12 Lynchburg Christian Academy (now Liberty Christian Academy), were founded as all-white schools in response to mandatory integration. Dr. Falwell denies any link, but Lynchburg Christian Academy was founded along with a wave of "seg academies" that swept the South in the aftermath of the Supreme Court's decision in Brown v. Board of Education Brown v. Board of Education, and in 1966, the Lynchburg News Lynchburg News called Lynchburg Christian Academy "a private school for white students." called Lynchburg Christian Academy "a private school for white students."

Dr. Falwell's personal history is considerably less murky. In the early years of his preaching career, he was an outspoken segregationist. He lobbied against the Civil Rights Act (which he called the "Civil Wrongs Act"), and in 1958, he denounced the Supreme Court's decision in Brown v. Board of Education, Brown v. Board of Education, saying, "When G.o.d has drawn the line of distinction, we should not attempt to cross that line." In the irony-in-hindsight department, Dr. Falwell also chided Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1965 for getting involved in public advocacy, saying "preachers are not called to be politicians but soul-winners." saying, "When G.o.d has drawn the line of distinction, we should not attempt to cross that line." In the irony-in-hindsight department, Dr. Falwell also chided Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1965 for getting involved in public advocacy, saying "preachers are not called to be politicians but soul-winners."

Today, Dr. Falwell has publicly repented for his racism, and racist att.i.tudes at Liberty are only present by vague a.s.sociation, like the fact that the School of Government is named for Jesse Helms, the retired Republican senator from North Carolina who famously launched a Senate filibuster against making Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday a national holiday. Largely as a result of minority recruitment efforts Dr. Falwell began after his race conversion, both Liberty Christian Academy and Liberty University now have sizeable minority enrollments, and the GNED curriculum includes a lesson on using the Bible to combat racism.

Still, after seeing racial tension firsthand on my hall, I've realized that despite making some progress over the past thirty years, Liberty hasn't completely healed the divisions in its past. Tonight, I stop by Paul's room after dinner to check on him. He's sitting on his bed with Marco, looking noticeably down in the mouth.

"Roose, you seem pretty cool," he says when I walk in. "Can I tell you guys something? Since I've been here, I can't stop worrying about what people think of me because I'm black. I walk around campus all nervous--it's all I think about. Girls put their heads down when they pa.s.s me. And my football coach in high school told me to say hi and smile at everyone. So I try. But it's hard, man."

It's probably good that I've been forced to talk about Liberty's racial culture, because it will allow me to bring up something I've been considering a lot lately, sort of a caveat for my entire semester. Namely, it's becoming clear that I'm in the best possible position to enjoy Liberty. As a white, Protestant, heteros.e.xual male, it's relatively easy for me to come here and find things to like about it. If even one of my demographic categories were changed, I'd be having a much different time, potentially filled with much more hostility and much less desire for reconciliation. If I were black, I'd be facing some of the same issues as Paul. If I were a woman, I'd be seeing a much different side of Liberty's gender dynamics. And if I were a Muslim or a gay man, there's no way I'd be here at all. I have to keep that in mind.

After a few seconds of silence, Paul shakes his head, and puts his head in his hands.

"Man, I just thought everything would be better here," he says. "We're all Christians, yeah, but I guess that's not everything."

During a break in my Wednesday cla.s.ses, I pick up Left Behind Left Behind, the famous apocalyptic novel written by Liberty benefactor Tim LaHaye and his cowriter Jerry B. Jenkins. Left Behind Left Behind has been sitting on my shelf the entire semester, but it took the conversations with my hallmates about the rapture to convince me I needed to read it. has been sitting on my shelf the entire semester, but it took the conversations with my hallmates about the rapture to convince me I needed to read it.

The first thing I noticed about Left Behind Left Behind is that one of its protagonists, a guy named Buck Williams, bears a slight resemblance to me. Buck is a young reporter who works for a secular publication called the is that one of its protagonists, a guy named Buck Williams, bears a slight resemblance to me. Buck is a young reporter who works for a secular publication called the Global Weekly Global Weekly and who is unfailingly described as an Ivy League graduate. Buck believes in G.o.d, but not in Jesus--he isn't "prepared to go that far"--and after the rapture takes place, he decides to investigate the ma.s.s disappearance. He spends time with people who were left behind in the rapture, but who converted to Christianity shortly thereafter, and the more time Buck spends with them, the more he begins to believe in it himself. and who is unfailingly described as an Ivy League graduate. Buck believes in G.o.d, but not in Jesus--he isn't "prepared to go that far"--and after the rapture takes place, he decides to investigate the ma.s.s disappearance. He spends time with people who were left behind in the rapture, but who converted to Christianity shortly thereafter, and the more time Buck spends with them, the more he begins to believe in it himself.

I don't know if Buck undergoes a religious conversion--I haven't gotten that far yet--but from the way the narrator is describing his inner thoughts, it's looking pretty likely. Consider this pa.s.sage: "[Buck] was Ivy League educated. . . . He had built his life around achievement, excitement, and--he couldn't deny it--attention. . . . And yet there was a certain loneliness in his existence."

Seeing Left Behind Left Behind's secular reporter character struggling with Christianity, and with Paul's conversion still on my mind, I couldn't help but compare his fate to mine. And when I did, I realized that unlike the two of them, I don't think I'm drawing near to a conversion experience.

It's not that I'm not finding things to like about Liberty's religious life. I am. As I said, I'm already feeling my views challenged and augmented by the people around me. I love the way my hallmates pray for each other. I love hearing my next-door neighbor Zipper talk about his prayer walks. I love singing in the Thomas Road choir on Sundays. But I haven't had any serious conversion thoughts yet.

One problem, I guess, is that I haven't been convinced that Liberty's way is the only way. In my Theology cla.s.s, we're learning about all the historical movements that preceded and shaped modern-day Christianity, and I can't help believing that Liberty's conservative evangelicalism is just one of many possible outcomes of a centuries-long process of religious evolution. If Jonathan Edwards had decided to become a blacksmith or a pastry chef instead of leading the Great Awakening, would evangelical Christianity still have become America's dominant religion? I have a hard time thinking so. When you take the historical view, it seems just as likely that Quakerism would have taken over the country's religious landscape, and instead of Thomas Road Baptist Church, we'd have Quaker megameetings with TV cameras showing twenty thousand people wors.h.i.+pping in silence.

Speaking of Quakers, there's also the problem of my family. I'm still hesitant to accept too much of Liberty's spiritual outlook because I worry what they'd think of me. It was bad enough when I joked about Jerry Falwell being a moderate. How would they react if I said that I had gotten saved at Thomas Road Baptist Church?

And yes, I know that Jesus said, "I have come to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother" (Matthew 10:35). I know Jesus also said that a true disciple must "hate his father and mother" (Luke 14:26). But those are incredibly hard verses to put into practice. I hope Jesus would understand my dilemma.

Thursday afternoon, I'm having lunch in the dining hall when a girl from the sister dorm comes to sit next to me.

"So," she says, prodding me with her elbow. "I hear you're talking to my friend Anna."

In the secular world, the relations.h.i.+p phase between casual friends.h.i.+p and full-on dating was called "hooking up," but in the no-touch evangelical world, I guess you "talk" instead.

"When are you going to ask her out?" the girl asks.

This week, I've spent about 80 percent of my mental energy trying to figure out what to do about Anna. After our date last week, I briefly considered telling her everything about myself, including the fact that I was a writer. Then I realized how badly that could go. Asking her to keep my secrets safe wouldn't be fair to her, and if she told her friends, it would be a matter of time before everyone on campus knew. So without that option, I had to make a choice: to date or not to date? I flipped coins. I prayed. I asked friends at Brown for advice, but they mostly seem interested in how far I've gotten with the virginal evangelical girl. (They send notes like, "I hope you go all the way, aka hair tussling.") The situation with Anna points to the biggest ethical dilemma of my semester. Namely, if I were a normal Liberty student, I would have no qualms about making friends, dating girls, and following all my social impulses. But I'm not a normal Liberty student, and as I'm learning, I'm not immune to guilt. At some point, these relations.h.i.+ps begin to get a little too close for comfort, and I feel compelled to pull back, distance myself, lessen the eventual blow.

It kills me, but in Anna's case, I think I have to stop seeing her. She's too savvy, too likely to realize that I'm being cagey. Plus, I don't want to hurt her when she finds out that I'm not an evangelical. Going on a few dates is one thing. Getting romantically attached is another.

So tonight, I call her.

"Starbucks tomorrow?" she asks.

"I can't," I say. "Sorry."

"All right then. The day after?"

"Not then, either," I say. "Actually, my whole week is sort of crazy."

The line goes silent. Ugh. This is awful. I'm holding the phone a few inches from my ear, cringing as I form my words.

"Oh . . . okay," she says.

"I'm really sorry, Anna."

"It's okay. Just let me know when you want to hang out."

"I will," I say. "I definitely will."

I hang up the phone, stand up, make a loop around the perimeter of my room, and sit back down at my desk. I start in on my Theology homework, but it's no use. I'm too distracted. Every bone in my body wants to pick up my phone, redial Anna's number, and tell her that I'm horribly attracted to her, that I would date her in a second if it weren't for this project. But instead, I sit at my desk, chewing on my pen, thinking: sliver of ice, sliver of ice, sliver of ice. sliver of ice, sliver of ice, sliver of ice.

This is a big week at the Thomas Road Baptist Church. Earlier in the week, as he sometimes does in the days leading up to landmark events, Dr. Falwell sent an e-mail to his Falwell Confidential listserv.

"This Sunday," he wrote, "I will preach a very unusual sermon. My topic: global warming."

I've been attending services at Thomas Road for about a month now, and most of the time I'm there, I forget that it's such a controversial place. A lot of what goes on inside the walls is pretty standard fare--Vacation Bible Schools, yard sales, church dinners. Even the sermons are relatively benign, with t.i.tles like "Fire on the Mountain and Fire in the Heart" and "Continuing to Climb the Ladder." In fact, for a while, I wondered whether Dr. Falwell had mellowed with age.

Given this week's sermon preview, it doesn't seem likely. In another e-mail, he promised to "reveal why Al Gore and others are promoting the 'earthism' movement and why this clandestine effort will eventually do great damage to America, unless it is unveiled, opposed and stopped." (Side note: I'm not sure how a movement that has been the subject of everything from Thomas Friedman books to entire issues of Vanity Fair Vanity Fair qualifies as "clandestine," but it's a nice touch.) qualifies as "clandestine," but it's a nice touch.) On an average Sunday, three or four thousand paris.h.i.+oners turn out for Thomas Road's eleven o'clock service, but the promise of an antienvironmental tirade has attracted a standing-room-only crowd nearly twice that size. Folding chairs are being set up in the aisles, and the ushers have run out of church bulletins. After we sing some wors.h.i.+p songs--"How Great Is Our G.o.d" and "How Great Thou Art"--Dr. Falwell walks to the pulpit, smiling as he surveys the crowd.

"The myth of global warming," he says. "That statement alone will provoke five hundred letters to the editor by the tree huggers and the liberals and anyone who gets upset at any challenge to the alarmism and the hysteria that's going on. There's a claim out there that man-made global warming will bring an end to spring and summer and fall and winter, and the sea will rise to horrific levels, and the heat will melt Antarctica, and the North Pole will melt, and we will find ourselves in a global tsunami, unless the United States--no one else, of course!--does something about it. The fact is, it's all phony baloney!"

The old man who sits next to me in choir wrings his hands, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

"The promoters of this alarmism are to be expected," says Dr. Falwell. "The United Nations--no friend of the U.S.--liberal politicians, radical environmentalists, and of course, liberal clergy, Hollywood, and pseudoscientists." He points us to Thomas Road's website, where we can download "A Skeptic's Guide to Debunking Global Warming Alarmism," the production of a small group of religious scientists and conservative politicians who call themselves the Interfaith Stewards.h.i.+p Alliance. "To rebut those other green--and maybe red red--scientists," he says, "a group of evangelicals is seeking an effective effective and and sensible sensible approach using approach using established established norms of economics and science." norms of economics and science."

He continued like this for half an hour, attacking "global warming alarmists" like the Weather Channel--whose crime, in Dr. Falwell's eyes, was airing a series on climate change called The Climate Code. The Climate Code. He fired off on the Kyoto Protocol ("abominable"), the European Union ("would love to see America deflated to a second-rate power") and the political left ("wants to change the subject concerning the world's moral bankruptcy"), and linked the roots of the environmental movement to the Devil himself, saying, "This is Satan's attempt to redirect the church's primary focus." He quoted exactly two Bible pa.s.sages in support of his position: Psalm 24:1 and Genesis 8:22 (KJV), which ostensibly prove that "the earth is the Lord's" and that normal weather patterns will continue "while the earth remaineth." He fired off on the Kyoto Protocol ("abominable"), the European Union ("would love to see America deflated to a second-rate power") and the political left ("wants to change the subject concerning the world's moral bankruptcy"), and linked the roots of the environmental movement to the Devil himself, saying, "This is Satan's attempt to redirect the church's primary focus." He quoted exactly two Bible pa.s.sages in support of his position: Psalm 24:1 and Genesis 8:22 (KJV), which ostensibly prove that "the earth is the Lord's" and that normal weather patterns will continue "while the earth remaineth."

"Now, how long will the earth remain?" he asked. "It will remain until the new heavens and the new earth come. And that won't happen until, well, over in the last two chapters of the Bible--after the tribulation, after the thousand-year reign of Christ, then the new heavens and new earth. Why? Because the former things are pa.s.sed away. The earth will go up in dissolution from severe heat. The environmentalists will be really shook up then, because G.o.d is going to blow it all away."

You've got to hand it to Dr. Falwell. After fifty years of attack preaching, the man knows how to craft a rant, and today he was in fine form. Not only did he manage to go after environmentalists, communists, Hollywood liberals, and Al Gore (whose Oscar-winning doc.u.mentary An Inconvenient Truth An Inconvenient Truth he rechristened "A Convenient Untruth") in one fifty-minute sermon, but he managed to come off as forceful and commanding while doing it. A lesser demagogue might have foamed and snarled his way through a sermon like "The Myth of Global Warming," but the way Dr. Falwell did it, it was jocular, almost playful in tone. He smiled when he talked about G.o.d blowing the earth away, not in the creepy, I-am-eagerly-antic.i.p.ating-Armageddon way, but in the way that says, "Wait till he rechristened "A Convenient Untruth") in one fifty-minute sermon, but he managed to come off as forceful and commanding while doing it. A lesser demagogue might have foamed and snarled his way through a sermon like "The Myth of Global Warming," but the way Dr. Falwell did it, it was jocular, almost playful in tone. He smiled when he talked about G.o.d blowing the earth away, not in the creepy, I-am-eagerly-antic.i.p.ating-Armageddon way, but in the way that says, "Wait till MoveOn.org gets a load of gets a load of this this." I disagree with everything he said, and yet, I couldn't look away. It was a masterful, dexterous, transfixing tongue-las.h.i.+ng, and watching it was like seeing Baryshnikov dance.

That said, at some point during today's sermon, I started feeling a little bad for Dr. Falwell. I thought back to the exhibits I saw at the Jerry Falwell Museum the other week, the relics of an era when Dr. Falwell and his Moral Majority set the agenda for millions upon millions of evangelicals. Today, America's evangelicals have largely moved on. No more than a few handfuls of evangelical leaders are still speaking out against environmentalism, and in fact, many have embraced environmentalism under the banner of "Creation Care." Rick Warren, pastor of Saddleback Church and author of The Purpose-Driven Life The Purpose-Driven Life, has supported an initiative to fight global warming. Even Pat Robertson, Dr. Falwell's longtime cobelligerent, has acknowledged the threat climate change poses.

Many observers of Christian culture have noticed that there's a generation gap within the evangelical church. At Liberty, the gap is reaffirmed every Sunday morning. Thomas Road Baptist Church operates on the model of the twentieth-century megachurch, whereas down the street at Liberty's student only Campus Church services, a new, slightly different kind of evangelicalism is being practiced. Services at Thomas Road are often angry and hyper-political, whereas the Campus Church services I've seen have been focused on issues like prayer and spiritual growth, not abortion, gay marriage, and global warming.

A few days ago, after Dr. Falwell spoke in convocation, I heard one of my hallmates, a red-haired Californian named Chad McCourt, call Dr. Falwell "a crazy old coot." It was one of the first times I'd heard a Liberty student say anything critical about the chancellor, so I asked Chad what he meant. He laughed, and explained that while he liked Dr. Falwell, he wasn't a full-fledged supporter.

"Like, you know that crazy uncle everyone has, who shows up drunk to the family reunions sometimes and embarra.s.ses himself? And you still love him because he's your uncle, but you sort of wish he would stop drinking? Well, that's sort of how I feel about Dr. Falwell. Most of the time, he's great. Inspiring, G.o.dly, all of that. But once in a while, like when he made those comments about September 11 . . . not so great."

I'm pretty sure Chad McCourt is an anomaly. From the laughs and the applause and the "Amens" Dr. Falwell got this morning, it's clear that a lot of Thomas Roaders do take his views to heart. I have no doubt that a huge majority of the people I've met at Liberty believe global warming is a hoax, and I know that almost all of them are every bit as anti-gay and anti-abortion as the chancellor himself. But I'm hoping that there are at least a few who think like Chad, who appreciate Dr. Falwell as an entertainer without subscribing to his wackier sociopolitical views. Wishful thinking? Probably. But it's more a pleasant scenario than the alternative.

Whether Ye Be in the Faith

On Monday night, the radio debate between Dr. Caner and the Rational Response Squad finally comes to pa.s.s.

I listened to the debate--all three hours and forty minutes of it--and it was time well spent. The Rational Response Squad members, two men and a woman, were just like you'd expect professional atheists to be: exact, articulate, and a little p.r.i.c.kly. And Dr. Caner . . . well, to everyone's surprise, he didn't play the part of the angry fundamentalist. In fact, he seemed somehow too too polite, almost wishy-washy. He said things like: polite, almost wishy-washy. He said things like: "I like doubt. I think doubt is healthy." "I like doubt. I think doubt is healthy.""I wouldn't expect you guys to bow on your knees and accept Jesus.""There are times when what we call Christianity is unhealthy."

Dr. Caner got a few good points in. He put forth a fairly convincing version of the argument from design (the world is so beautiful and so orderly that it must have been designed by a creator). But ultimately, he was outmatched. The atheists antic.i.p.ated his arguments and had counterarguments in hand. They knew the Bible inside and out and confronted him with hard-to-spin textual contradictions, like the fact that the account of creation in the first chapter of Genesis differs pretty widely from the account in the second chapter. And although Dr. Caner came up with explanations for the discrepancies, they were hardly rock solid.

Ten minutes after the debate, Brad Miller comes into my room. At twenty-five, Brad is one of the older guys on the hall. He took three years off between high school and college to travel with his Christian music group, but decided to come to Liberty to train for the ministry. He looks a bit like Weezer front man Rivers Cuomo, with a spike haircut and a pair of black-framed hipster gla.s.ses. His role on the hall is the advice giver, the wise sensei who tutors the younger guys, the giver of stirring theological lessons. But tonight, Brad's steps are plodding and his aura sags.

"Did you listen?" he asks.

I nod.

"The atheists definitely knew what they were talking about," he says. "I almost don't want to say it, but . . . they beat him."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, man. If that was a boxing match, I think they won 9-1 or so."

He digs the toe of his Converse All Star into the ground.

"Man, that scared me. I'm going to talk to my professors about some of the arguments they made. I don't know what to think right now. That was weird."

He's right. It was weird. In fact, the debate was one of the most bizarre reversals of type I've ever seen. By the end, Dr. Caner had given up so much territory that the atheists were singing his praises. One said, "I'm not a big fan of Liberty University, but in my limited knowledge of it, you're the best thing to ever happen to it." Another said, "You're going to bring down Christianity, so G.o.d bless you."

In my mind, the oddest thing about the debate is that it happened at all. An organized debate between a Liberty professor and a group of atheists would never have happened twenty years ago, in large part because Dr. Falwell would never have allowed it. He comes from the old school of hard-line fundamentalism, with a larger-than-life certainty that triumphs by brute force. In that world, what-iffing and problematizing are for pantywaist preachers and theo-babbling ec.u.menicists. So why the switch? Why did Dr. Falwell, who rules his faculty with an iron fist, condone Dr. Caner's debate? And why did he hire a professor in the first place who believes that "doubt is healthy" and that Christianity can be "unhealthy"?

In recent years, Dr. Falwell has become comfortable bending Liberty's practices to increase enrollment. When he realized that Liberty's strict dress code was pus.h.i.+ng prospective Liberty students to less conservative colleges, he loosened it. When Liberty lost students to neighboring schools because it didn't have an engineering department, he commissioned one. And maybe hiring an articulate, edgy, TV-ready theologian like Dr. Caner was another way to beef up Liberty's public profile and bring in more students.

Of course, allowing a debate with atheists about G.o.d's existence is fundamentally different from changing dress code or adding new programs. Long hair and untucked s.h.i.+rts aren't going to change the way anyone believes in G.o.d. Tacking on an engineering school isn't going to do anything except make Liberty the only school in America where the engineering majors and the football players have exactly the same amount of s.e.x. But what if Dr. Caner's a.s.sertion that "doubt is healthy" works its way into History of Life courses? What if Liberty students, prodded to question their beliefs, start attending synagogue on Sat.u.r.days just to see what's out there?

For more than thirty years, Liberty's operating mode has been primarily dogmatic. Here, knowledge is pa.s.sed down from professor to pupil, variations in worldview are systematically stripped away, and faith is explained and reinforced, never questioned. So maybe this debate will be a watershed moment in the history of this school, the dawn of an age in which Liberty students will be encouraged to test their beliefs, weigh alternatives, and engage their critical-thinking skills.

Introducing a little doubt at Liberty wouldn't be a bad thing, but somehow, I'm not sure it's what Dr. Falwell intended.