The Sophomore Perspective

On coming to college my freshman year, I experienced a season when everything was new and vibrant. I challenged myself to experience new things, to learn new things, and to expand my circle of friends wider than it had ever been. I found in Anderson the community I had often longed for, and I thrived. I learned to dance--something I never did in high school, ever. I also got involved with other clubs and ministries, becoming a truly multi-faceted person.

Returning this year, however, things had changed. I was no longer the same man I was the previous year. My perspectives changed--everything from politics to morals to musical tastes. I was, in a sense, upheaved from the way I had always thought about the world, replacing my modernist perspective with a form of postmodernism (not the extremely pessimistic variation, so don't think that; the point is that I changed my mind about the way existence is structured). All of these changes contributed to the principle feeling of this year, that is confusion. I was confused about everything in life and somewhat directionless. I questioned everything and tried to construct informed but flexible positions on the major questions of life, especially in regards to theology and ethics. I opened my mind and had it changed--or perhaps I merely finally took an account of what I thought instead of what I had been taught to think, I cannot say. I feel as if the conclusions, or working hypotheses, I came to reflected my own form of thinking, but I can't really be 100% certain. Needless to say, I have a different outlook coming out the other side.

I also was isolated this year. Last year I was with my friends nearly every weekend, hanging out and goofing off into the wee hours of the morning without a care in the world. That changed this year.

Coming off of a summer where I felt devalued and expendable in my job, I extended the isolation I felt while geting through that experience into the school year, something I regret everyday. I spent three months away from my friends, and my life was just work, sleep, and eat for the most part. I loathed that existence, but it became a part of me and tarnished my social abilities when I returned to school.

I suppose you could say that this was all my fault, but I would challenge such a simplistic assumption. It cannot be denied that I did not reach out to people this year or make myself open to building friendships as much as I did last year, spending more time in my room than out with friends. But it is also true that the college community did not reach out to me. Its relation with me was always superficial and shallow--with the exception of my very close friends, a group I am daily thankful for. There was not much reaching out done to me by the school and its constituents. It allowed me to slip away and isolate myself. Nor did the church help me in this matter. It did not connect with me or compel my loyalty to its community. I must confess I have gone to church less this year than I have in the 13 years prior to this one, only really being faithful about it when I went home for the weekend--a rare occurrence. The church community simply did not create the environment that I needed to be revitalized.

Again, you could say that my situation is my fault, and you would be justified in saying so, for I tried to construct an identity from outside influences. One of the key characteristics of college life is its temporality--every six months or so I pack up all my stuff and move somewhere else. When I return, a quarter of my fellows are gone, replaced by new faces that I do not know. My flaw in this matter was my attempt to create something of permanence in a community characterized by temporariness. Because of the utter inadequacy of this environment to create a permanent self, I became disillusioned.

Disillusionment is a terrible thing; it robs the joy from everything one does, creates fits of depression, and saps one's energy. I grew adept, however, at hiding this situation from everyone in my environment--therefore, I must now apologize to those of you who have always believed me to be completely content and joyful in all circumstances. I put on this facade, and I know it was effective. I am sorry for my deceit. I must admit, I have almost had to drag myself through this year, and I am glad it is over. There were days when I just did not want to even bother getting up: "After all, what is the point of it all?" As the semester comes to a close, I am very, very tired.

And worst of all, I am alone. I have never been in a committed relationship, and frankly, I'm tired of playing the game. It isn't a game; it is life, and I think it deserves more than superficiality. I just feel that it should be the time when I am finally able to get into a relationship, perhaps create a human connection that will be more than just idle flattery and temporary flirtation. Perhaps that's what I need to believe again that things are arranged for the good in my life and not mere chance. I think I'm just growing up, and I'm tired of childish things. I want to find someone to share a truly meaningful relationship with, a woman who trusts God and loves as He does so that I am reminded always of the worth she and He place in me. Perhaps that's a heavy order, but a God who created the entirety of existence, including the infinitely complex structure of human consciousness, must be able to do such a thing.

At least that is what I choose to believe.

After all, I must still remain hopeful. I still, even though I have neglected my relationship with him, believe in a God who saves. Even though an army of shadows greater than any horde ever fielded by Isengard surrounds my life in an impenetrable siege, I know that the White Rider will come. When I lift my eyes unto the hills, I will see the one who sends my help, a God who is faithful and just, delivering me from my enemies and establishing my line forever. Believing this, I must be like Peter, who had the faith to step out of the boat onto the water with Jesus, or Aragorn and Theoden, who had the faith to ride out against their seemingly invicible foe at dawn.

"Let the horn of Helm Hammerhand sound in the deep, one last time."

But it wasn't the last time, was it? No, help came with the dawn. Jesus caught Peter when he began to sink. Rohan was saved.

But the most beautiful part of the story, to my mind, was that the ones who had been saved went forth and themselves saved others. The Riders of Rohan went to Minas Tirith to break the siege of Mordor. Perhaps that is God's purpose in saving us, so that we may also go and do likewise. Perhaps the situation I am in now will one day allow me to ride to the aid of another who faces the same darkness, telling of how my deliverer came to me when all hope seemed to fade. Perhaps I will one day cry, "Death!" and charge down the hill, affirming what I would be willing to face to help others (taking up my cross) because I was deliverered from the very same thing. Facing death once before, its fear is gone.

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."--Phil 1:21

Maybe that's why that scene in the Lord of the Rings has always been the most touching to me; now it has particular relevance to my life, to what nobleness my life may become. But right now, I'm still back at Helms Deep, holed up with those who still stick with me in the darkest times. But look to the east! Dawn is breaking . . .

Psalm 121

A song of ascents.

¹ I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?

² My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;

⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;

⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

⁷ The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;

⁸ the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.