Southeastern Bible College was the first incarnation of my college alma mater. (I understand that when it was founded in 1935, it went by the moniker, Southeastern Bible Institute, but that was well before I made my grand appearance). At any rate, by the time I returned to complete my degree program, a decade after I had begun, the school was referred to as Southeastern College. Fast forward another quarter century, and voila, Southeastern University. (Apparently, this will be the last name change for the foreseeable future).
I attended a revival service on campus in 1967, the month I graduated from high school, and a year before I transferred to this illustrious school. The National Sunday School Superintendent of the Assemblies of God, William Kirschke, gave the message that evening. At the conclusion of the service I “walked the old sawdust trail,” and an old Dutch missionary named, Jerry Triemstra knelt beside me, and led me in the sinner’s prayer.
At that time, the infrastructure of the college was just about as modern as a WWII Army base. The administration building, classroom buildings and dormitories were as ‘plain jane’ as you can get. This being the case, the old chapel will always be near and dear to my heart, since this was the site where I came to a saving knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ.
I have previously written a story I referred to as, “The Little Janitor Got Promoted.” Long story short during my freshman year I procured a part-time janitorial job with the college to help pay my tuition. And though I never swept and mopped that old chapel, (I suppose some other student did so) I never forgot my spiritual roots, and often walked past that camp meeting style building.
Pt. 2
The implication of having been promoted relates to my subsequent employment at my alma mater. For you see, a full four decades after my initial enrollment as a student, I was afforded the opportunity to serve as an adjunct professor at Southeastern University. Among multiplied hundreds of previous, and current faculty members, I have the honor of having been the most ancient former student who returned as an instructor. (Oddly enough, however, I never got a ceremony or a plaque).
When I arrived to take up my duties in 2006, the old chapel was still standing, (though by this time a new sanctuary had been built) and it now served as a basketball scrimmage court. By now, the entire campus had experienced a metamorphosis. The old dormitories had been given a facelift, as had the administration building, and many other new buildings, including a beautiful cafeteria, College of Education, and library graced the landscape.
A lovely fountain featuring a bronze statue of Jesus washing Peter’s feet was, and continues to be the spiritual focal point of the campus. Whereas, the original architectural style of my alma mater might have been described as “The War to End All Wars motif,” stretching before me now was the most lovely Mediterranean design you can possibly imagine.
Oh, there were still a few older buildings on the 100 acre campus, and the first classroom to which I was assigned as an adjunct professor had once served as a nursing home, and bore the title, “Spence Hall.” As one walked into the north end of the building, my classroom was the first of eight or ten classrooms on the left. Standing at the front of the class, and looking out over my freshmen students, most just barely out of high school, I often thought about the octogenarians who had lived out their final days in this building, and I wondered how many ghosts inhabited this place.
Pt. 3
I served my old alma mater, and the students of my beloved school for three and a half years, and about this time, and for accreditation purposes, the majority of adjunct professors were “sent packing” in favor of a fulltime crew of instructors.
Almost a decade has come and gone since I served as a faculty member at this relatively small, but progressive university, and I have only visited its lovely campus once since then; until returning recently for a lecture by a Holocaust survivor.
While I was well aware that Spence Hall had been demolished, and have often driven past the campus and viewed it from afar, I was not prepared for the beauty and utility of the building which replaced it. As I approached the student amphitheater, in which the meeting was scheduled to take place, a massive 125,000 square foot T-shaped, five story structure loomed before me.
As my granddaughter, (a third generation Southeastern student) and I entered the high-ceilinged lecture hall, it occurred to me that we were certainly within fifty feet of the first classroom in which I practiced my teaching duties. We initially sat down on the west side of the room, but prior to the beginning of the program I told Sarah I wanted to find a seat on the east side; approximately where I once delivered my well researched, well rehearsed lectures. So very poignant and ironic to be seated there that night as a momentary student in this brand new facility; whereas what seemed like a lifetime ago I had stood before a bunch of fresh-faced pupils in an aging classroom which had filled up this very space.
Pt. 4
Prior to the presentation that evening, my granddaughter, and I had walked along one of two long, and winding parallel sidewalks which run along the north half of the campus. As we neared the administration building, I looked to my left, and it struck me. The old chapel a.k.a. basketball scrimmage court was no longer there! Standing in its place was a brand-spanking new, two story classroom building. A moment passed before I could speak.
“Sarah, do you realize that I first heard the Gospel preached in the building that once stood here? But now, it’s gone!”
My two most favorite, most memorable edifices on the campus of my precious alma mater. Gone. Gone forever.
The building in which I first heard the good news of our Lord Jesus Christ, and responded by walking down the aisle, kneeling at the altar, and committing myself to His eternal love and care.
The hall of higher learning in which my first classroom was located, and in which I fulfilled my initial teaching assignment; replaced by that spacious, multi-storied academic complex.
Two non-descript, pathetic old buildings. But two aging structures which had made an irrevocable difference in my life. With their demise, the renovation of that old campus was complete.
One phrase echoes in my consciousness; again and again.
… When the foundations are destroyed.
They say change is inevitable. I cannot dispute this reality.
They say progress is always a good thing. I admit to having some very mixed opinions about that theory.
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "McDonald's Daily Diary." Vol. 73. Copyright pending.
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