Reading Lolita at Liberty University

Al,Why were they wearing burkas? To be cool or rebellious or what?

"Carrie didn’t graduate, but she manages a Christian procreations vacation resort in the Virgin Islands,"

That's shocking and disgusting! Don't you mean "pro-creationist"?

First, the title comes from a book calledReading Lolita in Tehran which is about a group of young women who dared to read the books banned by the theocracy in Iran. As further reference to that, the author has "her girls" wearing burkas, as the young women in Iran are forced to wear.

Second, the article is obviously humorous. Zammy, the "Christian procreations vacation resort" is less offensive than "Song of Solomon Publishing." And it is written properly in context -- read that paragraph again and see if it makes more sense as "pro-creationist" or "procreations".

Al:

Why set this story at Liberty? Given the number of Christian colleges and universities that continue to ensure that their students are "separate from the world" (e.g., Bob Jones, Hyles-Anderson, Maranatha, etc.), your choice of Liberty rings hollow. While Liberty certainly has its "Liberty Way," its rules are not, and have never been, as draconian as you suggest, and as necessary to support your satire. Consequently, for those of us who have first-hand experience with Liberty, your story loses its punch.

Please understand that I am not offended by your choice of Liberty. During my tenure at Liberty as a student (in the 1970s) and, later, faculty member (in the 1980s), I found many fans of the Wittenburg Door among the students and professors, all of whom enjoyed poking fun at our stereotyped image. But here, the choice of Liberty simply doesn't make sense.

Thanks, Al.

http://www.esquire.com/features/me-mr-jones-0700
Me and Mr. Jones
By Amy Kurson
For four years, I attended Bob Jones University. I was placed on spiritual probation. I have fallen away. I will go to hell.

People who see me today probably have no idea what's going on in my mind and heart. I'm a successful real estate attorney in a high-powered Chicago law firm. I joke with colleagues, drink martinis, listen to Elvis Costello. Many people say that I am the nicest woman they know. They don't know that I wake up nights screaming.

I was raised a fundamentalist Baptist in rural Michigan. At eighteen, I had never worn a pair of slacks or been inside a movie theater or heard a Beatles song. My family dreamed that I would become a Christian schoolteacher or, better, a preacher's wife. When it came time to go to college, I chose Bob Jones University in Greenville, South Carolina. I knew little of Michigan State or the University of Michigan or any other college that might actually have educated me, but even if I had, my family would have forbidden my attendance. Today, when I wake up screaming, it's because I'm dreaming of my years at Bob Jones, the worst years of my life, the years I came to life.

FUNDAMENTALISTS ASK the Lord many questions, and he answers them all. When a boy said, "Damn" after throwing a gutter ball in my second-grade bowling league, the Lord advised my mother harshly: Of course you should remove Amy from that league. One day, my cousin David didn't come home after school. My aunt asked the Lord to help her find him. The Lord replied that David was at the 7-Eleven playing Ms. Pac-Man. Sure enough, that's where he was. The Lord also believed that I should attend Christian schools, swim in culottes, and turn down the sound when Josie and the Pussycats came on, because those girls played rock and roll. The world was a dangerous place, and I felt like the luckiest girl alive to have a mother and a Lord who knew how to protect me. I slept soundly every night when I was a child.

But sometimes my religion scared me. Preachers climbed on top of wooden pulpits and slammed their Bibles and pushed over tables and jumped off furniture. Whenever they mentioned Catholics or the pope, the church's seven thousand members would boo and hiss. We believed in the literal hell, a place down there for bad people to suffer and scream forever in a nonconsuming fire. I knew the word nonconsuming and what it meant when I was four, but hell didn't scare me; I knew Christians didn't go there. The Lord told my mother that I needed to win souls--to convince strangers that they should pray with me and accept Jesus--and I did this when I was six, I won my first soul, and it was a very big day in my house. My family celebrated, and I glowed with a kind of pride no Godless first grader could feel from bringing home a good report card or winning a spelling bee. My mother also told me that someday soon, good Christians like us would be raptured by the Lord--vanished off the earth in a poof--and nestled gloriously in heaven.

My dad scared me. He didn't seem to fear the Lord the way the rest of my family and neighbors did. Someone said he was once a Catholic. He bought a maroon Corvette, and someone else said that the Lord didn't like that Corvette. I liked that Corvette. My dad left my mom and me when I was eleven.

MY GRANDPARENTS and mother saw to it that I grew into the perfect young lady. When I fell off my bicycle, I was locked out of the house until I could ride. When I ran outside in my pajamas during a sleep-over party, I was grounded for a year. Some people may think that's a harsh way to grow up, but I was grateful for every rule and every punishment. It was the way the Lord preferred children to be raised, and it worked, it turned me into everybody's sweetheart. I smiled all the time, I was sweet to everyone, and I believed. I was just the kind of perfect young lady Bob Jones University covets. There was no reason to apply anywhere else.

To my family and friends, Bob Jones was Harvard, and I was a local celebrity for getting accepted. Everyone we heard of who went to Bob Jones ended up living a happy, Christian life. And that's all I ever wanted, anyway.

THE SCHOOL THRILLED ME. Back home, unsaved people lurked around every corner, taking the Lord's name in vain, lying, cheating, having sex, staring. But this place felt clean. Everyone at Bob Jones knew Christ, and they all wanted what I wanted--to serve the Lord and meet him someday in heaven. Some backsliding rabble-rousers groused because Bob Jones was surrounded by black wrought-iron fences and you couldn't leave campus without permission. But our orientation leader assured us that those gates were there to keep evildoers out. I made sure to stay on the "pink" sidewalks (girls only) and avoided the "blue" sidewalks as if they were strewn with land mines.

The campus was a tight fit for five thousand students--buildings were close and there were few open spaces. But that was good; it made it easy for the faculty and staff to spot trouble. The prettiest place was the expansive fountain at the school's entrance. It was a comforting place, too--the school's founder, Bob Jones Sr., is buried on the tiny island at one end. Most buildings are butter-yellow brick and date from the late 1940s. I especially liked the student center. You could visit the snack shop there or chat with a boy in the chaperoned dating parlor. The dorms were cramped four to a room, no space for sin. We were allowed to hang posters if they were of puppies or flowers or Christian sayings. Inside each classroom, over the chalkboard, hung the sayings of Bob Jones Sr. My favorite was "Do right till the stars fall. Do right."

Here is what I learned during orientation week: Students may not leave campus without a signed permission slip. Bedtime is 11:00 p.m. Wake-up time is 6:55 a.m. Interracial dating is prohibited. No TV. You may not sit closer than six inches to a person of the opposite sex or you will be placed on "spiritual probation" (an excellent rule, since even true believers occa-sionally struggle against hormones). Wom-en must wear dresses below the knee; men must wear ties until lunchtime. Daily chapel attendance is mandatory. No homosexuals. (Obvious--it's right in the Bible.) Off-campus dates must be chaperoned by faculty. Anyone who violates the rules will be given demerits. Tattling is encouraged. Griping will not be tolerated. School motto: "No doubt the trouble lies with you."

I loved the rules and stayed away from anyone who didn't. I read my Bible every day and could feel myself getting closer to the Lord. My roommates thought I was the best Christian on the Bob Jones campus, and I confess that in my heart I agreed with them. I did get a few demerits for forgetting to empty the trash or for making my bed carelessly, but I knew that the school was teaching me character. I chose from courses like Personal Evangelism, Geometry, Voice and Diction, and Church and Home. For six months, I led the life I had always dreamed for myself; I was right in step with the Lord. I cannot explain what happened next.

During my second semester, I began to feel bad things. It wasn't like I wanted to have sex or listen to rock and roll, but my mind was drifting. I couldn't quite pay attention during meaningful moments. My classmates would be talking about noble things like wanting to become a preacher's wife or teaching Christian kindergarten, and I would smile and nod and agree, but my mind would think terrible thoughts like, Can't you ever talk about anything else? or Why are you all the same? These thoughts horrified me because they felt like what preachers talked about when they described the sin of boredom, and I had never before been bored. I prayed hard for the feelings to stop, and for a day or two my mind behaved. But then in class or at dinner or even talking to a professor, my thoughts would betray me again. I felt as if something had come over me, something strange and foreign that I didn't like, and it made me fear for my soul. I had been warned about thoughts like these. These were the thoughts that led a person to hell.

One day I took a walk to set my head straight, but this time I didn't stop at the wrought-iron gate. I kept going. I walked out of Bob Jones, telling myself to straighten up, to think pure thoughts, to turn around. But I did not turn around. I kept going, and I walked in a straight line as far as I could, until I came to an international-food market. I looked at the beautiful foods in this place, funny-shaped cookies and spices that were strange purples and reds and greens. I didn't buy anything; I just looked at the food until the store closed, and then I walked back to Bob Jones, where I stuffed my head into my pillow and cried myself to sleep.

A few nights later, at the end of my freshman year, my roommates held a secret whisper session after the lights-out bell. Each confessed her dream--to marry a pastor, to do cosmetology, to make lots of babies. "What's your dream, Amy?" I couldn't answer. All I knew was that I couldn't stop thinking of my sinner father, whom I hadn't spoken to in years, and wondering if he still had his maroon Corvette.

WHEN I RETURNED for my sophomore year, my bad thoughts had turned into full-blown bad ideas. I found myself constantly resenting my classmates, which was a foreign feeling, because I had been raised to like everyone--it was my best quality. But now, with my thoughts on a rampage, I could barely tolerate their conversations. I found it difficult to stay quiet when they argued that Christians should avoid movies simply because Bob Jones had said so. No one wanted experience; no one asked any questions. They believed everything they were told. The way I had.
And no one seemed bothered when Bob Jones invited Ian Paisley, a minister and Protestant leader in Northern Ireland, to give virulent anti-Catholic sermons. He called the pope "the Antichrist" and promised that Catholics would burn in hell, and my classmates cheered him on. During my sophomore year, when the pope visited South Carolina, my classmates pushed near to him and pointed their fingers, shouting, "Antichrist! Antichrist!" and they had been given permission by Bob Jones to leave the campus to do it. I had a white female friend who was warned by the dean of women to stop being friends with a black male student. One friend desperately needed help for her bulimia but stayed silent because she knew the school would expel her for it. Another friend, a graduate student, acknowledged that he was gay and was told by the school that he was no longer welcome on campus. These episodes distressed me. I felt like apologizing for them. I had never before felt like apologizing for anyone but myself.

Sophomore year, Bob Jones University placed me on spiritual probation. The charge: sitting too close to a boy. I would not be allowed to talk to a member of the opposite sex for a month.

I GRADUATED from Bob Jones about two years later. I had wanted to leave many times before, but Bob Jones was not and is not an accredited college; you can't transfer.

Senior year, I took the law-school entrance exam. My plan was to get away from Bob Jones and fundamentalism and my family in Michigan. I would still be a Christian, a good Christian; my thoughts could still be conquered--no doubt the trouble lay with me. But I had to try life. I had to see if the world would hurt me for doing what I wasn't supposed to do, for having fun. I don't know why I applied to law school, except that I felt the need to be around smart people, and I had heard that smart people went to law school.

Only two law schools accepted me--Chicago-Kent and Valparaiso. I chose Kent. A few weeks later, Kent sent me a letter that said something like this: We didn't realize that you had attended an unaccredited college. We are not used to dealing with such a situation. We hereby rescind our offer.

I called the school and explained about Bob Jones University. I pleaded with them to reconsider, telling them about my emerging thoughts, and they finally allowed me to attend.

When I announced that I would be moving to Chicago to live alone and study law, my family went into shock; they'd seen this kind of drifting, and it never turned out well. I rented a room on Thirty-fifth because the ad said it was near Comiskey Park, and I knew baseball was a wholesome sport, so I felt the area must be safe. This is how you think when you're raised in a different world. Today, people tell me I'm lucky no one murdered me while I lived there. Giant rats made noises under my bed. I enrolled in law school the next week.

I DID THINGS that first year in law school. Most people would call them little things, but I agonized before doing every one of them. They changed me, and it's a serious thing to keep changing and disappointing your family and God and yourself every day. I accepted offers to go for drinks with classmates and always ordered "the same as her." I met a good-looking man on the bus and went home and thought and analyzed and walked and thought, then I bought a pile of women's magazines to learn what to do, and I slept with him, and my dad was right--the world didn't hurt me for it. As soon as I could afford it, I bought my first pair of jeans.

I still suffered guilt; I was choked by it. But my preacher had been right--once you get a taste of the heathen world, it's nearly impossible to go back. I went to punk bars--I wore an ankle-length skirt, but still, they were punk bars. I swam in a swimsuit--one-piece and modest, but still, it was a coed pool. I bought "record albums." I began to understand why classmates laughed when I used expressions like "more fun than a barrel of monkeys." And I woke up at night, as I still do occasional-ly, screaming and sweating, longing for the days when the world was simple and the rules were clear and the outcomes known--the days when I was good.

During my second year of law school, I met a Jewish ex-attorney. Robert told me that his real name was Egbert--a cruel joke by malicious parents--and I believed him. He played "I Want to Hold Your Hand" for me and told me it was his high school group, and I praised his singing voice. I had never heard irony before.
Robert and I married after I graduated from law school. Massive transfusions of culture followed. I sat, stunned, watching Marlon Brando in The Godfather, danced around my bedroom to the B-52's, bought a short skirt. I'm told I was fun to be around during this awakening--how many times have you been with a twenty-five-year-old as she first hears "Brown Sugar"? By the time I joined my law firm, no one could have guessed at my past. I had stopped attending church and begun paying fifteen dollars for a single lipstick. I worked a "man's job" and decided to wait to have babies. I fiew to Vegas to play slots with my father. Any of these was enough to doom my soul, but life felt too good, as the preachers had warned, and I couldn't stop. This transformation still comes at a price. I haven't enjoyed a success or a pleasure or a new song without suspecting that the sin was being recorded somewhere to be used against me someday. Fun still unsettles me inside.

Today, I'm on a partnership track in a top-tier law firm. Some firms wouldn't hire me--they'd probably seen the name Bob Jones University on my résumé and figured, "If the school can't even call itself Robert Jones University, how bright can its graduates be?" But my firm, one of the biggest in Chicago, gave me a chance. Now I give advice to Fortune 500 corporations and green-light million-dollar deals. Savvy businessmen respect my opinion. They don't know that I still wake up screaming sometimes. The world is a scary place, and in my dreams I'm still protected. In my dreams, I'm still at Bob Jones, the place where everything turns out right. That's a feeling any person would want. When I see conservative Muslims or Orthodox Jews on the street, Branch Davidians on TV, baby cousins at my family reunion, I can see they've been promised that feeling, too. Under the right circumstances, that promise can be the most powerful thing in the world. Under the right circumstances, you'll do anything for that promise.

This year, I became a mini celebrity at my firm after George W. Bush courted the country's conservatives by speaking at Bob Jones. America was shocked to learn that the school shuns Catholics, sees the pope as the Antichrist, forbade interracial dating. Bush himself looked startled to learn the news. I went home that night and fell asleep early. That night, at least, I didn't wake up screaming.

Find this article at: http://www.esquire.com/features/me-mr-jones-0700

In my correspondence with Joe Bob, he noticed murder wasn't on the list ...
A1

http://www.christianpost.com/article/20080312/31504_Study:__Behaviors_Americans_Consider_'Sinful'_.htm

Study: Behaviors Americans Consider 'Sinful'
By
Jennifer Riley
Christian Post Reporter
Wed, Mar. 12 2008 04:28 PM ET
Americans overwhelmingly believe in the concept of sin whether they are religiously involved or not, according to a new Ellison Research study released Tuesday.

“Sin,” as defined by the research organization, is “something that is almost always considered wrong, particularly from a religious or moral perspective.” The study questioned more than 1,000 American adult respondents whether they believe in such a thing as “sin” and then asked them whether 30 different behaviors were sinful.

Out the list of 30 behaviors, adultery was most often described as a sinful behavior by American respondents (81 percent).
Following adultery was racism (74 percent); using “hard” drugs such as cocaine, heroine, meth, LSD, etc. (65 percent); not saying anything if a cashier gives you too much change (63 percent); abortion (56 percent); and homosexual activity or sex (52 percent) rounded out the top five behaviors most often considered sinful by Americans.
Other behaviors with significant moral objections included reading or watching pornography (50 percent); swearing (46 percent); sex before marriage (45 percent); harming the environment as a consumer (41 percent); smoking marijuana (41 percent); getting drunk (41 percent); and not taking proper care of your body (35 percent).

Not surprisingly, religious people are much more likely to believe in sin, with 94 percent of Americans who regularly attend religious worship services saying they believe in the concept of sin. The number drops to 80 percent among those who do not attend service, although the percentage is still a large majority.
But perhaps more surprising is the differences in the belief of sin between political divides. Political conservatives (94 percent) believe there is such a thing as sin. The number remains high among moderates (89 percent) but then drops to 77 percent among political liberals.

Among Christian traditions, Protestants are more likely than Roman Catholics to include most of the 30 different behaviors as sin. The biggest differences included gambling (50 percent of Protestants compared to 15 percent of Catholics); failing to tithe 10 percent or more of one’s income (32 percent to 9 percent); getting drunk (63 percent to 28 percent); gossip (70 percent to 45 percent); and homosexual activity or sex (72 percent to 42 percent).

However, Catholics are more likely than Protestants to believe that not attending church is a sin (39 percent to 23 percent).
The percentage gap widens when evangelical Christians are stacked against the general American population. Ninety percent of evangelicals believe getting drunk is a sin, compared to 35 percent of all other Americans. Likewise, 92 percent of evangelicals believe sex before marriage is sinful, compared to 39 percent of the general U.S. population.
But only a minority of evangelicals believes it is sin to work on the Sabbath, not attend church, drink alcohol, dance, play the lottery, watch an R-rated movie, or not tithe 10 percent of their income to church or charity, according to Ellison Research.

Furthermore, the study reveals how Americans weigh sinful behaviors differently. While 81 percent feel adultery is sinful, only 43 percent say that having sexual thoughts about someone to whom they are not married is sinful.

Although 41 percent of Americans believe getting drunk is sinful, only 14 percent believe drinking even a little alcohol is a sin. Gambling is a sin to 30 percent of Americans, but only 18 percent feel this way about playing the lottery. And while 65 percent feel doing hard drugs are a sin, only 41 percent say this about marijuana.

“We can see numerous inconsistent patterns of thought and belief throughout the responses,” Ron Sellers, president of Ellison Research, stated. “For instance, over a third of all Americans believe failing to take proper care of their bodies is sinful. Yet far fewer believe tobacco or obesity are sins – even though medical science consistently shows using tobacco and being overweight are two of the most harmful things they can do to their bodies.”

Other inconsistencies highlighted by Sellers include:
• Over four out of 10 evangelicals believe it is a sin not to tithe, but other studies show relatively few evangelicals actually do so
• The Roman Catholic church consistently teaches that sex before marriage, abortion, pornography, and homosexual activity are sins, yet as many as half of all practicing Catholics do not personally define each of these as sinful.

Sellers suggests that religious leaders look at the findings of the study and compare it to their own teachings.
“If your church is teaching that working on the Sabbath is sinful, or that drinking or abortion or gossip are sinful, it’s likely that many of your own people don’t agree with you,” Sellers said.

“Leaders need to understand why this is, so they can figure out how to respond. Rather than just teaching, they need to discuss these issues with people – getting feedback on why so many of their own people differ with them may help them understand how to reach those people more effectively with their teaching,” the Ellison Research president commented.

Thanks for the article and the comments. It all was very moving for me.
I grew up a PK. I went to college and then to seminary. I followed the path I was suppose to follow only to find out I still hadn't found what I was looking for. I had to use a U2 reference, damnit it is the day after St. Patrick's day.
I found out the world is bigger than the church and so is God. A "Christian" marriage is not necessarily a happy marriage. A "Christian" lifestyle is not necessarily a happy lifestyle. "You need to be in church," is not the answer to all of life's problems.
The answers provided by learned men and women did not satisfy my doubts and questions. I found myself a seminary graduate and a full time pastor and miserable. I pastored for 10 years and hated every minute of it. "Preach faith until you have it" doesn't work.
I walked away from it all at great expense. Many rumors circulated about what great sin I must have commited to cause me to simply walk away. After a decade of anquish my sin was that I didn't have the courage to walk away sooner.
It took me years to adjust to being outside the church world. I can say I am finally comfortable in my own skin. Strangely enough I find a measure of faith comes easier these days as well.

HI I AM ALL THE WAY FROM NEW YORK CITY AND I WANT TO ATTEND LIBERTY UNIVERSITY WHEN I GET OLDER I AM ONLY 13 AND IM FASINATED BY THE CURRICULM AND ALL OF THE AMAZING THIGS THAT ARE ON CAMPUS I REACENTLY JUST CAME BACK TO NEW YORK AND I HAD TO TRAVEL TO RICHMOND AND ON MY WAY I PASSED BY CAMPUS AND IT WAS ASTONISHING I INSTANTLY FELL IN LOVE WITH IT. THE DORMS LOOKED GEORGEOUS ON THE OUT SIDE JUST IMAGIN WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE IN THE INSIDE I REALLY WANT TO ATTEND LIBERTY ONE DAY