The Wake

When I left my small mid-western town to attend the U of M Twin Cites, it was for the greener pastures of cultural diversity and open-minded discussion. This objective was largely achieved. I’ve made new friends of varied upbringings and beliefs, and I feel a more well-rounded and educated person for it.

However, not all who attend the U of M need face the realities of life at a public university, nor of the world-at-large. They’ve got a student group to keep you safe from that. It’s called Campus Crusade for Christ, or Cru, and within its cushioned social circle, you needn’t let college change you at all. You can meet hundreds of students who think just as you do, and will gladly reinforce everything you learned in your sheltered home town.

Now before you start taking me for an angry atheist lashing out from behind a keyboard, let me tell you a little about myself. I hold no religious affiliation whatsoever. I look at religion as a natural extension of every human’s quest for understanding, and fear of the unknown. I’d gladly attend and participate in any religious service or ceremony, and chalk it up as cultural experience. I have no problem with anyone’s personal beliefs, so long as they don’t mind that I don’t believe the same. And therein lies my grievance with Cru. My comment about students leaving college the same as they came in was merely an observation. If you’re content to live having never challenged what you learned as a kid, then who’s to argue. Happy is happy. The problems come with things like the roof-spanning banner that resides across the front of the Cru campus headquarters on 11th and 5th in Dinkytown.

“Jesus Christ Is The Lord Of The University Of Minnesota,” it reads, spraying like spit into every blind eye we all turn, either too busy with the school day to pay it mind, or too accustomed to this kind of fanaticism to care. Think about what an international student must think reading that upon their arrival. It might as well say, “Welcome to America, home of the crazy Christians. Leave your beliefs at the border.” It was this wildly offensive statement that first prompted my interest into the matter of Cru. Well, that and one particular Coffman Union run-in with the culprits.

I was walking towards the bookstore when I spotted a table full of candy. Each individual piece was spaced in just such a way as to suggest, “Hey, why don’t you come over and take some of this… for free.” Jolly Ranchers and Starbursts, BOWLS full of mini-candy bars, REGULAR-SIZED bags of Skittles… who could possibly resist?! I walked hastily towards the table, my eyes fixed to a particularly tasty looking Twix single.

“Hey there!” beamed two 25 to 35-year-old men in similar button up dress shirts. “Oh, hey,” I stammered, feeling guilty, and deciding I had better at least half-heartedly inquire about the bevy of brochures and pamphlets that were also up for grabs. “What’s all this about?”

Over the next 5 minutes, I nodded politely, fixating with believable interest upon each of the leaflets presented, all the while trying to decide how many pieces of candy I could take without provoking objection. I had concluded that 4 or 5 pocketfuls should be safe, and then it hit me. “Sweet Moses!” I thought, trying to conceal my revelation, “These are the clowns responsible for that horrific banner I’m forced to read every day on the way to class.” I decided I had no choice but to raise some Christian blood pressure. My garlic to their Vampire being the fool-proof foil to every Christian argument: exposing the inherent intolerance and unsupported nature of their ideals.

“Oh yeah, I saw this house the other day on my way to class. It said ‘Jesus Christ is the Lord of the University of Minnesota.’ Is that you guys?” I asked, wearing the most sincere of interested expressions. Their welcoming smiles grew even wider. Like frothing wolves to a wounded deer, I could sense their excitement. A new recruit! They moved in for the kill. “Oh yeah, that’s us!” “Yeah that sure is!” they proclaimed, tripping over each other’s sentences in anticipation of another successful conversion. “Yeah, you should stop by next time! Anytime!” “Yeah, we’re always there! Ha.” “Yeah, we sure are. Ha ha.” “Actually, our next meeting is coming up! It’s this.. . . .” But I cut him off before he could go any further. “Well… don’t you think that’s really offensive?” I interjected, prompting confused glances to be exchanged. “No.” “Of course not.” They assured. “How would that be offensive?”

“Well, what would you say if there was an… oh, I don’t know, a Muslim student group across the street, and they decided to put up a banner that said, ‘Allah is the Lord of the University of Minnesota?’ Would you be all right with that?” Their faces cringed in nearly comic disgust. “Well that would just be wrong.” “Yeah. That’s just simply not true.”

In the momentary silence that followed, there was a distinct change in their attitudes toward me. It was a palpable distain. I was the enemy. I didn’t believe, I wasn’t going to be converted, and I was no longer of any purpose. I was just there to instigate. Never mind the potential logic behind my statements. Never mind that it’s obnoxious and aggressive to proclaim a place as big and diverse as the U of M as your own. But they’re not in the business of rationality. They’ve no time for fair discussion involving open-minded consideration of opposing views. They deal strictly in the art of persuasion.

The other students circled around the table sensed the tension, and were now listening intently. I let the moment linger, and the stupidity of their argument settle in. How could I possibly respond to such a ridiculously groundless statement? They were essentially saying, “No, you see, everyone else is wrong because we’re right.”

The other students at the table were now staring at me with unabashed disgust. I decided to concede the fight for the time being. I stuffed my pockets with mini-Nerd boxes and made a break for the escalator.

Over the next month and a half I attended various Cru events in an attempt to gain further understanding. I approached these events as any prospective new member would, and incurred through this process the journalistic spoils of unguarded quotes and an insider’s perspective.

My first event was one of their weekly meetings held in the cavernous lecture hall, Wiley 175. Out in the hallway I was greeted by a name-tag-sporting duo. The boy introduced himself as, “Funzo.” He pointed to his name tag, on which the name was spelled. The girl laughed knowingly and apologized for her welcoming partner’s wackiness. “Oh don’t mind him; he’s crazy.” She then explained that they often write wild and crazy names in place of their own. We talked for several minutes, but it was quite a struggle. I couldn’t seem to find the flow of their conversation, as hard as I tried. The whole ordeal was like an extended flirting session with Ross Geller. In a world of mandatory sobriety and exclusion from edgier pop culture, this type of “kooky” behavior isn’t uncommon. At a long-awaited break in this tireless charade, I escaped through the lecture doors.

The telltale strumming of camp counselor guitars indicated a praise band in full swing. I walked cautiously forward, hoping not to draw too much attention. I took the corner and found myself face-to-face with a full room. 500 or more students turned to look directly at me. I darted up to the top row to observe in safety. The songs they sang were primarily Jesus-related. I knew many of them well from my younger days of youth groups and Young Life gatherings. I could even recite some of the classics, such as “Open the Eyes of My Heart Lord,” and “Prince of Peace,” without a single consultation of the lyrics.

There’s a really interesting dynamic among the students as they sing these songs. Some of them close their eyes. Some sway from side to side. But only a few are willing to go as far as to hold both hands in the air, and grimace as if overwhelmed by emotion. It reminded me of a time when a youth leader made one of the most memorable comments I’ve heard. I was at a similar youth-worship type gathering. As the songs intensified, several of the kids began to close their eyes and hold their hands up while singing. The youth pastor/lead singer issued a warning. It was right in the middle of the song’s peak. He leaned into the mic and cautioned with a concerned tone in his voice, “Now don’t just put your hands up because the person next to you is. Only put ‘em up if you can really feel Christ inside you.” Everyone looked around to see who had been genuinely filled with Christ’s love, and who had just been pretending to fit in. You can see that same sense of uncertainty with-in the Cru crowd during their sing-alongs. The students observe each other anxiously to see who’ll be the first to “feel Christ’s love.”

After the music, one of the Cru leaders gave an address, rallying the Cru faithful to take more aggressive actions in their personal relationships to spread the word of Christ. “Your fellow classmates here at the University of Minnesota are lonely. They drink and do drugs and have sex to fill the empty void where Christ would be. We all know that Cru is a safe place to make authentic relationships. We here at Cru are a guiding light on campus. We need to be brave enough to be honest. We need to take that risk to open up to the people we meet, because if you do, I can assure you that they will open too, and we can show them the light of Christ.”

It reminded me of a documentary I’d seen about an Evangelical camp in Devils Lake, North Dakota, not far from my hometown in Minnesota. Jesus Camp, filmed in ’05, released in ’06, and Oscar-nominated in ’07, is an objective depiction of the camp’s purpose: training children to join “God’s Army.” The camp, officially known as Kids On Fire School of Ministry, was founded on a belief that, “Children will play a major role in ushering in the last great revival and soon return of Jesus.” The unwavering commitment shown by such young, impressionable kids is an eye-opening experience. At the film’s conclusion, one of the little girls talks excitedly about how she can’t wait to get back to school and pass leaflets and talk about the church and fulfill her duty to the Lord.

Isn’t this what causes wars? Isn’t this what leads to hatred and violence? The teaching of blind, unyielding faith to someone too young to fully comprehend the consequences of her own actions. This is catastrophic. Not just to our society, but to this poor girl’s own life. After the film, I sat for the longest time thinking about what her coming years would be like. She’d grow up alienating herself from her classmates because of the social growth her parents, and this upbringing, had stunted. Think of all the people she won’t be able to meet, and learn from, simply because they don’t believe what she was taught. She hasn’t even graduated elementary school and she’s already as confrontational and narrow-minded as those Cru reps at Coffman. She’s already prepared to stand proudly under any banner her pastor or youth leader (or Cru house owner) might pin up, with out thinking twice of its isolating effects.

Campus Crusade for Christ… a shining light or blinded youth? Part 2 coming soon.

*The banner mentioned in this story is not actually the property of Campus Crusade for Christ, though I was under that impression at the time of these events. The true owner of that house will be identified in part two of this article.*