Twenty years ago, I was sitting in my dorm room at Limestone
College in Gaffney, S.C., skipping classes so I could watch the funeral of Pope
John Paul II. As an aspiring church musician from the rural South, I was
captivated by the ancient liturgy, the solemn ritual and the grand, sacred
pageantry.
But more than that, I was struck by the weight of tradition
— watching an institution carry out a rite that had remained virtually
unchanged for more than a thousand years.
Institutions anchor us. Whether they are religious,
educational or civic, these structures shape our lives and help form the
society we aspire to build.
For me, one such institution is Limestone College — more
recently Limestone University — where I earned my bachelor’s degree in music
education in 2007.
The four years I spent at Limestone remain among the most
formative of my life. Limestone is where I nurtured my love for music, where I
began to explore a call to ministry, and where I met my spouse.
But my love affair with the college did not end at
graduation. In 2012, I was named Limestone’s Young Alumnus of the Year, and in
2015 I was honored to be a featured organ recitalist on the college’s concert
series. My alma mater holds a special place in my heart, and I imagine many
readers can relate to having a school or community for which they hold similar
affection.
Limestone was founded in 1845 as a women’s high school — its
name deriving from the large limestone quarry adjacent to its campus. The
school was the vision of two Baptist clergymen from England, Thomas Curtis and
his son, William Curtis — the former helping to found Southern Baptist
Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., after his time in South Carolina.
Limestone prospered until the Civil War, with Reconstruction
bringing hard times. In 1881, it was revived as the Cooper-Limestone Institute
thanks to New York philanthropist Peter Cooper, and in 1898, it was officially
named Limestone College.
The school continued to grow and became fully coeducational
in the 1960s. But by the late 1980s, Limestone once again was struggling
financially. The board of trustees turned to Walter Griffin, a history
professor from Iowa, and challenged him to save the school. And he did.
During Griffin’s 25-year tenure, Limestone operated in the
black, its historic buildings were restored, new athletic programs were
launched — including a national championship team — and it became the first
college in South Carolina to offer evening and online programs for
nontraditional students.
When President Griffin retired in 2017, Limestone seemed
poised for long-term success. But a few weeks ago, as another pope’s funeral
unfolded on the global stage, a different news story emerged closer to home:
Limestone University announced it likely would cease all on-campus operations
at the end of the spring semester due to financial hardships.
At first glance, it seemed Limestone had fallen prey to the
same challenges facing many private institutions: budget cuts, enrollment
declines and shifts to online education. But those of us close to the school
knew there was more to the story, and we were heartbroken.
“Those of us close to the school knew there was more to the
story, and we were heartbroken.”
Following President Griffin’s retirement, new leadership
took over, and decisions that seemed promising at the time — transforming into
a university, launching a football program, constructing a stadium — ultimately
became burdensome. Financial mismanagement compounded these issues, and
eventually another administration had to be brought in.
The most recent president seemed to be working hard to unify
the college community and stabilize operations, but it wasn’t enough. The
university needed $6 million just to keep the lights on. Further investigations
revealed the school was saddled with as much as $30 million in debt.
How was it possible that this could happen — again?
Two decades after that college kid sat glued to a papal
funeral, I am now a member of the ordained clergy serving in full-time
ministry. Since my time at Limestone, I have earned a master’s degree and a
doctorate, and throughout that educational journey, I never stopped championing
the institution that gave me my start.
My classmates and I often have remarked that we were leagues
ahead of our peers in graduate school because of our Limestone education — one
where individual attention and personal relationships with professors were
paramount.
As a Christian, it did not escape me that the devastating
news about my alma mater came during Holy Week. While the church prepared to
mourn the death of Christ, the Limestone community was preparing to mourn the
loss of its beloved school.
Let me be clear: Limestone is not the Messiah. But it is a
Christian institution, one built on love, truth and service — ideals that
mirror the gospel teachings of Jesus Christ.
Members of the Limestone family were told the board of
trustees would meet after Easter to determine the school’s future. And so, we
all prayed for resurrection. A few financial partners stepped forward, offering
a glimmer of hope and a bit more time for discernment, but the reality still
loomed heavy.
The period of time between popes in the Catholic church is
referred to as Sede Vacante (the time of the empty throne). This “in-between”
time is one of great uncertainty, where prayers of hope are offered for the
future of the institution. Those of us in the Limestone community couldn’t help
but notice the parallel.
Lately, I also have felt like one of the disciples during
the days between resurrection and ascension — walking with a beloved teacher,
only to know they soon may be taken away. I then found myself asking: What if
there is no resurrection for Limestone?
On April 29, the board of trustees ultimately voted to close
the school, effectively ending a 180-year tradition. The news was devastating
and hard to comprehend, leaving members of the Limestone family (both on and
off campus) hurting and angry. Students, faculty, staff and alumni have poured
their hearts into that community, and it was hard to believe the halls that
once rang with laughter and lectures soon would sit silent.
“The hope for redemption lies within us, guided by the
spiritual and institutional truths that ground us.”
But then I remembered: Limestone does not reside in the
buildings of that Gaffney campus any more than the church of Jesus resides in a
single sanctuary. As followers of Christ, we are called to carry forward his
teachings by how we live and engage with the world. The same is true for
Limestone. Its physical form may fade, but what it stands for lives on in us.
The friendships formed, the lessons learned, the
transformative moments — we carry them forward. We are Limestone now.
For anyone watching the values they hold dear crumble —
whether in a school, a church or a nation — know this: The hope for redemption
lies within us, guided by the spiritual and institutional truths that ground
us. They will not die if we keep them alive, and we do so through the stories
we share, the values we uphold and the truths we fight for.
Resurrection may not be found in reopened institutions, but
rather in the strength and faithfulness of a community of people.
I hereby join my fellow alumni in committing to uphold the
legacy of Limestone. And to others who may be experiencing a similar loss, I
wish you the grace, strength and courage required to carry forward that which
you know to be good and true.
I leave you with the comforting words of our beloved alma
mater’s second verse:
The hours of life flow swiftly and change must come to all;
Our friendships must be severed to answer duty’s call.
But memories never perish, and that of fair Limestone,
Must be with me forever the brightest, sweetest ones.
— Frank L. Eyer (1868-1932)
