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Object Description
| Title | Bethel Yearbook 1983 |
| Alternative Title | Passages 1983 |
| Academic Year | 1982 - 1983 |
| Subject |
Bethel College (Saint Paul, Minn.) College yearbooks |
| Description | This volume documents the people, events, activities and ideas of the Bethel community during the 1982 - 1983 school year |
| Date Published | 1983 |
| Decade | 1980 |
| Digital Publisher | Bethel University |
| Editor | Kicker, Leann M. |
| Contributors | Barkey, Doug (Photography, Layout and Design, Cover); Runion, Rhonda G. (Assistant Editor); Dobson, Patti S. (Assistant Photography Editor, Layout and Design); Shelley, Suzy (Writer); Manus, Jerry (Writer); Lewis, Ted (Writer); Mickelson, Alvera (Advisor); Johnson, Dale (Advisor); Contributors: Barkey, Doug; Copeland, Don; Driver, Lamar; Hansen, Thor; Kiser, Debbie; Saari, Jane; Stoesz, Curt; Velle, Dan; Vukelich, Tom; Woodcock, Mike; Woodward, Don; |
| Digital Collection | Bethel Yearbook Collection (1909-1989) |
| Location |
United States Minnesota Saint Paul |
| Time Span of Publication | Published annually from 1909 to 1989 except for the years of 1933-36, 1982, 1984-87 |
| Type | Text |
| Format | application/pdf |
| Original Publisher | Bethel College |
| Copyright | Images are available for educational and research purposes and are covered by Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported license. This image may not be reproduced for commercial purposes without the express written consent of Bethel University Digital Library. Contact Bethel University Digital Library at 651-638-6937 or digital-library@bethel.edu. |
| Physical Dimensions | 21.5 x 28 |
| Local Item ID | bua-1983 |
| Transcript | M■1■1■11■ Bethel College 3900 Bethel Drive Saint Paul, Minnesota Passages is not a yearbook nor is it a literary magazine. It is unique, escaping traditional definitions. Students wrote, photographed and edited Passages to describe some of the experiences of a large portion (but by no means all) of Bethel students. The creation of Passages has been difficult. Each step in the planning and composition was a new and experi-mental attempt to depict the struggles college students face. The four characters are fictional representa-tions. Like Bethel students they are growing and changing. Their attitudes and perspectives are affected by the people and situations they encounter. Such change is never easy. Photography was selected to complement the characters' feelings and experiences. The result is more than a picture book with four separate essays. It is a glimpse of what happens inside Bethel students as they deal with feelings and experiences. The text is intended to represent its audience, Bethel students; the hope is that readers will be able to identify with and learn something from Passages. I was a Bethel student a while back. When isn't important. Let's just say that I've been around a long time. It's exciting to make friends with students; the experi-. ence of each individual is unique within the context of the college. So much goes on in a person's life in the years spent at college. Thousands of students can go through the same institution and derive radically different experiences. The key to understanding these experiences lies in reserving judgment and being com-passionate. Prejudices and misunder-standings arise out of unwillingness to truly see the situations of others. I have four friends at Bethel who are willing to reveal part of their thoughts and feelings to you, so you'll have a window into their minds. Perhaps you'll learn something about yourself and your friends. P S D Your freshman year of college is an un-forgettable experience filled with paradoxes: excitement and disappoint-ment, new friends and homesickness, responsibility and overwhelming de-mands. The experience forces this person to redefine herself as an individual, developing a new perspective on who she is and what she'd like to be. Loneliness ... a word I never thought I'd have to learn, is becoming all too real to me. My past doesn't matter here. I'm alone now with my memories — memories no one can see. "College will be good for you — you'll really grow up," someone told me. Right. How can emotional pain and tears help me become a better person? I thought I could easily fit into new social groups; it had come so easily before. I had been out to enjoy college life to its fullest. Until now. Far too much of me remains in the past. I had so much at home — great family, friends, talents . .. where are those things now? Must I be forced to prove myself over and over? The glances here are cold, categorizing. Yet I am no different. My eyes are cold. I build my own brick walls around the secret area labeled "Me." Me, me, me. My priorities are hurting. I have to look out for myself— no one else will. When classes began, I suddenly needed every moment to keep up with the syllabuses. I've been so overwhelmed with the basic assign-ments. Is there a balance between those people I'd like to know and the five Psych. chapters I have to know? There's so much freedom ... I can do anything! No one is going to make me get up for my 8:00 class. I'd like to be everyone's friend and have a super time . . . only one thing stands in my way. Along with the freedom comes added responsibility. I'm expected to show up in FA313 at 12:30, and finish a paper by Thursday . . . I do feel pressure to study; isn't that what I pay for? But ... the decisions are up to me! Me. Me again. Is it wrong to be self-centered? I'm just trying to protect myself. I purposely seal myself in books, isolating myself from the very people I long to meet. After all, caring often brings pain, and I don't want to get hurt. With a thousand faces here looking out for themselves as much as I am, I begin to wonder if I want them as friends. Maybe I should give myself a chance. And while I'm at it, maybe I should give them a chance too. It takes time. P.S.D. Not seeing any familiar faces in the cafeteria today, I sat with a new group of people for lunch. They chattered as if they'd been friends for life. They half-heartedly tried to make me feel more comfortable by using short conversa-tion starters. "So, what'd you say your name was?" I was a stranger in their clique. I felt helpless, vulnerable to their judgment. Why was I unable to enter their conver-sation? I felt inferior, inept. P.S.D. P S D Later in the lounge, I found myself with friends from classes and the dorm. How different I felt. I spoke with ease, almost dominating the conversation. Yet I still felt odd, noting an air of superiority in my voice. Did these people "measure up?" Sure, they were a solace after being rejected, but they just weren't my type. I try not to label others, yet found myself in the midst of doing it. Lunch time still stings. Perhaps they sized me up, discarding my personality as I have discarded others. Ouch. I'd never really been tossed out like that, and must admit I didn't like it. I'm discovering so many parts of myself I have never seen before, like insensitivity. Maybe I am learning something here. Maybe it has to do with "growing up." My parents keep writing, wanting so badly to be part of my experiences. I want to keep in touch, but . . . now that I think about it, what would I say? "Hi. I love Bethel. College is every-thing I had hoped it to be and more ..." That would reassure them. I know they long for me to take advantage of the opportunities they never had, and I want to. I'd love to be Miss Popularity, bring a "nice young gentleman" home to Mom, and even get decent grades to justify the financial pressure. But I didn't immediately fall into the social arena and guys seem only a fantasy. Grades — well, lately all I do is study ... Perhaps I should close my letter, "Your daughter, the social zero." Dad wrote, "We hope it is God's will for you to remain at Bethel . ." That caught me off-guard. I never wondered whether or not it was God's Will for me to be here. Is it God's will that I be so incredibly lonely? It can't be! How could He expect me to want to do His will when it obviously leaves me with so much pain? Why didn't I think of it before? I can pray about it; just give Him my social dilemmas and leave it to His power to drop the right people and opportunities in my lap. I wasted my time trying to do it on my own, when God could have done it so much better . . . and maybe faster! Days come and go swiftly. It seems I've been here for years when it's only been a few months. I expected opportunities to come from all directions, yet grew frustrated with people who had the courage to grab the opportunities before they passed. The people here don't care about who I was. They want to know who I am now, a person I have yet to show them. Where did my confidence go? I expected God to fill my orders. I know that He opens the doors, but I must step through them. I wonder how many opportunities He's given to me? I let others take the initiative while I sit, waiting for the "right" time. My image of Him has been confused. Realizing my own foolishness, I lower my head. "Lord, my confidence is failing ... and my faith in you waivers. I tried to use You for my own benefit, to satisfy my need for friendship. I'm so sorry. Help me to focus on You. Never on me." I felt myself growing these past few weeks, becoming less and less the me of September, and more the me of tomorrow. "Me" is no longer the center of my life, but is slowly being replaced by Someone far greater, and more worthy of the position. I can see changes already. I'm surprised at the new person I'm becoming . . . a person I would never have dreamed to be. I know I'm not finished — only en route. I wonder what lies ahead. God's courses are never easy for me. There is so much still to be learned and I am so unwilling to be taught. Yet I cannot fear what's ahead. God will teach and guide me and I'll be able to look back and see the results. Today I must live in the present, grasping what I can from each day, collecting the impressions that will become a permanent part of the ever-changing me; laughing and learning, hurting and healing, but always, always me. S.S. P. S.D P.S.D. D.B . My minority friends at Bethel encounter unique problems difficult for average students to understand. Forming com-fortable interracial relationships is par-ticularly hard. Unfortunately they are often disappointed when their expectations are broken by the reality of their experience. I feel out of place here, there's no way around it. Thinking back on it, I'm not sure what I expected to find here. I had D B some vague conception of Bethel being a kind of holy haven for saintly people. I always had the hope that the differences between me and other people here would be bridged by our common unity in Christ. But I'm here now and I'm not so sure. Just walking through the halls I can tell D B the people here aren't used to seeing blacks at Bethel. Some people avoid me deliberately. Some come up and try to talk to me just because I'm different. I can't blend in, I always stick out. Sometimes I wonder, do I really want to stay here badly enough to put up with this? It's good to have some brothers here. Even if it's just one or two, at least I have someone to talk to who knows where I'm coming from. Some people seem annoyed at the way we always hang around together, but I'm just happy I'm not completely alone here, and that there are a few people I can really depend on. D8 Today I was talking to a guy and he asked me why I came to Bethel. I started thinking about how to tell him, but the more I thought about it, the more I was aware of the incredible gap between my perspective on the world and that of most of the people here. I wanted to ask him if there were people in his home community who stole food for their dinner, or if he had friends who had been beaten by police, or if he'd ever lived in a ghetto. Of course I knew he hadn't. He would never know what it was to be on the bottom of a system that was determined to hold him down. How can he ever understand the urgent drive I have to better myself, and to help my people? I just changed the subject. There are some people here who are different, who just accept me as a human being. They understand that I didn't come here to cause trouble or to make people paranoid. They give me hope that the barriers separating people can be torn down. I guess maybe I'm crazy, but there's this one girl that I really like. She doesn't act fakey with me. She doesn't make me feel like a freak when she talks to me. It's a relief to know I can be natural with her, and not worry about playing little games all the time. In fact, I've been thinking about asking her out. I know it doesn't often happen that a white girl will go out with a black guy. I think maybe it's different with her. It would be really good for me to be able to go out with someone and just have a good time and relax and be myself. I could almost hear the doors crash-ing, bringing my little fantasy to an abrupt and gut-wrenching end. One look from her and it all came back to me, like a bad dream that turns out to be real: people are arranged in their own groups. Those who try to cross the lines get stepped on. One minute we were talking freely and I felt confident in our friendship. Then she would not look at me. She tried to talk but only stammered. I felt a sickening coldness in my gut. I stub-bornly demanded to know why she would not go out with me. I made her tell me. She said her parents don't want her going out with black guys, though of course they're not racist. I am drained. I have no energy left to argue, and nothing left to say. D There is constant tension here for me, because I am not in my environ-ment. I am constantly aware of my family and home community, as if my people's eyes were fixed on me from a distance, their collective expectations I came from. At the same time, I am aware of the eyes of people here. I will always stand out among them, and nothing I do goes unnoticed. So, I am on stage here, I am performing for audiences. But I have become used to the eyes, I have learned to live with the tension. It's almost like being on the court with my team down on points. The odds are against winning, but I cannot allow myself to lose. Right now I've got the ball and I can see my goal. I must negotiate the opposition as best I can, but I can't quit while I still have a chance. How should I react to people? Should I hate them, showing my hostility? Should I bend over backwards to prove that I'm harmless? Or maybe I D.B . should just try to ignore them, though that's not always easy either. Sometimes I wish I could confront them all, and see how they would answer. Do they really believe we are all brothers and sisters? Do they believe we are all equal under the same God, a God who knows what really goes on inside people? I wish they would really face these questions; then I could begin to hope. D. W. J.M. P.S.D. A great deal of learning at college is non-academic. Values are sifted and arranged with eyes focused on the future as it fits with truth learned today. This woman finds the formation of her ideals most intensely challenged in the tension between Bethel and the rest of our world.. . Sept. 17 This evening, between some fruitless hours in the library and catching the Silvercrest bus, I went to the bathroom. After I sounded the roar of the toilet, suddenly, silence . . . I felt the absence of all my worries. All alone, I hummed some low notes, and rich acoustics surrounded me. (It sounds like I'm talking about Nirvana!) Then I had a stare-down with myself in the mirror and asked, "Why do I always feel so relaxed in public restrooms?" Still don't know. On the bus my mind whirled like a top. Images ricocheted in my head, from the chapel singer, to the dining room, to FA 313 — all over the campus — and between all these, in kaleidoscope fashion, appeared faces and shacks I had seen last summer around the Appalachian mission. Wish every student could do SMP. Sometimes I wonder what Gretchen would think if she walked around Bethel. Working in the coal mines got her nothing but dirty lungs. I hope all is well with her. Sept. 20 . . . Why can't men just say what they mean! Tom made me so frustrated in the Lemon Lounge today. If he feels hurt because Kathy isn't interested in him, why does he beat around the bush? I can just picture some guy writing in his journal tonight, "Why can't women just say what they mean?" Any rate, it's easier to decipher Egyptian hiero-glyphics than to translate what some guys say. P.S.D. P.S.D. P.S.D. Sept. 28 . . . Finally figures out why I like public restrooms. On my C-mod. break, having made a jaunt to the women's room by Doc's, it occurred to me that public restrooms have no "particular" connection with their location, except for a few pipes. Har Mar Theaters, Perkins' Steak and Cake, and Bethel could all swap rest-rooms and life would go on as usual. So why am I so fond of them? Some-how, Bethel's bathrooms join me with the whole world. Since last summer, the notion of living in two worlds has bothered me. I want to live in one world — the world God made. Otherwise I'll end up being two people. I may be weird, but what of it? Everybody is weird. And blessed are those who don't mind themselves. Oct. 21 . . . Hot debate in Human Devel. today — lifestyle issue. Class buzzed like a beehive. Right now I'm more into "life" rather than "style." Thought of this Steve Turner poem: History repeats itself. Has to. No one listens. . Idea for Senior Sem. Psych. paper: examine what things change or don't change in a person as they age. Nov. 22 Unusual dream last night. In a large hall swarming with stock-exchange-like men, I saw four women undergo a mock execution. Lined up against the wall, the four displayed a calmness that overwhelmed me. The men jeered, shaming the women for being women. In suit and tie, nobody suspected me, yet I shook like a leaf, pacing everywhere. I knew the women, and I wanted to help, but couldn't. Then the hall turned into a party room. Same people, including more women my age were dancing and eating their hearts out. I was still shaking, but I felt everyone else denying the event. Better get to class. P.S.D. Nov. 3 Last Sat. night went to a costume party. ( Dressed up as a woman who ran out of gas — showed up with a two-gallon gas tank.) Sort of fun. A lot of new faces, not to mention the masks. Later on during the party, when most begin to mellow down, a handful got P.S.D. their second-wind to hyper up. Actual-ly, some of them got obnoxious. Then this girl got on my nerves. Funny thing — she reminded me of myself in past years. For the rest of the evening, my thoughts wouldn't stop knifing the people around me. "This guy is as P.S.D. callous as a camel's knee. That girl could have a lobotomy and nobody would know the difference. That guy eats like a grazing cow: non-stop." Why do I tear into people like that, and even enjoy it? Do I think I'm better just because I see things a little differently? .. . P.S.D. P.S.D. wj t P.S.D. Dec. 11 Final exams next week, then just one more semester! And it's snowing out — God's dandruff. I'm so happy today I could do a cartwheel in the coffee shop! I'm younger now than I was three years ago. Gretchen wrote to me again. Replying to my "urban treadmill" letter, she wrote, ". . take time to be yourself — to do the things that pleased you as a child." Hours later, I was cutting out favorite pictures from National Geographics. P.S.D . What fun — taping ferns and sea shells on notebooks, and scenes of the Sahara on my wall. Rest of the evening I just sat around and enjoyed my own company. Didn't even think of watch-ing T.V. Jan. 14 Took a #4 bus from Silvercrest to Uptown Theater. Two potent movies. One was about Jewish resistance in the Warsaw ghetto. Felt numb all the way home. What's the holocaust got to do with my life at college? I see stuff like that and it grips me to the bone ... but what then? On the one hand I feel like I gotta get up and fight something; on the other hand, I'm this student who eats three meals a day, studies in a cozy college, and plans how to make enough bucks when I graduate. Jan. 20 A friend of mine was raped near her apartment. I'm very sad and very mad. Another friend just gave birth to a healthy little boy. How do both things fit in the same world? Mere words and phrases no longer satisfy me. They distance me. I want to feel my questions first — to be touched by the tragedy and joy of another — and maybe then, maybe I can begin to touch back. T.L. c -.40.14ftwahh., - , „AO. D B •■•• • , mie 10,0 .9,0 4-•‘ •—.1110,.., • 1- * 44 • '4440 •• J4111,114 ; 14,tir '4112MW,a - - ;AP Bethel can be a crucial turning point in a young person's spiritual life. The con-flict of old ideas with new concepts and world views can cause faith to both shatter and blossom. My friend is a beautiful example of a student moving from broken beliefs to higher levels of insight and commitment during his years at Bethel. All through class I've had this sinking feeling growing in my gut. I've always tried to be open-minded, but I just don't know how to deal with what I am hearing. The word "evolution" has never been used in my home without at least a note of disdain, and the concept has never been discussed in my presence without being soundly refut-ed, with its adherents designated to the ranks of the lost. The prof might as well try to get me to do dope as teach me about the theory of evolution. I feel my very being rebelling against his words. I am amazed at the cunning of the Enemy in convincing intelligent Christians to fall into such obvious fallacies. D B I have an idea that makes my head reel with its sheer simplicity and urgency. I can get a Bible and read the creation account from Genesis to the prof. All the humanistic rationalizing in the world cannot stand up to the beautiful power and wisdom of that simple passage ... A nervous conviction quickly replaces the empty sinking feeling which had taken hold of me. Of course I will be respectful, but I could never live with myself if I were to let unchallenged ideas like this one go, especially here in a Christian college. Maybe I'm just losing my nerve, but something prevents me from bluntly confronting my prof, some undefined hunch that there might be more to this than I have yet seen. It's not that I'm losing my faith, it's just that it's not like me to do anything too quickly. Anyway, nothing will be lost if I take some time to think things through. After all, that's what I'm in college for. D B Lying awake, thinking things through, my roommate stumbles in at about 1:30 a.m. I didn't need the light to know what he'd been up to. As soon as he shoved the door open I was rudely assaulted with the olfactory evidence of some heavy partying, and not of the Baptist variety. He snaps the light on anyway, and I am instantly wide awake with anger. I lie staring tight-lipped at the ceiling as my roommate clumsily prepares to pass out. I'm not thinking about evolution and misled profs anymore. It's not that I have never known any-one who smokes and drinks. There were plenty like that back in high school, though I deliberately stayed out of that scene. I just never thought I would see this kind of thing at a Christian college. I mean, really, what's a guy like this doing at Bethel? He knows the rules, doesn't he? Why come here and cause trouble? Do I really want to go through with it? The more I think about it, the more I realize that I'm not really mad at the guy anymore. That kind of bothers me, because I think I probably should be mad. D.B. I was too outraged to say anything to my roommate the other night about his behavior. But after some contempla-tion I've decided I really should say something to the R.A. Not that I like telling on people, I really don't. But I just can't let that kind of rebellion continue without doing something. Well, Christ wouldn't let something like that go on. I mean, someone that drove the moneychangers out of the temple would send a guy like my roommate back to whatever sinhole he came from, or at least demand some dramatic improvement in his behavior. DB D.B. What would Christ do in my shoes? I hate to admit it, but now I can't decide. DB So what does God really want from people anyway? It seems ridiculous that after all these years of calling myself a Christian I could still be asking that question. When I think of my life, it just seems like a confusing stream of do's and don'ts, and when it comes to making important decisions I'm stumped half the time. And when I'm not stumped, I usually find out later that I goofed. All I really know for sure is that I'm supposed to do something called "love." But that seems too abstract. I mean, sure I love God and people and so forth, but so what? So I get gushy feelings, and sometimes I help people (if it's not too inconvenient). Actually it's easier just to follow some do's and don'ts than to make the effort to find out what it means to love in every situation. I can just try to be reasonable and do what people expect of me. I can approve and condemn according to the norms of this Christian society, and that way I'll stay out of trouble. DB D. B. DB But approving and condemning people isn't the point. Neither is staying out of trouble. The real issue is living out the act of love. So what is love? When the prof began talking about "unconditional positive regard" it seemed a rather simple concept. It somehow seems very crucial, even very Christian (and this is a psychology class). People need to know that no matter what they do, their value as human beings will not be questioned. My circuits are humming. Uncondition-al positive regard sounds suspiciously like a Biblical concept, an elusive yet crucial phenomenon called love. education that is costing thousands of dollars a year. But for me it has cosmic implications. All the time, money and effort begin to look like they might be worth it, not because I will emerge from college a competent professional, but because I might be learning something about carrying out the greatest impera-tive in the universe — love. J.M. necessary for psychological stability, and loving is an imperative for Christians. I sense a dynamic link between the two concepts. I guess I should be careful not to over-simplify the concept of love. And maybe equating unconditional positive regard with love seems like a rather simplistic idea to gather from an Every student's passage through Bethel could be a chapter in this book. They would all be unique, while sharing con-cerns common to many. Each would be as authentic and full of painful, but worth-while change as the people portrayed in Passages. This process of change links all college experience; it doesn't stop here, though. You've seen only portions of people and experience in these pages; in a sense, each of you who read this must complete it in your own passage through Bethel into the remainder of your life. Editor: Leann M. Kicker Photography editor: Doug Barkey Assistant editor: Rhonda G. Runion Assistant photography editor: Patti S. Dobson Writers: Suzy Shelley Jerry Manus Ted Lewis Advisors: Alvera Mickelson Dale Johnson Layout and Design: Doug Barkey Patti S. Dobson Contributors: Greg Barkey Don Copeland Lamar Driver Thor Hansen Debbie Kiser Jane Saari Curt Stoesz Dan Velie Tom Vukelich Mike Woodcock Don Woodward Cover Photograph: Doug Barkey We honor Barbara Lee Burton's passage through Bethel and commemorate her final passage from this life. |
| Language | English |
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