In the District

When I was in middle school, the biggest event of 8th grade was going on the Washington, D.C. trip.  For most of my peers, it was probably a big deal to go on a trip without their parents.  For me, the excitement came from going to Gettysburg and then getting to see the nation's capitol first hand.  For a "history geek" in the making, nothing could be more exciting.  There are days when I still am thankful for that trip, for Richard Smith (my middle school history teacher), and that may parents let me go on it!

I have been to D.C. multiple times since then, most only research trips.  The last time I left in the middle of a snow storm.  But this year I had the opportunity to come out to the District and teach an intensive seminar on D.C. and the Civil War as part of Butler University's Semester in Washington, D.C. program.  The students in my seminar are drawn from Butler students who are here, as well as several from our partner school, Centre College in Kentucky.  Over the course of the past two days, we have talked a good deal about the war, and today we did some tours that tied some of our discussions together.






Our first stop was the U.S. Capitol.  Our tour was facilitated by Indiana Congresswoman Susan Brooks.  It was wonderful to get to take my students into the very rooms so much of the history we had discussed.  From the dome (which was being worked on during the Civil War)....


....to the Old Supreme Court room, where the Dred Scott decision was rendered by Chief Justice Roger Taney......




....to the Old Senate Chamber, where the Compromise of 1850 was put together, and where Charles Sumner's desk was/is (where he sat when Congressman Preston Brooks nearly killed him by beating the abolitionist with his cane).

After we were done on the Hill, we headed out to Arlington National Cemetery.  Here we visited Robert E. Lee's mansion, which holds connections to George Washington and to the Civil War (as it was occupied by Union forces early on in the war, which led to the plantation grounds becoming a cemetery).





But for me, one of the highlights (beyond getting to spend time with some really great students) was finding the grave of Marion Anderson, Butler's Civil War Medal of Honor Winner.




I have really enjoyed the opportunity to teach this course, and to do "history on the ground."  It is something I would do again, and that I would encourage others in my profession to do as well.

Servant Leadership

Last week I had the opportunity to sit in on the final presentations of students who took part in the Butler (University) Summer Institute.  This year there were 29 young scholars, representing every college on campus and a wide variety of majors, who spent over two months researching under the direction of a member of the faculty.  Many of them will take that summer research and turn it into either a departmental or university honors thesis.  As I have told several people since BSI came to a close, it was by far one of the most enjoyable (and varied) academic "conferences" I have been to in a very long time.

For the purposes of this little blog of mine though, one of the presentations stood out.  It was on servant leadership in the United Methodist Church by Brittney Stephan, a rising senior at Butler.  Brittney has been interning with a local congregation (with the approval of the Indiana annual conference), studying the topic of servant leadership (for more, see the following) and what both laity and clergy mean by the term.

Like the other presentations, it was interesting and well done.  Perhaps it struck a chord with me though because of my work on the Mainline.  While I did not look at servant leadership, the idea that there might be a disconnect between the different levels of a denomination (top level bureaucracy, clergy, laity) over terms, ideas, or pronouncements was hardly surprising.  That there has not been more study of these kinds of issues is surprising.  Perhaps in the future, there will be.

Global Historical Studies

As part of its core curriculum, Butler University requires students to take two Global Historical Studies courses.  Now, as an Americanist by training, I wish that part of the core was a required U.S. History class as well, but still, I've enjoyed teaching GHS courses every now and again, as it gives me a chance to think about U.S. History in a global context, as well as read up and lecture on things that I might not otherwise get to do in much detail or depth.

One of the GHS classes has a unit on Colonial (and post-Colonial) Nigeria.  In a blog-based nutshell, here are the basics:  Nigeria is a "created" country (by the British during the nineteenth century scramble for Africa), with three main ethnic/tribal/linguistic groups (Hausa, Igbo, and Yoruba) and many other smaller ones.  Independence in the 1960s produced not just a new nation, but also unleashed some of the best literature on the impact (both actual and literary) that colonization had on people (see for example, Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart).  It has extremes of poverty and wealth, driven in large part by past government corruption and instability, and the fact that Nigeria is resource rich (including oil).  Since independence, it has seen one full fledged civil war, and several military coups.  However, there was hope by the twenty-first century that some stability had arrived.  That stability, however, has become imperiled by the rise of ethnic/religious violence and terrorism.

For those who follow the news in even in just a passing (or social media fueled way), Nigeria has been making headlines for the past several weeks, and not in a good way.  From terrorist attacks, to kidnappings, to the "hash tag diplomacy" of #bringbackourgirls and possible American military intervention, Nigeria has been thrust into the news feeds and minds of millions of people around the globe.  If you need a bit of background on recent events, including Boko Haram (the Islamic terrorist group that has abducted several hundred Christian girls), you can read more here.  Depending on the report, roughly half of all Nigerian identify as Christian, half are Muslim--the vast majority of which do not adhere to radical beliefs, and the remainder follow largely animistic religions.  It is, in some respects, ground zero for a place where religious, political, cultural, and ethnic identities converge and matter in very real ways.  It is both heartbreaking to watch and fascinating to study.

All that being said, I am glad that a decision was made when GHS was created at Butler to utilize Nigeria as a place for our students to study and learn about.  I hope my former students recognize in the headlines of today the lessons we covered in the past.  And I hope as well that they join me in praying for the safe return of those kidnapped school girls and an end to the violence in Nigeria.

On Ends and Beginings

Two years ago, I passed a professional milestone of sorts.  I first taught a course as an adjunct at Butler University in January 2007, but became a a "regular" on the campus in August 2008.  So, in May of 2012 I got to watch my "first class" graduate from the university and go off into the wider world.

Yesterday, I had the honor of being the faculty speaker at Butler University's baccalaureate ceremony.  As that honor was bestowed by the graduating seniors themselves, it was even more special.  It was even more special for me because several former students were also part of the ceremony, and it was simply wonderful to stand before them and see so many familiar faces out in the audience. 

For those of you who aren't sure what a baccalaureate is, I'll allow the Butler University Center for Faith and Vocation describe it for you: 

"Marking the end of the undergraduate years in ritual, readings and blessings, this event marks the turning point of students and their families as a sacred time. In keeping with the University's commitment to religious pluralism, baccalaureate reflects the diversity of religious and spiritual commitments of Butler students. Steeped in the history of higher education,baccalaureate services come from the medieval European tradition of presenting candidates for the degree of bachelor (bacca) with laurels (lauri) in sermon oration. Today, Butler University is part of a widening community of U.S. colleges and universities holding religiously diverse baccalaureate services, striving to honor the distinct and varied faith traditions reflected on campus."

As the Class of 2014 had selected the slogan "Wisdom for the Journey," I tried to weave a bit of wisdom into my remarks, but also to talk a little about joy -- which as one member of the audience told me afterwords, is something we need to talk more about (distinct from happiness and other "fun" emotions).  Below is some of what I said -- or at least what was written down:

In all seriousness, there are, I think, two things I want to talk to you about in the time I do have.  The first is prompted by your choice in theme for today’s event, “Wisdom for the Journey.”  As you no doubt know, since you all, I am guessing, have at least one item of Butler clothing with the date stamped on it, the university you are about to graduate from first opened its doors in 1855.  What you may not know, was that Ovid Butler wrote the charter for this institution of higher education in 1850, and, by the end of the decade the school had selected as its motto a Latin phrase, which loosely translated into Hoosier is rendered as “dare to begin to be wise.”  As you start on your journey beyond the Butler Bubble then, take heart that you have indeed dared to begin to be wise already.

That wisdom, as conceived by those who founded your alma mater, was a wisdom steeped in faith.  And indeed, such a proclamation was right there in the name of the school itself.  The charter granted by the State of Indiana was to North Western Christian University, and in 1850 each of those four words held a special meaning, much of which we can look back on some 150 plus years later, and see in them the coming war clouds that nearly destroyed the United States.  Today, it is enough for us to remember that founding, and recall that you are graduating with a long history of embracing both faith and reason, and seeing them as compatible parts that make students—that make people-- whole.

And I could continue on that theme.  Indeed, I was prepared to do so.  But then it struck me.  You don’t want another lecture from a professor.  You’ve had enough of those over at least the last 4 years here at Butler!  What you need is a bit more wisdom as you start the next steps on your journey.  And the message I wish to convey to you today is the importance of making that journey a joyful one, and the role faith can play in making it so.

There is much in the world beyond Butler that can be upsetting.  That may even make you angry and upset.  Not everything will go your way, and day to day, there will be many frustrations and irritations, and indeed, even injustice to confront.  But my advice to you is to not let those things consume you.  To lose a sense of joy in life is to lose out on much that gives it meaning.  When those dark times threaten, may you have faith as a shield to protect you.  And may your faith sustain you and remind you of all that is good, and right, and of your own God-given abilities which can help you deal with, and perhaps even, overcome the obstacles life throws at you.

Faith does not promise us that everything will always be fine, either for us or for those we know and love.  Faith carries with it, of course, a good deal of reverence, of somber attitudes, and of quiet contemplation.  And that is as it should be.  But faith, I think, ultimately, should be a source of joy.  And a joyful attitude, a joyful heart, is a source – perhaps the source – of all that is good in this world.  Faith is the balance, not just to reason when it comes to education, but to living a life that has a deeper meaning than just the bottom line.  A faith filled life, in short, is a joyful life.  And such a life is a complete life, one that helps us appreciate what we have been given in good times and in bad, and strive to leave the world a better place than we found it.

My hope, my prayer, for you is that you find it and never let it go, in good times and in bad.  That you cultivate faith and that you spread joy wherever you go.  That you live a life, in other words, full of meaning and purpose.  And, that as you journey, you continue to seek to be wise. 

Thank you for the time you have spent here at Butler University.  And may God, who has blessed you these past few years, continue to do so as you journey on beyond this campus into the wider world.  And may you do so with a head full of wisdom, a heart filled with joy, and faith as your guiding light. 

As these former students of mine graduate today, as students elsewhere across the nation do as well in the days and weeks to come, I could think of no better prayer for them (and for us) that that we seek wisdom and live a life of joy, all the while being guided by faith.

The Perfect Discipline

My life changed forever in an undergraduate U.S. History class.

My professor, the late Irving Katz, had interrupted his lecture to address the issue of a late student arrival.  My classmate had come in about 10 minutes late, due to her work at the Indiana Daily Student (the IU-Bloomington campus newspaper).  Her arrival had disrupted the class because the only seat available in the small 40 or so seat room was her usual one, about 3 chairs into a row.  Prof. Katz asked her why she was late, and she told him that she had lost track of time while working on the next edition.  He stopped her and asked a follow up, why was she wasting her time seeking a journalism degree when History was the perfect discipline.  Not only, he said, does it inform us of the past, make sense of our present, and shape our future, but it also is the only thing a person can ever study that is the foundation for every other discipline.  Because, he noted, everything and everyone has a history -- and no other academic area, from Accounting to Zoology could make such a claim.  It was, at that moment, that I decided I didn't want to go to law school anymore.  I wanted to go to graduate school and become a professional historian.

I share that story or some variation, with every new class that I teach.  And I believe it today just as strongly as I did when Prof. Katz first said it.  I was thinking about that today, not because we are at the start of a semester (thankfully, Spring Break -- if not spring itself-- is nearly upon us), but rather because as events have unfolded this week, both near and far, I hope my students have taken that very lesson as their own.

Like Prof. Katz, I am an Americanist by training.  But, because I'm an Americanist, I also know a few things about European History as well (from Colonization to the Present, you really can't understand American History if you also don't understand at least the basics about what is going on in Europe).  And maybe that's why I was not shocked to read this morning that Russia is essentially carving out the Crimea (at the very least) from the Ukraine.  If anyone is shocked by this, then they simply are ignorant of History (and if they happen to be policymakers, so much the worse for us all).  Any pretense that Russia, is a functioning democracy (and that Democratic State Theory -- which was once all the rage amongst Political Scientists, and that states that democracies don't make war on other democracies) should have been banished long ago.  No, Russia is an empire.  And it is behaving just like an empire (indeed, just like the Soviet Union was an empire, and Tsarist Russia was an empire).  Perhaps our problem is that we don't know how to deal with empires anymore.  And if that is the case, it is because those who lead have neglected the lessons of History.

I hold out hope that this won't be the case forever, or at least not with my students (and I hope others at other institutions are learning this lesson as well).  Earlier this week, Laura Bush came to the campus of Butler University and spoke as part of a lecture series.  Part of her remarks, which were filled with humor and family stories, was geared towards one of her passions:  promoting literacy.  As the Butler Collegian noted, and as my email inbox can attest, part of her remarks centered on Uncle Tom's Cabin and how one book helped change the course of American History.  As someone who teaches an entire course dedicated to Harriet Beecher Stowe's book and the coming of the Civil War (complete with discussion of if Stowe "got it right" via the reading of slave narratives -- something that is quite "cool" right now thanks to the Oscar nominated "12 Years a Slave"), it was nice to hear another voice reminding students of the power that can be found in both words and in the past.  It was equally gratifying to read those emails from students, who talked about how awesome it was to the former First Lady talk so passionately about a topic they knew something about because they had studied it.

As George Santayana noted, in words that were on the wall of my high school history teacher, "those who do not remember the past, are condemned to repeat it."  If we don't study the past, there is little hope for us moving forward.  If we reject the perfect discipline, then when evil empires rise, whether to conquer or enslave, we'll be powerless to stop them.

Nutcracker Theology

Yesterday, my family enjoyed attending a performance of Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker at Butler University.  This is the fifth year in a row all of us have gone and it has become one of the "kick off" events for us when it comes to getting ready to celebrate Christmas.  It is always a fun time, made even more special for me because I get to see several of my students each year take part in the performance (including this year, the Mouse Queen herself!) and as part of the orchestra.

But the performance we watched on got me thinking a bit about the theological implications of the ballet.  Now, I'm not going to assert that Tchaikovsky was a "secret theologian," nor that there is a whole bunch of hidden, symbolic meaning (implied or even unconsciously presented because of cultural norms) akin to what some literary and film critics do.  Rather, it simply struck me while watching the performance this is a story set at Christmas whose story in many ways is a tale of good triumphing over evil, and the celebration of beauty that comes about because of that victory.  That may or may not seem very much like the Christmas sermons some of you heard today on this second Sunday of Advent (though if you want to read a really good one, might I suggest this message by the Rev. William Willimon), but to me it gets in a very artistic way shall we say, at the heart of the Christian message, the Gospel's Good News, which the Church proclaims this time of year.

Of course part of my epiphany may have been because of this article, which details recent comments by Bill Gates on charitable giving.  As the author (Terry Teachout) of that post notes, Gates criticized some of his wealthy peers for giving money to art museums and the like, when that money could be donated to medical research or foundations (like Gates's own) that fund such research and programs that combat diseases and ailments.  While there, much to ponder in what Gates said and implied (and what has been implied with his comments), I thought that Teachout struck exactly the right chord by noting in the last line of his post that "Of course it's admirable to help prevent blindness—but it's also admirable to help ensure that we have beautiful things to see."

Yesterday, in Butler's production of The Nutcracker I got to sit alongside my children and see a beautiful performance.  And in light of what Teachout had to say, let me add that the baby of Bethlehem (the one right now depicted all over the world in a manger) grew up, the Bible says, to both heal the sick he encountered and save us all from our sins (Matthew 1:21).  One action need not be divorced from the other, and both in their own way can be good things to be cherished.

Peace

Peace.  The word, the phrase, the idea, has been on my mind of late.  The last post to this blog was about the possibility of the United States taking military action in Syria, and whether or not that fit into Just War theory.  As it turned out, a few days after that post, such action was averted (at least for the time being), when a diplomatic solution emerged.  Whether that particular solution was in the best interests (long term) of the United States, indeed whether or not that solution is even a solution (some suspect that Syria and Russia have out maneuvered both the White House and the State Department -- see here), remains to be seen.  But, if peace is the absence of armed conflict, then at least for the time, we have peace (even if civil war continues to rage in Syria itself).  If nothing else, and as I hope that post helped to point out, there is much discussion that can (and should) take place within America's churches about war and peace, and when the State can and should act in the wider world, and what the faith thinks about that (see here for more in that vein).

No sooner had we achieved peace, at least for the time, at least in one place on an international level, America was reminded how fragile that peace can be at home.  Earlier this week a disgruntled civilian contractor walked into one of the building at the Washington Navy Yard and opened fire with weapons, killing thirteen people for no reason we now know, and in a random way that leaves many questions, and only grief in its wake.  If in the case of Syria, American Christians were asked to think about what constitutes a just war, in the case of the Navy Yard shooting they are called much more to grieve with the families of the victims than to discuss policy changes to gun laws or mental health or security at government facilities, at least for now, and at least for the most part.

And then came news that hit closer to home.  I awakened Friday morning to word (both via social media and from the local news) that someone I went to high school with, Officer Rod Bradway, had been killed in the line of duty.  Rod was a police officer (a term that has largely replaced the notions of law enforcement from the nineteenth century and before of a "peace officer" and the related "justice of the peace"...those officials who were charged by the state to enforce the laws of peace upon our civil society) in Indianapolis, who had responded to a call of a suspected domestic violence incident, and from initial reports, was ambushed upon entering the apartment.  Both he, and the man who shot him, died.  Rod was two years older than me, and I won't pretend to that we were friends or even knew each other well, but I do remember him.  He was always nice (not all upper class men were of course), and then there was the 50 yard field goal he made in a close football game! 

It is ironic, if that is the right word, how tragedies such as these make us think about life and about concepts about peace in different ways.  I can't say that I'd thought of Rob in years, nor seen him (probably since he graduated, or perhaps when my class did, as his younger brother was in my grade).  And yet, seeing his official picture today (as well as old ones from our time at NorthWood High School) brought back memories of him and others.  My prayers tonight are for his wife and family, that they may know peace in this time of tragedy.  And that they may remember, as one of our classmates put it, that while life is not fair (though we wish it were), it is very precious.

And the search for peace, for our world, our country, ourselves, and for others continues despite these stories of success, progress, setbacks, and sadness.  At Butler University, where I spend part of my professional life, in the past week or so there have been stories of trying to work for peace.  A peace pole was unveiled on campus in an interfaith prayer service.  Situated between the union building and the main classroom building, the pole, it is hoped, will be a visual reminder to strive for peace on earth.  Likewise, the university announced plans to launch the Desmund Tutu Center, named for the Anglican Archbishop Emeritus of South Africa (who visited and spoke on campus earlier this month), that will be dedicated to "social justice and reconciliation, international relationships, and interreligious and community bridge-building."

What will become of these and other attempts to craft a more peaceful world remain to be seen.  Christians, of course, recognize that while Jesus is the Prince of Peace, He did not promise that peace would reign on Earth (see Matthew 10:34) until He does.  But they are also called to be peacemakers (Matthew 5:9), and that can come in a variety of forms.  Perhaps these words from a song turned into a hymn (written by Jill Jackson and Sy Miller in 1955) are worth repeating as we start this weekend and think of such things:

Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
Let there be peace on earth
The peace that was meant to be.
With God as our father
Brothers all are we.
Let me walk with my brother
In perfect harmony.

Course Work

As those of you who have read the book or this blog probably know, The Mainline was shaped by my time in the classroom.  For the first time since the book came out, I was able to teach with it in an American Religious History course.  While of course I'm biased, and hold out hope that nice things will be said on the student evaluations, I thought that it went quite well.  But rather than dwell on student reaction to having to read a book by their professor, I'd much rather talk about the work my students did in the course.

There were 11 students enrolled in the course (which was sponsored by the Honor's program at Butler University).  And I must say, they did some really exceptional work and provided their professor with, if not always new insights, then at least a reminder of why I thought writing the book in the first place was a good idea.  In short, the vibrancy of the field of American Religious History remains quite bright, and I'm as convinced as much as I ever way that there is still much more to study and learn from this field.

My students had three mini-research projects to complete in the areas of colonial religious history (they were assigned one of England's New World colonies and had to investigate the role religion played in its founding), the use of multimedia outlets to convey religious messages (looking at websites, television programs, movies, or listening to the radio), and modern worship (attending a worship service -- either new to them or regular).  Their findings were insightful:  In the colonial project, several of them noted how the Puritans created a "moral establishment of religion" in their colonies.  One student also pointed out, in what I found to be quite telling considering recent discussion of religious liberty, the degree to which political control of a colony's government seemed to dictate the degree of religious freedom colonists enjoyed.  For the multimedia project one thing that I took away (and seems to have changed somewhat since the last time I taught the course) was the degree to which these various media outlets are melded and blended together by both ministries and listeners/viewers.  And when it came to modern worship, what was evident in virtually all of the presentations was the vibrancy and variety of religious expression that is alive and well in America today.

We, as a class, were also fortunate enough to have four guest speakers over the course of the semester.  Two of the leaders of Butler's chapter of Cru (formerly known as Campus Crusade for Christ) came and spoke about the challenges and blessings of their campus ministry.  The directer of the Hillel Center on campus also came in and spoke about the Jewish American experience (both historically and on campus).  The president of the Muslim Student Association also spoke (and was kind enough to do so at the request of her former professor), giving students yet another (and in this case at the peer level) angle on American religious experience writ large -- and at the campus level.   Our fourth guest speaker, via Skype, was an old friend, Prof. Jason VanHorn of Calvin College.  Who talked about using GIS to study the Geography of Religion, including helping congregations in Grand Rapids, Michigan better understand their neighborhoods and what outreach services they might be best suited to bringing to their local communities.  All of these presentations were well received and sparked good discussion both during and after class.

But for me, perhaps the highlight of the semester was the final papers and the presentations (even if we had to rush through some of them).  My students had to research over the course of the semester a topic that interested them about American Religious History.  Four papers dealt with politics and religion (particularly the Founders and disestablishment), four dealt with various facets of the Catholic experience in the United states (three on immigrant Catholicism and one on Catholic schools), and three covered various angles within the topic of Religion and American Culture (two of which built upon their previous course work).

It was a great semester and bodes well, I think, not only for the use of The Mainline in the classroom, but further study of American Religious History.

The Souls of Real People

Historians have an awesome responsibility.  As a profession, we deal with the past of course.  But it is a real past, the real past, which was constructed, inhabited by real people (just like us).  In telling their story then, historians have the task of both constructing an argument about the past, as well as doing justice to the past and the people we are writing about.

Today, I had a chance to really ponder those sentiments.  Before heading downtown to teach, I stopped off at Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis.  The final resting place of Hoosiers since the mid-1860s, those interned there include the politicians (governors, senators, vice presidents, and a president), the infamous (John Dillinger), powerful businessmen and community leaders, as well as average citizens.  My purpose in driving through the cemetery grounds was to find a few graves of people I have studied and written about over the past few years.  It was both intellectual curiosity as well as hoping to find a few new details for my current project.

What does this have to do with The Mainline?  Well, quite a bit actually, at least insofar as we are thinking of the Mainline in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Chapter 2).  I am currently researching the life and times of Preston Davidson, a native Hoosier from a distinguished family in Indianapolis (his maternal grandfather was governor of the state), who fought for the South during the Civil War.  Indeed, his life is full of virtually every Civil War cliche one can think of, and in many ways he remained unreconstructed to the end of his life.  What makes his story compelling in terms of The Mainline, however, was more to do with his religious life.  His paternal grandfather was a Presbyterian minister in Virginia.  The Reverend Andrew Davidson was a church planter along Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, centered in and around Lexington.  The Reverend Davidson was an Old School Presbyterian, a devout Calvinist, and could by all accounts deliver a powerful sermon.  As such, he represents both a doctrinal divide within American Protestantism, the tensions involved in early nineteenth century America over slavery, and desire for evangelicals to find both acceptance and to help shape American culture (the Davidson family was a product and protector of Lexington's chief school of higher education, now known as Washington and Lee University, for virtually all of the nineteenth century).

Two of the Reverend's sons were part of the "Virginia exodus" that helped settle Indiana.  One, the Reverend Charles Baker Davidson, followed in his father's ministerial footsteps -- though exhibiting a denominational fluidity that seems much more modern than perhaps is often admitted.  Baker joined the Methodist Church in Indiana, serving congregations in and around the Evansville area, and by the time of the Civil War, left that branch of Protestantism for the Episcopal Church.  Preston's father, Alexander Davidson, became intrinsically linked to his father-in-law's political career and ambitions.  But when it came to religion, Alexander exhibited more of the evangelical streak of his family:  Helping to found Indianapolis's Second Presbyterian Church, whose first pastor (who married Alexander and Catherine Noble) was Henry Ward Beecher.  Beecher introduced his sister, Harriet, to a former Noble family slave whom the governor had brought to Indiana after the deaths of his own parents.  The former slave's name was Tom, and the Beechers often visited with him in his cabin on the Noble family farm.

To add a further layer, while Preston eventually enrolled in the then Washington College in Lexington (from which he went on to fight for the Confederacy alongside his cousins, other family members, and under the command of Lexington's famed Presbyterian warrior, Stonewall Jackson), his first taste of higher education was in Indianapolis at North Western Christian University -- which is today known as Butler University.  The driving force behind the school was Ovid Butler, who was a staunch free soiler and devout evangelical.  This was the world that produced Preston Davidson, and as numerous scholars have argued, we cannot really grasp why the Civil War was fought, or why it lasted so long, unless we appreciate the role religion played in American life during the first half of the nineteenth century.

But the Noble-Davidson plot was not the only one I visited.  I also tracked down the grave of the man who was the subject of my first book, the Reverend Edward S. Shumaker.  Not unlike Davidson, Shumaker was the product of the evangelical Midwest; though of the second half of the nineteenth century.  And while anti-slavery had been the main reform of Shumaker's father's generation, for Edward, who became a Methodist minister, the chief reform was Prohibition.  He became a champion for the dry crusade and eventually the leader of the Indiana branch of the Anti-Saloon League.  Shumaker became more a political operative than minister, fought battles against wets, damps, and even amongst his fellow drys.  Despite the ups and downs, thankfully for Shumaker, his death came before repeal of his beloved 18th Amendment.

Shumaker's story reminds us yet again of the power of evangelical Protestantism to shape American culture.  To forget that, is to forget not just one of the chief reasons why Prohibition became a reality, but also why Protestants were so invested in such a reform -- combating societal evils was sometimes easier than dealing with doctrinal and theological issues.

To forget these types of stories, to neglect religious aspect of reforms, of life, and their impact on American culture, is to miss a huge part of our history.  It also does something else:  It downplays the potential that religion has to continue to shape that culture today.  Ponder that, and for those whose graves I visited today:

Requiescat in pace