The next Sunday after Graham’s statement, on Easter Morning, one of those Southern rebels from Billy Graham’s past kicked back. Bob Jones Sr.—founder of the infamous Bob Jones University, former adviser to Graham in his youth, and, in a sense, Graham’s own Scot-Irish meddling “uncle” in the faith—went to the microphone at his radio station and rattled off his own counter-statement, “Is Segregation Scriptural?” Bob Jones University (BJU) later transcribed the sermon and distributed it frequently to their constituency and sold it in pamphlet form in their campus bookstore. From 1960 until 1986, this sermon was their official statement defending their racism.

No library in the world catalogs this statement. BJU’s archives have labeled this “restricted access” and will not copy its pages. This is the statement BJU does not want you to see despite the fact that they distributed it so widely until 1986. I have acquired a series of texts never before seen by outside historians (and rarely seen by insiders) from Bob Jones University from 1952 through 1975. These are official letters, public statements, and internal memos. Observing the repetitive paragraphs across the statements proves that these were boilerplate.

This post was originally published on May 25, 2011.

Read it for yourself. . . .  Now what were we saying about the BJx enterprise staying out of politics?

“They Talked Themselves Out of It”
Bob Jones, Jr.

Throughout the ages, man has been at war with God. The human will has been set in opposition against the Divine Will. This, in fact, is at the root of all human sin–indeed this is sin.

The Prophet Isaiah gives the perfect definition for sin when he says, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way . . .” Sin, no matter what form it takes, is nothing more or less than disobedience to the Will of God.

In the very morning of human history, sin and rebellion were so great that God sent a flood to wipe out all flesh from the face of the earth with the exception of the little family of Noah, who had found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

Now after the great deluge, men had begun to multiply on the face of the earth and civilization was expanding westward. We are told in the 11th chapter of the Book of Genesis (The Book of beginnings) that ‘as they journeyed from the easy, they found a plain in the land of Shinar, and they dwelt there.’ Here in the Euphrates valley–in the fertil crescent–men seem to have found a very pleasant place of sojourn.

There was nothing wrong with that–God made the world for man. Its fruit and its increase are for his sustenance. Its mineral wealth for his enrichment. In this alluvial plain there were no stone for building, but the clay was ideal for brick which they made for themselves, burned them in kilns, and ‘they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar.’

Here now in the pleasant place, human rebellion against the Divine Will lifts an ambitious head. The record continues:

And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach until heaven; and let us make a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.

From the previous chapter, we know that God’s will was that man should be divided up into nations; lines of separation had been decreed by a wise and loving God–but men are determined that they shall not be thus divided.

God tells us in His Word–the Bible (Acts 17:26): “And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation.”

Men are “of one blood,” but God has set up certain boundaries for different peoples–has established the frontiers of nations, has divided mankind. Men today seek to disregard the boundaries and rub out the frontiers. Unity–not separation–is the popular cry of this hour.

But God has a Will that is not swayed to bend before men’s rebellious ambition. Man cannot break down God’s barriers and disobey God’s decree except at his own peril.

Man is determined to have one world. Not only is God’s Will disobeyed, it is completely ignored. God is left entirely out of the picture as far as man’s plans are concerned. Note how often the personal pronoun is used–”Let us build a city and a tower; let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad.” Five times man used the personal pronoun, and its use here indicates clearly certain things.

First, man intends by his own strength and his own skill to make a city and a tower for himself, thus by his own abilities to acquire a great reputation in order that regardless of what God wills, man shall have his way. This is a perfect picture of what the children of a fallen race have sought to do in all the generations since. Human history is one long record of man’s record to determin his own destiny, perfect in his own institutions, establish his own rule, and have his own way, that man may be glorified. All false religion tends to elevate man and depose God, to exalt human reasoning and human skill as the only necessary element for the building of a perfect world and the creation of Utopia on earth. In view of the record of Man’s failure at Babel, it would certainly seem that the human race should have learned its lesson. But in all the generations since, even in our own day, we see man still striving to accomplish by his own efforts and for his own glorification that which can only be accomplished by the hand of God and according to the Will of God for the glory of God.

God came down and looked over man’s rebellious efforts therein the plain of Shinar these many thousands of years ago, and we are told that God said of them, “Nothing will be restrained from them which they have imagined to do.” So God confused their tongues, and men could no longer understand their neighbors and the dreams and plans for the tower fell apart as mankind was divided by difference of language into the groups of the nations into which God had ordained that man should be divided. The Tower of Babel was a monument to man’s rebellion against God–so is the effort toward “One World” in our day.

God wills that one day there shall be a universal government in the earth, but that government shall be established in God’s time when Jesus Christ the Son of God shall return to the earth to rule as the head of that world government. That government shall be to the glory of God–not to the glory of men, for in that day we are told every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father. God declares that He shall establish that government and give the rule to His Son, Jesus Christ.

In Luke 1:32-33 we read “. . . and the Lord God shall give until Him the throne of his father David. And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom shall be no end.”

World peace will come with the reign of the Prince of Peace. One government shall come as the divine gift and men shall bow to the Will of God and under the yoke of the One whom God hath ordained to be the Lord of all things.

When you pull out the same Christmas treasures every year, it forces remembering. Every Christmas we get an ornament to commemorate that year. In 2009, we hung a Cinderella’s castle to remember our Walt Disney World vacation. In 2008, we chose a red brick church to remember our new membership at Mitchell Road Pres.

Then there was 2007. ::ahem:: I don’t think a picture would do this ornament justice. It’s really crappy.

But we left it like that because that was our year — crappy. It’s a home-made shrinky dink meant to look like this:

It doesn’t. The red ink has turned pink and the dink is crinkled. It just looks terrible.

So when we hang it, Grant and I chortle and sigh. That was our year. That was 2007.

Last year I was just realizing exactly what I had participated in over the whole of my life. And it prompted panic attacks. I was that consumed with shame. I thought fundamentalism was about Jesus, but it never was. Never, ever. Fundamentalism was always about the most extreme right-wing political ideology. Always. From the beginning. No matter how much young earnest souls like myself insist that it’s about good things, it’s just not. The grand doctrine of “separation” was code for segregation and secession. The words all mean the same thing. Their use goes back to antebellum America. And that self-righteous whiteness is in the warp and woof of something I thought was wholesome and honorable.

When I got the document where Bob Jones Jr. uses the words “(racial) segregation” and “(doctrinal) separation” interchangeably, I panicked. I had my proof . . . but did I want it?

I had to decide: was I supposed to drop this entire research project for the benefit of my health and well-being? Was my body agreeing with every person from my previous life who told me to just “shut up”? Or should I keep on? Where do I go from here?

That’s where I was a year ago.

Despite what all my argumentative opponents claim, I’m not really a capital-D Democrat. Not yet anyway. I would like to think I’m a little-d democrat. I do admire (d)emocracy. And I love when you can smell it.

You can’t smell (d)emocracy at the mall. You smell warm plastic and eye-burning cologne and fabric dye at the mall. You smell capitalism there.

You can’t smell (d)emocracy at work. That smells like white-out and burned popcorn — both smells of mistakes, one that’s covered up and one that can never be covered up. That’s the humdrum side of capitalism.

You can’t smell (d)emocracy at church. Sometimes you smell urinal cakes and Pine-Sol, Nilla wafers and Stouffer’s Lasagna. On a bad day, it smells no different than the mall. On a good day, you smell red grapes (in various states of fermentation) and good bread. It’s Love you smell, I think.

You can’t smell (d)emocracy at home. Home smells like pot roast and candles and laundry. That’s what life smells like. And love too. But less communal than church-on-a-good-day and more corporeal.

You can smell (d)emocracy at the public library. It smells like mildewed paper and ink. You smell it while you hear your neighbors clicking away at circa-1990s keyboards and watch your five-year-old sign his name on his first official document — a library card. It’s not the same smell at a college library. Most university libraries smell like fatigue and onions — at least on the grad side. The undergrad side smells like denim and Skittles. Except the BJU library. It smells like hair product and anxious pheromones.

You smell (d)emocracy at any downtown Fourth-of-July fireworks display. It smells like gun powder and sweated-off sunscreen. It’s not the same smell at the Disney Magic Kingdom fireworks. That’s churros.

You smell (d)emocracy at the St. Louis Zoo. It’s the only free city zoo I know, and it usually smells like the Ape House — close and poopy. That’s when you’ll hear elementary school field trip war stories from 40-somethings about the good ol’ days when there was no Plexiglas barrier between you and the chimps! There is the smell of asphalt and dried-up worms at the zoo. You smell that while all the giggling adults gather ’round the giraffes’ pen cheering the male on while he repeatedly attempts . . . aaaaannnnnddd again fails to make love to his captive and “arranged” giraffe wife. We all cluster together — whatever our rank or race or politics or faith — for no other reason than mammalian empathy and adolescent curiosity.

You smell (d)emocracy at interactive fountains in city parks. It smells like chlorine which protects us from too much (d)emocracy. We still share vastly different senses of propriety, different states of (un)dress, different linguistic norms, different levels of preparation, and different definitions of “swim diaper.” And that’s when I’m thankful for chlorine. But still we’re all there. All splashing. Laughing. Running. Falling.

You smell (d)emocracy on Election Day. It smells like stale coffee and damp donuts and wet shoes. November is the rainy season here in South Carolina, and there’s always an icy downpour that day. I never smelled (d)emocracy when I lived on the BJU campus and went to the 29614 pol. That just smelled like work — proper and sucked-in and rictus-ish. Like a girdle in a fluorescent-lighted dressing room. (d)emocracy out here in Taylors feels much more collarless and irritated and much less-white but still friendly. And honest. There’s more camaraderie here. We all wait together — the A-Ms vs. the N-Zs. Waiting for our sticker to prove we’ve done our civic duty.

You smell (d)emocracy at the DMV. It smells like carpet glue. There we all sit gripping our sweaty numbered paper slip until Patty or Selma reward us with their half-lidded attention. That u-shaped paper is our ticket to success if we just hold on to it tightly enough. We’re all the same there — a square unflattering picture, an organ donor, a corrective-lenses wearer. Just a person who can’t help herself by herself, seeking wallet-sized proof that she exists and can transport herself from Target to Ingles.

You smell (d)emocracy at the ER. It smells like worry and antimicrobial lotion soap. You race in with your healthy son to see your sick son, lugging your over-packed, fugly duffel and muttering something incomprehensible to the guy in scrubs. He presses a button and points and says a room number. You grab your boy’s hand and shuffle over, looking back at all the panicky boredom sitting behind you and pray they are all okay too. It’s not about health insurance there. Or what kind of car got you there. It’s just about getting help. Immediately.

You smell (d)emocracy in a public school kindergarten classroom. It smells like ketchup and peppermint puke powder and well-worn wooden play kitchens. It’s different than the petroleum-based play kitchen at Sunday School. This one’s more earthy and more mid-century and more open-ended. There are no licensing agreements on this toy. They don’t have paste jars anymore in Kindergarten. And they’ve given up on those terrible bignormous pencils. No Dick-and-Jane that I can see. No vinyl nap mats. No chalkboards. Those smells from my Kindergarten year are absent.

You don’t smell (d)emocracy in the car line at the end of the day. That smells like liberty and individualism and stay-at-home-mommyhood. Your own private smell — privileged somewhat because you can stay-at-home and you can afford to waste an hour a day just sitting and reading in solitude while your littlest naps in the seat behind you.

(d)emocracy smells human. . . . well, it smells like humans. When people interact with no merit, no class, no money, and no pretense but simply for the same purpose, there’s a smell. It’s not an entirely bad smell, but it’s out of our control. It just happens.

The smell still surprises me. I’m really not used to it because I’ve lived (and left) a life of separation from such things. Such human things. Maybe that’s why the smell is so strong.

But I like it.