I cut my theological teeth at a resolutely secular institution: Northwestern University, on Chicago’s suburban north shore. The university’s magnificent Alice Millar Chapel might well give the impression that it is some kind of campus centerpiece; in truth, it holds a relatively marginal place in the life of that post-Christian university. When I attended services, the chapel was usually only half full. But for those who were there, the place offered some assurance that intelligent, curious, questioning, caring Christians could actually attend the university or live nearby. That was hardly a minor matter.
The side aisles of the chapel were decorated with a series of beautifully embroidered banners, very simple in style, displaying texts that often prompted serious reflection. Some texts were from the Bible; others from classical authors; still others from modern-day saints. Most of these texts appeared without punctuation, though sometimes a geometric shape set the words into phrases.
One banner in particular always made a deep impression on me. It consisted of two sentences, set off from each other:
