A Letter to Marylhurst University Employees & Students

I can't believe it's over. Well, truth be known, one's education should never be something that is exactly over--until we are, at least. Last weekend, on June 17th, I received my B.A. with Honors, in English Literature and New Media from Marylhurst University. My first university course was in September of 1987 at Seattle Pacific University, and I finished more than three decades later. The last few years have been particularly challenging, since, in addition to my studies, I have been working full-time for the state and also serving as a busy husband and father. Despite all of the hard work (and injured feet in Europe), it has been a truly rewarding experience. My study abroad to London and Rome was probably the most memorable part of my academic journey, but writing my senior thesis on Harper Lee's Atticus was memorable too--in an entirely different sort of way. The bittersweet part of my passage to graduation is that my loved school is closing.

I've decided to share an open letter to faculty, staff, and my fellow students. This is the same letter that was recently anonymously quoted within a recent Inside Higher Ed article by Doug Lederman. I hope it begins to express how I feel about this loss.


When I heard the sad news on Marylhurst this past week, I felt stunned. Other emotions have come and gone in their respective pageantry over the past few days, and the overwhelming feeling now is one simply of great loss. Yet, I am just a student who briefly felt at home in this special place. My heart goes out to the staff and wonderful faculty—especially the ones who must strive to put on a happy face and continue their important work in the coming stressful months. I am so sorry that this took place. It seems a particularly tragic end when one considers the rich history of more than a century and the associated legacy of learning that Marylhurst has come to represent.

It’s been a long journey. I first attended college classes at Seattle Pacific University in the fall of 1987. When I finally graduate next month, the experience will seem particularly bittersweet now. I was briefly considering pursuing a graduate degree, but that’s almost certainly impossible at this point in my life. The flexibility that Marylhurst offered this twenty-year plus Oregon State employee was critical in my academic success; I don’t think I would have had the energy to make a traditional college work. Marylhurst brought me a great deal. In the end, though, one of the greatest things the school brought me was a relatively simple (yet elusive) item called hope. I fear that Marylhurst’s departure is going to slowly erode viable options for so many like myself, and, sadly, this ultimately means a loss of hope in people who can’t stand to remain in their current occupations for a minute longer than necessary. (Each day, my job feels more like a glorified data entry assembly line, and the antics of some of those in upper management in terms of open, transparent, and ethical promotional processes…leaves credibility too often in a shattered heap along the wayside.)

While I don’t understand all of the complexities of Marylhurst’s decline, I have a suspicion that this was avoidable. Could we have done something? I, for example, helped raise many thousands of dollars for the state’s Charitable Fund Drive in 2007. If I had known of the dire situation…I might have joined with others to try to create some realistic options for MU. Sadly, though, none of us seem to have known the truth before it was too late to likely effect any substantive good out of this situation.

From early morning and late evening classes on this beautiful campus to the amazing study abroad experiences in London and Rome, the rich experiences and fine education I have taken from Marylhurst will infuse my life with a greater depth; they will be forever treasured.

Karl Bjorn Erickson
Monmouth, Oregon

Marylhurst University Graduation

University of Kansas (1989)

Seattle Pacific University Photos (1987-1989)

Let's Get Something Straight! (An Open Letter to the Media)

A photo I snapped of Seattle Pacific University in fall of 1987.

Dear Media,

Watching your coverage of the latest Washington State school shooting, I feel compelled to offer some timely advice.  

Let's stop calling lone crazies "lone wolf." It's disparaging to the majestic and powerful wolves living in our forests. A former CIA official suggested "lone rat," and I couldn't agree more. (Some rat owners may disagree.)  There's nothing about these sick individuals that should be looked upon as good.

On a similar topic, let's stop using words like "brazen" to refer to cowardly crimes against the innocent. Describe it for what it is--without the sensationalism. While you're at it, stop profiling and probing the killers' lives. Let's forget their names, faces, and their existence altogether.  Instead, let's remember the names and lives of the innocent taken from us.

Because, mainstream media, I think you know that you're are a serious part of the problem here.  Your reporting encourages copycat attacks, and it rewards the shooters with the fame and purpose they desired.  This needs to stop; we must hold the media accountable.

May I suggest, without using the shooters' name or photo, that you consider exploring precisely how he came to get his hands on the gun, and what was the family situation.  That information might truly help us get at the root of this societal illness, because the shooter is NOT a victim.  Let's repeat that one more time, shall we?  The school shooter is NOT a victim.

As for my fellow Christians, I suggest that these kind of tragedies are a direct result of the Culture of Death. We have devalued life at each and every turn and removed prayer from our schools; this is the logical result of moral relativism and the religion of self.

Eternal Truth & Reflections Upon Coming Home

Oregon Coast (not Whidbey Island)

Below, is a reprint from an essay which was published a few years ago by Episcopal Church News.  (For another perspective upon returning home, see On Coming Home.)

When we recently had the opportunity to spend a few days at Seattle Pacific University’s Camp Casey, situated on the Admiralty Inlet side of Whidbey Island across the choppy strait from Port Townsend, it reminded me of some experiences I had working there as a college student during the summer of 1988.

I decided to take my daughter Sarah on a walk one cool afternoon along some of the forest trails to the north of the conference center grounds. The path wound its familiar way up among the wind-swept evergreens and the occasional madrona. We paused to explore an old fort from the 1890s; its once busy walkways and concrete bunkers now quiet and much overgrown with blackberry bushes and tall weeds, and its stories and pictures slowly fading from collective memory. (Fort Casey State Park itself lies a mile or two to the south.)

We then proceeded on along the needle-lined trail, heading up a gradually leveling incline with the forest on our right and a cliff overlooking the crashing surf some twenty feet off to our left. Making certain that Sarah was safely standing on the trail, I carefully stepped towards the left, searching for the place where I recalled having devotions from time to time during the summer of 1988.

I found what appeared to be the right location, but its look was quite different now. Instead of the broad sandy cliff face with a fairly clear path to its center that I remembered, the cliff now seemed much higher and closer to the trail. Not being particularly comfortable with heights (just try to get me on the 4-mile Astoria-Megler Bridge again!), I returned to the path, and we resumed our trek to the north for a time until the trail faded and then disappeared entirely among the grass and trees. We plodded back to Camp Casey to watch and wait for the late afternoon’s arrival of the grazing deer.

It occurred to me recently that this experience was instructional in a spiritual sense. When we return to places from our past, they frequently seem smaller--not more expansive. It’s something akin to visiting your hometown for the first time after being away in college (depending on where you're from). This homecoming is reminiscent of times long gone and the community may stand smaller than recalled.

     

So, this experience of returning to a place I held close from younger days was odd in that it did not conform to the usual and comfortable perceptions. The vantage point from which I recalled reading and gazing upon the gray heaving waves below had changed a great deal over the past decade. Considering the winter storms that lash Whidbey Island, that alteration of scenery and environment should not have been so surprising.

What it does remind one of, however, is that while much concerning us personally, and the landscape surrounding us for a time, undergoes a continual "sea change" or evolution, our God "does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17). Instead, He is the same yesterday as He will be tomorrow. In a time of national crisis and an uneasy future, there is something comforting in acknowledging this simple, yet profound, attribute of our God. No matter what changes here, we hold that what is most important stands eternal, and that we need not be pulled-down by the continual disintegration and moral entropy sweeping in our lives from all sides.

(This was re-printed from the April 2003 issue of Oregon's Episcopal Church News.  Some editorial changes by the magazine's editor have been reversed, and the writer has made other slight editorial adjustments.)

In Loving Memory of Phil Rand

I am copying an obituary for my uncle Phil, which appeared last weekend in the Yakima Herald Republic.  Phil loved sailing and was an avid walker--when not programming or reading about programing.  He also loved his family, and we loved him, too.  Phil will also be missed terribly by the feral cat he raised from a kitten.  His gentle side was particularly visible in the gentleness and kindness he displayed towards animals.  Saint Francis has a new companion now.  


(Additional thoughts may be shared later.)

Philip Rand

Keith & Keith Funeral Home

YAKIMA - Philip Rand, 56, of Yakima beloved son and brother, passed away after a very brief battle with cancer on August 25, 2011 in Yakima, Washington. He was born in 1955 to Leo and Helen (Pond) Rand in Shelton, Washington.

Phil grew up in Yakima, graduating from Eisenhower High School and later from Seattle Pacific University. He worked in IT for many years and, most recently at Seattle Pacific University.

Phil is survived by his father, Leo Rand; brother, Tom Rand (Karen); and sister, Jen Erickson. He is also survived by nephews, David (Hannah) Rand, Michael (Jamie) Rand, Karl (Kimberly) Erickson and their children, Sarah and Stephen. He was preceded in death by his mother, Helen Rand.

Mightily loved, Philip died in Christian Hope.

Memorials may be made to the Union Gospel Mission in care of Keith & Keith Funeral Home, 902 W. Yakima Ave., Yakima, WA 98902.

A Private Graveside service will be held at Terrace Heights Memorial Park.


He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.


Revelation 21:4