It is an honor and privilege to be invited back to Trinity for this most unusual ceremony.  
I don’t recall ever hearing about a tear-down ceremony, and I’ve certainly never before 
been asked to speak at one. I do confess to the secret desire to--just once--give such a 
grand speech that it brings the house down.  Finally.

I’ve seen buildings demolished in dramatic fashion on TV news reports, like the 
Kingdome in Seattle, or witnessed the gradual tear-down of the projects along the Dan 
Ryan expressway.  But I don’t recall these events being preceded by ceremony.  And 
Samson’s teardown was a ceremony of one. There are always groundbreaking 
ceremonies to mark the next thing to occupy the demolition sites.  Those are 
commonplace.  But a teardown?  Rare indeed.

We didn’t have one for the TAB, that lively, decrepit, log-cabin tabernacle in the 
wilderness of student life from the 60s and 70s.  A lonely marker notes the grave, but 
there was no burial ceremony.

To do what we’re doing today is either the mark of a college desperately in search of 
ceremony and tradition, or another sign that deconstructionism of a new variety has taken 
over higher education, or this--a sign of a college that does things with thought and care.  
I choose to believe the latter, and invite you to consider that this ceremony stands in the 
grand Trinity, Reformed tradition of bringing all thoughts captive to Jesus Christ.  Living 
life in such a way that in whatever we do or say, we “do it all in the name of the Lord 
Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

It would be easy to simply crank up the machinery and bring the house down without 
giving thought to what we do.  That isn’t the Trinity way.

But let’s be clear about one thing.  We are not likely assembled to mourn the loss of an 
architectural gem.  This was a serviceable building for many years, well-built by Mr. 
John Van Deel (who is here today) and his crew to withstand the wear-and-tear of 
hundreds of residents moving in and out, even the raucous life-styles of a Gallman and 
Belstra—or Bob and Gail Rice.  But we come not to praise the aesthetics of design.  This 
is more like architectural euthanasia.

Blair Kamin, the Pulitzer prize-winning architecture critic of the Chicago Tribune, 
recently published a series of articles on the destruction of designated Chicago 
landmarks.  The series focused on the ability of architecture to enhance life.  It asked the 
important question of what it is that makes a building memorable, what signs of beauty 
and design qualify construction as a protected species.  

We probably will not mourn the loss of this building.  What is to replace it looks to be a 
much more pleasing and successful design.  What we take note of in this ceremony is the 
place of this building in the life of Trinity Christian College.

Those who planned this ceremony suggested that we give some attention to Ecclesiastes 
3.  Since no event of this nature at Trinity would be complete without some reference to 
Dr. Calvin Seerveld, let me read some appropriate verses of Ecclesiastes 3 from a chapel 
meditation he gave in the late 1960’s.  This is his translation:

	“Is there a right time for everything?
	There seems to be time for every kind of activity under the sun:

		Time to be born and time to die, 
		Time for planting, time for weeding out what was planted,
		A time to kill and a time to heal,
		Time to break down and time to build up,
		Time to weep and time to laugh.”

“I have come to understand that whatever God does lasts forever—nothing can be 
added to it and nothing can be taken away from it.”

Colleges like Trinity go through life stages much like those we experience as humans.  
Trinity had its awkward infancy and gawky adolescence as its campus and curriculum 
grew slowly in the 50’s, 60’s and early 70’s, filled with the struggles and turmoils and 
deep questions that accompany growth.  Its early adulthood brought increasing 
confidence and accomplishment, a growing sense of place and identity and purpose.  And 
now as it approaches maturity, it looks for influence and significance, extending its reach 
into culture for the sake of the Kingdom of Jesus Christ.  Your new President comes at a 
most important time.  You students and staff are here at a very exciting time.

What we need to notice most of all this morning--at this ceremony and at this point in 
Trinity’s history--is that in and through even this humble building of little lasting 
architectural significance, God was at work over the years.  While there was . . . 

*	a time for students to argue and discuss the ridiculous and the sublime long in to 
the night, 
*	a time for students to worry about war and the draft, 
*	a time for papers to be crafted or avoided, 
*	a time when prayers were offered and faith was questioned,
*	a time when student life policies were observed or violated
*	a time for conversion to come to some, and for doubts to develop faith in others
*	a time for a sense of vocation to develop
*	and a time for sins to be confessed and forgiveness to be experienced
*	a time for roommates to fight and time to be reconciled
*	a time for children to be conceived and families to find refuge
*	and always a time for faucets to leak and ceilings to drip and refrigerators to die . 
. 

In all of this and much more, God was at work in his grace and mercy.  His Spirit moved 
in this place. Let’s remember that long before faculty moved in to these apartments or 
residents were assigned space, God himself in the Christ who dwells among us was 
resident too.  He went before the construction and chose to dwell among those who lived 
there, with his grace and goodness in the midst of life.  And whatever God does lasts 
forever.  That is something we need to remember, and for which we give thanks.

Ravi Zacharias, a Christian apologist, tells about lecturing at Ohio State University 
recently.  While being driven to the lecture, they passed the new Wexner Art Center.  The 
driver said, “This is a new art building for the university.  It is a fascinating building 
designed in the post-modern view of reality.” The building has no pattern. Staircases go 
nowhere.  Pillars support nothing.  The architect designed the building to reflect life. It 
went nowhere and was mindless and senseless.

Zacharias turned to the man describing it and asked, “Did they do the same thing with the 
foundation?”  He laughed.  You see, you can’t do that with a foundation.

There is a sure foundation here at Trinity, long before the forms are set and the concrete 
is poured.  There will be Immanuel, God with us, in Alumni Hall, just as there was his 
presence in this place, and is among us right now.

It’s good to have this ceremony. 

A time to remember that this place, like we ourselves, belong to a faithful Savior Jesus 
Christ. 

A time to remember his blessings over the years, in this building, and on this campus.

A time to give thanks.


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