Reflections on Faith Development
By: Morgan Billingsley
When I first set foot on campus as a freshman, I found myself surrounded by troves of people who were asking (and often answering) questions about God that I didn’t even know existed. They were using big words like transubstantiation and Theotokos and talking about complex theological issues that I had never entertained before. And there I was, passionately devoted to the Lord but with a very narrow and shallow theological background, suddenly floundering in the deep end of Hillsdale’s ecumenical pool.
I had never been exposed to an environment where intellectualism and faith melded together so intensely. Hillsdale was a culture shock in that regard. Not only were these types of conversations welcomed, they were almost expected. Suddenly, my Sunday school faith was lacking--not in earnestness, but in breadth of understanding. I rapidly realized that I lacked the vocabulary to properly articulate the significance of His sacrifice or even my understanding of my own salvation.
As I walked through all of the excitement, exhaustion, and often painful adaptation that came with the first few months at Hillsdale, I began to realize that my faith deserved to be dignified with proper, thorough articulation. Before Hillsdale, I could hardly have told you the difference between a Catholic and a nondenominational evangelical. When I realized that there were massive, weighty differences, and that I didn’t know what I believed about almost any of them, I began to wonder if I knew the God I worshipped like I thought I did.
I took solace in knowing that even if I didn’t know Him how I wanted to, He knew me perfectly. With that confidence, I took the first step (which was rather simple, at least in words). It began with prayer; subtle, silent, often meager sacrifices of my day-to-day mental occupation. A grateful glance at the changing leaves as I walked up the Hill, relishing the brief moment when my friends’ laughter turns into an inaudible echo of joy, simple and silent and tired tears trickling down my face almost subconsciously, the offering of late and sometimes sleepless nights followed by early mornings. I tried, imperfectly, to invite His presence into it all. Often my prayers were simple: “Make this beautiful, Lord,” or “Thank you, Father, for this moment.” It sounds silly and cliche, but these little prayers allowed me to get to know God on His own terms as He walked me through one of the hardest seasons of my life.
These little practices began to nurture a posture of wonder at the handiwork of God in me. Though the next few years continued to offer spiritual warfare in almost every form, habituating myself to make sacrifices of praise even in the most unhappy of circumstances kept me attuned to His voice, even if it was only a whisper on the wind. Hillsdale taught me to seek all that is good and true and beautiful, but only through the daily practice of offering up every little moment to God did I learn, through His graces, to see His good, true, and beautiful work all around me.
Morgan Billingsley, Class of ‘22, majored in English and minored in Latin while at Hillsdale. She is now an Upper School Literature Teacher at a Barney Charter School in Colorado, working to train the minds and improve the hearts of the next generation.
