I had never heard of Calvinism until a Crusade friend, also a Methodist, told me she believed that God predestines salvation. Before long that’s what I believed too. My weekly Bible study with fellow freshmen worked through Romans. An older student took me to hear R. C. Sproul preach. I didn’t go looking for Reformed theology. But Reformed theology found me. Beginning college as I did with an almost blank slate, Calvinists impressed me with their knowledge of Scripture and devotion to theological depth. Calvinism made the best sense of what Scripture teaches about salvation. None of this theology seemed to dampen my friends’ passion to evangelize the campus and consider serving as missionaries after graduation. As I began teaching Bible studies and mentoring younger students, we discussed Calvinism. One day between classes I sat eating in a dorm with one of my friends and his academic adviser, a history professor. We began talking about the Puritans and Calvinism—surely the only time this has happened to him before then or since. I professed, “I am a Calvinist.”

“Wow!” the professor exclaimed. “I didn’t know any of them were still alive.” He proceeded to argue away my Calvinism. He asked how I could reconcile God’s sovereignty with free will. He prodded me to see if I thought God orchestrated the Fall in the Garden of Eden. It wasn’t a fair fight. I couldn’t match this professor who teaches about intellectual history.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have answers for any of your questions,” I responded sheepishly. “I merely believe Calvinism comes closest to honoring the teachings of Jesus and the apostle Paul.”

“Oh, if that’s your criteria,” the professor said, “then you’re right.”

Believe it or not, that’s not the only time Calvinism came up with a professor. During my senior year Northwestern hired a visiting professor to teach about American evangelicalism. More than a hundred and fifty students filled the classroom. About half considered themselves evangelicals and participated in the activities of Crusade or InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, among other groups. During the course’s first lecture, the professor, an evangelical himself, surveyed American religious history. Calvinists dominated the First Great Awakening, concentrated in New England, he explained. But their rather frightening view of God dissipated a few decades later during the Second Great Awakening.

“Now only a few Calvinists remain—mostly a few crazies in Grand Rapids,” the professor said to classroom laughter.

Taken aback, I approached the professor during the class break. I told him I could point out a number of Calvinists in the room that very day. And I explained that a growing number of Calvinists studied at Trinity, a seminary he had attended decades earlier. What did he make of my pleas? Nothing, really. I was just a student whose name he would never remember. The nation’s best universities pay him to teach about evangelical history, culture, and politics.