That part didn't bother me so much. The part that worried me was the lead-up to that conversion. A few pages before Buck converts, his thought process is described in these terms: "If this was true, all that Rayford Steele had postulated--and Buck knew instinctively that if any of it was true, all of it was true--why had it taken Buck a lifetime to come to it?"

That middle clause--"Buck knew instinctively that if any of it was true, all of it was true"--is the same rationale Liberty professors use to prove that the earth is six thousand years old, or that wives must submit to their husbands. If the Bible is infallible, my professors all say, and if the parts about Jesus dying for our sins are true, then a host of other things must also be true, including the sinfulness of h.o.m.os.e.xuality, the pro-life platform, and the imminence of the rapture. In Liberty's eyes, the ultra-conservative interpretation of scripture carries the same inerrancy as scripture itself, and if you don't buy it all--if you're a liberal or moderate Christian--you're somehow less than faithful. That sort of prix fixe theology, where Christianity comes loaded with a slate of political views, is a big part of the reason I've been hesitant to accept Liberty's evangelicalism this semester. Somewhere down the road, I might be able to believe in Jesus as Lord, but I could never believe that h.o.m.os.e.xuality is a sinful lifestyle or tell my future wife to submit to me as her husband.

I suppose it's weird that I'm more attached to my social and political views than my religious beliefs. Is it really more reasonable to believe that the savior of the world was born of a virgin, lived a sinless life, died for our sins, and was resurrected three days later than to believe that the universe frowns on gay people? On a purely logical level, probably not. But it is what it is, and it does me no good to pretend otherwise. The mind, as we know, is a funny thing.

Wednesday night after curfew, I go to Jersey Joey's room to hang out with Dorm 22's rebel crew. The door is locked. I knock.

"Who is it?"

"Kevin."

"Just you, Rooster? n.o.body else?"

"Yeah."

He opens the door a sliver and peers out at me. "All right, come in."

Inside, five or six guys are sitting in the dark, watching an R-rated movie called The Departed. The Departed. Joey and his friends watch a fair number of R-rated movies, and they've never locked the door before, but I understood their paranoia. Everyone on the hall has been a little anxious since last night's Joey and his friends watch a fair number of R-rated movies, and they've never locked the door before, but I understood their paranoia. Everyone on the hall has been a little anxious since last night's 300 300 incident. incident.

Late last night, eight of my hallmates rented a copy of 300, 300, the ultra-gory R-rated blockbuster about the Spartan army. They turned the sound down, locked the door, and pushed play. Halfway through the movie, Rodrigo, the religion major from Mexico City, left the room to do his Bible reading. When he left, he forgot to relock the door. A few minutes later, Stubbs the RA came to the room to ask one of the guys a question about a homework a.s.signment. When he twisted the unlocked doork.n.o.b and entered the room, he saw a battle scene in progress. In a panic, someone hit stop, but it was too late. the ultra-gory R-rated blockbuster about the Spartan army. They turned the sound down, locked the door, and pushed play. Halfway through the movie, Rodrigo, the religion major from Mexico City, left the room to do his Bible reading. When he left, he forgot to relock the door. A few minutes later, Stubbs the RA came to the room to ask one of the guys a question about a homework a.s.signment. When he twisted the unlocked doork.n.o.b and entered the room, he saw a battle scene in progress. In a panic, someone hit stop, but it was too late.

"I think that one locked up the Rep n.a.z.i award for me," Stubbs said the next day. All in all, he dispensed eighty-four reprimands, twelve to each person present. The guys were fined a combined $350, and the DVD was confiscated.

All day today, everyone on the hall has been talking about "The Liberty Way," and debating which of its rules are important to enforce. As a form of catharsis, Joey and his friends have been scouring the Internet for Christian colleges with stricter rules than ours. And surprisingly, there are some. I thought we were on the conservative fringe here at Bible Boot Camp, but apparently, there are places out there with rules that make "The Liberty Way" look lax. Consider: * At Oral Roberts University, a Christian school in Oklahoma, students are asked to sign an honor pledge that reads, in part: "I will not lie; I will not steal; I will not curse; I will not be a talebearer; I will not cheat or plagiarize. . . . I will refrain from smoking, profanity, gambling, alcohol, dishonesty, and all behavior that might cause Christ to grieve." * At Oral Roberts University, a Christian school in Oklahoma, students are asked to sign an honor pledge that reads, in part: "I will not lie; I will not steal; I will not curse; I will not be a talebearer; I will not cheat or plagiarize. . . . I will refrain from smoking, profanity, gambling, alcohol, dishonesty, and all behavior that might cause Christ to grieve." * At Bob Jones University, students are required to bring a chaperone when dating or interacting in a mixed-gender group. Unacceptable forms of music include new age, jazz, rock, country, and contemporary Christian music. The BJU dress code is stricter than Liberty's, with rules mandating dresses or long skirts on women except "in and between women's residence halls and when partic.i.p.ating in activities where the durability of the fabric is important, such as skiing and ice-skating," in which case pants are allowed. In addition, all clothing from Abercrombie & Fitch and its subsidiary Hollister is banned at BJU, as both have shown "an unusual degree of antagonism to the name of Christ and an unusual display of wickedness in their promotions." * At Bob Jones University, students are required to bring a chaperone when dating or interacting in a mixed-gender group. Unacceptable forms of music include new age, jazz, rock, country, and contemporary Christian music. The BJU dress code is stricter than Liberty's, with rules mandating dresses or long skirts on women except "in and between women's residence halls and when partic.i.p.ating in activities where the durability of the fabric is important, such as skiing and ice-skating," in which case pants are allowed. In addition, all clothing from Abercrombie & Fitch and its subsidiary Hollister is banned at BJU, as both have shown "an unusual degree of antagonism to the name of Christ and an unusual display of wickedness in their promotions." * At Pensacola Christian College, a midsized school in Florida, any physical contact between members of the opposite s.e.x is forbidden. Elevators and stairwells on campus are segregated by gender, and a man and a woman who stop to chat en route to cla.s.s can be punished. PCC students may not read any books that have not been approved by school administrators and must ask permission to visit websites not appearing on an approved list. According to one website run by ex-PCC students (and here's where it gets weird), "even couples who are not talking or touching can be reprimanded for what is known on the campus as 'optical intercourse'--staring too intently into the eyes of a member of the opposite s.e.x. This is also referred to as 'making eye babies.' " * At Pensacola Christian College, a midsized school in Florida, any physical contact between members of the opposite s.e.x is forbidden. Elevators and stairwells on campus are segregated by gender, and a man and a woman who stop to chat en route to cla.s.s can be punished. PCC students may not read any books that have not been approved by school administrators and must ask permission to visit websites not appearing on an approved list. According to one website run by ex-PCC students (and here's where it gets weird), "even couples who are not talking or touching can be reprimanded for what is known on the campus as 'optical intercourse'--staring too intently into the eyes of a member of the opposite s.e.x. This is also referred to as 'making eye babies.' "

After scoping out these other schools with the room 201 gang, one thing is clear: we're lucky to be going to Liberty, and we're lucky to be going here in the year 2007. In Liberty's early years, it bore a much closer resemblance to schools like Pensacola Christian College (minus the eye babies, I hope). During the 1970s, for example, Liberty couples had to have a dean's permission to go on a date. Men and women couldn't share a car, and even hand-holding was off-limits until 1991. The most talked-about rule relaxation has been the dress code, which dropped a jacket-and-tie rule for men and a skirts only rule for women sometime in the 1990s.

I thought, from a student's perspective, that all Liberty students would be grateful for the loosened rules. And some are, especially Joey and his rebel friends, and especially in the wake of a ma.s.sive reprimand bust. But I've found a surprising number of Liberty students who want "The Liberty Way" to be more more restrictive. restrictive.

The other day, I stumbled on a Facebook group formed by a Liberty girl, called "Why Is It So Hard For Girls To Follow Dress Code?!?!" The description read: h.e.l.lo?!?! What is the DEAL with Liberty girls these days? Is modesty completely out the window??? This group is for anyone who is TIRED of walking around and seeing . . . well . . . everything! Short skirts, see-through blouses, cleavage, and straps everywhere! We have G.o.dly men walking around this campus that can't even stroll down the sidewalk without being distracted by a "woman" that looks like she belongs in a Shakira music video. h.e.l.lo?!?! What is the DEAL with Liberty girls these days? Is modesty completely out the window??? This group is for anyone who is TIRED of walking around and seeing . . . well . . . everything! Short skirts, see-through blouses, cleavage, and straps everywhere! We have G.o.dly men walking around this campus that can't even stroll down the sidewalk without being distracted by a "woman" that looks like she belongs in a Shakira music video.Ladies, let's not only protect our brothers in Christ, but our testimonies as well. More of us need to defend what we not only believe is right, but what we KNOW is Biblical!

The idea behind this retro-reformist movement seems to be that unless Liberty returns to a higher behavioral standard, it will become indistinguishable from any secular college in America. Before spring break, I heard a group of guys in the dining hall talking about Liberty students who complain about the rules.

"I don't want curfew moved back," one guy said. "There's no reason to relax the dress code."

"If people want that," said another guy, "they should go to UVA or Radford or some other school."

"The rules set us apart."

"Yeah, man, I thank G.o.d every day for the rules here."

Tonight, after I finish watching The Departed, The Departed, I'm hanging out with Fox the RA in his room, and I bring up the subject of Liberty University's rules. I'm hanging out with Fox the RA in his room, and I bring up the subject of Liberty University's rules.

"I think some of them are very important," he says. "The ones about staying out of girl dorms, alcohol, drugs, things like that. On the flip side, I hate enforcing them."

"Why?" I ask.

"Well, I don't mind enforcing the purity rules, the ones that are clearly in scripture. But the Southern Baptist cultural rules, the stuff about hair and dress code, I don't like those rules as much. I mean, I understand why we have them. We need to have a standard to set for ourselves, but I think some of the rules are a little outdated. And, of course, the more rules I have to enforce, the harder my job is."

Being an RA at Liberty is one of the more grueling jobs on the planet. In exchange for a $9,100 annual stipend, RAs have to police every rule in "The Liberty Way" at a 30:1 student-to-RA ratio. They have to dole out reprimands, deal with roommate issues, coordinate sister dorm activities, take attendance at convocation, walk the halls after hours to make sure everyone's in for curfew, and much more.

I ask Fox if he'd rather have fewer duties as an RA.

"They ask a whole lot of us," he says. "But being an RA still provides me the opportunity to make a huge impact in the lives of the guys on the hall. Most college RAs are just tokens. But me, I'm a mom, a dad, a nurse, a policeman, an FBI agent, a professional counselor, a nanny, and a janitor, for $9,100 a year."

Liberty's student lore is filled with stories of power-hungry RAs who take immense joy in making reprimand busts. Fox isn't one of these despots, but he tells me about RAs who camp out at the local movie theater to bust Liberty students sneaking into R-rated movies and RAs who have followed suspected troublemakers off campus to catch them pulling into liquor stores. He mentions an RA named Danny whose Machiavellian streak is the stuff of legend.

"Danny probably has the all-time record for number of reprimands written," Fox says. "I can't even come close. He'll walk around campus giving reps to guys whose hair barely touches their collar or girls whose blouses are a tiny bit too tight. One time, he busted a guy for hair code, and the guy took off running. Danny chased him all the way from Main Campus around LaHaye to East to give him the reps. Got him, too." Fox chuckles. "That's just too strict, you know?"

I look at Fox, a guy I've seen giving my hallmates reprimands for watching R-rated movies, being thirty seconds late to convocation, and saying "h.e.l.l" in a non-religious context--a guy who, just minutes ago, was telling me that his job description encompa.s.sed the duties of a policeman and an FBI officer. Apparently, "too strict" is a relative concept.

Recently, I decided to return all the phone calls I've been avoiding for weeks, the ones from my friends back at Brown. It's not that I don't want to talk to them, or that I don't get lonely at Liberty. It's just that there's rarely a good time to chat. Most of my waking hours are spent shuttling between various cla.s.ses, club meetings, and choir practices, and when I do manage to get off campus and make phone calls to the outside world, my priority is always rea.s.suring my family that I haven't been tarred and feathered.

But in the past three days, I've caught up with more than a dozen of my secular friends, and although it's been great to talk to them, I've been amazed at how little has changed since I've been gone. Everyone is writing sociology papers and applying for summer internships. A few of my friends threw a roller-skating party at a place called United Skates of America, and three-quarters of the guys in my a cappella group came down with pinkeye, but other than that, nothing stuck out.

Maybe it just seems that way because Liberty operates in hyperspeed. I'm not sure why but things that might take an entire month at Brown seem to happen in two, three days here. Take my friend Paul Maddox, for example. Paul has been dating his long-distance girlfriend Lauren for about a month now, and they're already acting like newlyweds. Even from afar, she has completely consumed Paul's life. When the rest of Dorm 22 is hanging out after curfew, he can always be found sitting on the floor next to the water fountain, hands-free headset plugged into his cell phone, talking to his belle. Every day, he rushes out of cla.s.s, leapfrogging chairs and sidestepping tables to get into the hall, where he text messages Lauren with the urgency of a SWAT team bomb defuser.

Late tonight, Paul comes into my room.

"Hey, Kev. What's going on?" he says. "Sorry I haven't been around. G.o.d's been keeping me busy."

Paul didn't used to talk openly about G.o.d, but ever since he rededicated his life to Christ during Spiritual Emphasis Week, he's made outward piety a high priority. A week ago, he updated his Facebook profile, adding the Bible to his Favorite Books section and Philippians 3:14 to his Favorite Quotes: "I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which G.o.d has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

I ask how things are going with Lauren.

"I think she's the one, man," he says. "I think I could marry this girl."

"Dude, you've only been dating for a month."

"Five weeks and two days," he says. "Yo, but look at this." He sits down in front of my laptop, clicks open the browser, and types in the address of a Georgia church's website. "This site is mad cool. They have all these videos about marriage. This one's about how to be a leader in biblical love. This one--oh, this one is good--it's all about avoiding greed in your marriage."

This is Paul's first relationship with a Christian girl, and with his head-over-heels love has come a new desire to impress Lauren with his G.o.dliness. Every night, they do half an hour of Bible study over the phone. After that, they pray for their future together. Paul prays for a job coaching high school football, and Lauren prays for a job as a Spanish teacher. It doesn't matter where they live, he says, as long as they're in the same place.

"You might think that's corny," he says. "But I just have this feeling, man."

All semester, I've watched Paul's Christian growth with mixed emotions. On one hand, I sort of miss the old Paul, the Paul who griped with me about Jerry Falwell's intolerance, who would look at me during Friday night Bible study as if to say, "Are you getting any of this?" One of the reasons we became friends, in fact, is that we both felt like outsiders at Liberty.

But tonight, seeing the new Paul--madly in love, spiritually fulfilled-- it's clear that he's happier than he used to be. And if he's better off now, with his renewed faith and his ridiculously time-consuming girlfriend, I'm okay with that. This is new for me, counting the religious conversion of one of my friends as a positive change. But under the circ.u.mstances, supporting him seems like the right thing to do.

Over the past two months, I managed to convince myself that I didn't need to meet Jerry Falwell.

I was just being realistic. Even though his office is a stone's throw from my dorm, the man remains almost completely inaccessible. He does several TV appearances a week, flies around the country in his private jet to his speaking engagements, and generally seems absent from Liberty's day-to-day operation. Most Liberty students get one picture with Dr. Falwell in their four years, if they're lucky.

But this morning, during Dr. Falwell's convocation speech, I started changing my mind. Liberty, I realized, is a brick-and-mortar extension of Dr. Falwell's personality. Everything that happens here, from the big-name speakers to the courses on offer to "The Liberty Way," is directly attributable to his vision for the school, his personal tastes and goals, his particular slant on morality and theology. To understand Liberty fully, I have to understand him.

So on Friday afternoon, I hatch my grand plan. I walk to the office of the Liberty Champion Liberty Champion, the campus newspaper, and pitch the faculty editor, a friendly, stout woman named Mrs. Mott, my idea for an article on Dr. Falwell. I propose a full-length feature based on an in-depth personal interview conducted by one of his students.

"It could be called 'Dr. Falwell: Beyond the Pulpit,' " I say.

She ponders it for a few seconds, rocking back and forth in her chair.

"And you want to write this piece?" she asks.

"Well, it would be up to you guys," I say. "But I thought . . ."

She smiles. "I think that'd be wonderful!"

Mrs. Mott introduces me to a student editor named Javier, who also likes the idea, and we spend a few minutes arranging the logistics together. They give me contact information for Dr. Falwell's secretary, and we brainstorm questions for the interview. Ten minutes later, everything is set.

Frankly, I'm shocked at how smoothly things went. Really? I waltzed into a newspaper office, proposed a feature story involving a major national celebrity, and came out with a deadline and a word count? G.o.d bless college journalism and its low standards.

When I get back to my room, I write an e-mail to Dr. Falwell's secretary asking if he'd be willing to sit for an interview. Even writing to the secretary makes my hands shake. Despite having spent an entire semester hearing him speak two or three times a week, singing in his choir, and attending his university, the man still terrifies me. But he can't be mean to me, right? After all, for all he knows, I'm one of his own.

Still, if this interview comes through, I'm going to give myself every advantage I can. I'm not sure it'd be proper decorum to show up in a "Jerry Is My Homeboy" T-shirt, but the thought has crossed my mind.

I got my first reprimands today. During convocation this morning, a pastor from some megachurch in the Midwest was giving a fairly plat.i.tudinous sermon about obeying G.o.d's commandments, and around the twenty-minute mark, I felt my eyelids getting heavy. I put my head back, closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew, Fox the RA was tapping me on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Roose. Sleeping in convo. Four reps, ten bucks."

I couldn't help it. I've been exhausted ever since getting back from Daytona Beach. It was a week of nonstop Bible reading, evangelizing, and prayer-grouping with some of Liberty's most intense students, and I think I'm suffering a bit of a Christian overdose. When I went back to my dorm after convocation, found the door locked, struggled for thirty seconds to open it, and then realized that I had been pushing the remote car-door unlocker in the direction of the keyhole, I decided I needed to give myself a break.

So after cla.s.ses today, I get in my car and drive four hours north to Washington, D.C., to pay my cousin Beirne a weekend visit.

Beirne is a second-year law student at Georgetown. She's a fast-talking, hyper-intelligent twenty-seven-year-old, and she comes from the ultra-liberal branch of my family, the one that spends family game night playing Cla.s.s Struggle, the socialist alternative to Monopoly. (If you're curious, the object of the game is to "Win the revolution!" and the box features a drawing of Karl Marx arm-wrestling Nelson Rockefeller.) Beirne and her husband Adam, who teaches science at a Virginia high school, live closest to Lynchburg of anyone in my family, and they offered to host me whenever I needed an escape. So tonight, we go out for dinner at a j.a.panese restaurant near their apartment. I spend most of the meal catching them up on my time at Liberty. I tell them about my friends, my cla.s.ses, and the highlights and lowlights of my semester. After dinner, we sit around in their living room, talking and listening to Arlo Guthrie CDs and drinking oolong tea, and the whole thing feels at once familiar and a bit surreal.

Before I fall asleep on her futon, Beirne tells me, "You know, it's good to see that you're the same person as you were before all of this."

I was nervous about seeing members of my family after being isolated at Liberty for two months, mostly because I was worried that I'd seem different to them. But I suppose Beirne's right. Tonight proved that I can slip back into my secular persona when I need to. I like not having to be back on campus for curfew, and I can laugh along with Adam when he browses my History of Life textbook and p.r.o.nounces it "a parody of science."

However, there are two things I didn't tell Beirne.

First, when she and Adam were criticizing Liberty students, as opposed to Liberty's core ideologies, I found myself getting defensive. They talked about how I lived with "brainwashed sheep," and although I didn't speak up, I wanted to tell them about Jersey Joey or Paul or any of the other Liberty students I've met who are hardly pa.s.sive followers. I know Beirne and Adam mean no harm, but it makes me uneasy when people paint Liberty students with a broad brush, just as it would make me uneasy if someone said that all Brown students are amoral, unpatriotic heathens.

Second, things happened inside my head all night that definitely wouldn't have happened six months ago. I didn't pray before eating my chicken tempura at the restaurant, and it made me vaguely uneasy for the next twenty minutes. I saw two men walking hand in hand on the way to the parking deck, and I did an incredulous triple take, staring much longer than politesse would dictate. Most disturbing was when we went on a post-dinner stroll around Beirne's neighborhood. I saw a group of high school-age kids sitting on a stoop, and the first thing that flashed through my mind, before I could quash it, was: are they saved? are they saved?

Ever since being among the spring breakers in Daytona Beach, I've been thinking about my re-entry process, about what life will be like when I'm back in the secular world full-time.

My feeling was this: of course it will be odd to transition away from Liberty. Whenever my college friends come back from their semesters abroad, they spend a few weeks in reverse culture shock, making observations like, "You know, in Portuguese, the word for ceiling is tecto tecto." Eventually, though, they readapt to their native surroundings, and life goes back to normal.

But on the drive back to Lynchburg on Sunday morning, I start to wonder. Maybe the transition isn't so smooth when the foreign experiences deal with G.o.d. The anthropologist Susan Harding defines a religious conversion as the acquisition of a form of religious language, which happens the same way we acquire any other language--through exposure and repet.i.tion. In other words, we don't necessarily know when we've crossed the line into belief. I remember something my friend Laura told me during our pre-Liberty training session. Even though she's been out of the evangelical world for a few years now, she still feels guilty when she takes the Lord's name in vain. "I can't help it," she said. "I don't think I'll ever be able to curse without asking G.o.d for forgiveness. I can't get rid of that impulse."

Could it be the same for me? All semester, I've been worried about getting in over my head at Liberty, but what if it's too late?

The Lord Knoweth How to Deliver the G.o.dly

Here's some unsolicited advice for all the young men out there: If you have to leave an athletic event to go to choir practice, don't make a show of it.

I could have slipped out of Monday's intramural softball game unnoticed, faked a stomachache, or said I had an important meeting, and n.o.body would have cared, since I'm sort of the t.i.to Jackson of our team. But for some reason, I felt compelled to share the details of my schedule. It's crazy. Hiding my thoughts from everyone I know all semester? No problem. But give me the one fib that would have spared me weeks of grief, and I turn into a moralist.

"Coach," I said to Jersey Joey, our team captain. "I'm taking off early today. Choir practice."

He peered at me over the top of his aviator sungla.s.ses.

"This is a joke, right?"

I've been pretty quiet about my involvement in the choir, since most Liberty students don't go to Thomas Road, and since even at Christian college, choir singing doesn't carry a lot of social cachet. But I figured there was no harm in telling Joey.

"No joke," I said.

" 'Ey guys!" Joey shouted. "Rooster is leaving in the bottom of the third to go sing in a choir!" Joey shouted. "Rooster is leaving in the bottom of the third to go sing in a choir!"

A day later, this remains the funniest thing anyone on my hall has ever heard. I get greetings like: "Yo, Roose, are you gonna sing us a song today? Something real pretty, okay? Maybe some Barbra Streisand?"

"Hey, choir boy, you wanna come to the gym with us? Or you got a mani-pedi appointment?"

Or when we went to the Olive Garden for dinner, and Joey saw a dish called Pasta f.a.gioli on the menu.

"Rooster, you gettin' that?"

I was prepared to shrug it off. After all, with Joey, "h.o.m.o" is a term of endearment. But ever since the softball game, I've been wondering: are there actual gay kids at Liberty? I almost hope not, for their sakes. In a school this size, though, there must be a few closet cases, if not a whole underground community.

During my mentoring session with Pastor Seth on Tuesday afternoon, I ask him about h.o.m.os.e.xuality at Liberty.

"Oh, it's huge," he says.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Huge issue."

He clarifies: same-s.e.x relationships and h.o.m.os.e.xual acts are definitely forbidden under "The Liberty Way," but the university doesn't automatically expel gay students. That said, "gay" is considered a temporary state here. Many of the Liberty guys who feel attracted to other guys (and Liberty girls who feel attracted to girls, I a.s.sume) undergo reparative therapy to change their s.e.xual orientation. For more information, Seth refers me to Pastor Rick Reynolds, Liberty's go-to counselor for gay-to-straight therapy.

"He's been helping those guys for as long as anybody can remember," he says.

I want to get a glimpse of how it feels to be a friend of Dorothy at Bible Boot Camp, so I decide to pay Pastor Rick a visit. I call him to schedule an appointment, and the next day, I walk to his office, a small windowless room in the back of the Campus Pastors Office.

He greets me with a smile. "Come on in, Kevin!"

Pastor Rick is a tall, mustachioed sixty-something man, clad in a red cardigan and low-sitting gla.s.ses, who looks like he could have been a reference librarian if he hadn't been called to the ministry. He tells me that he came to Liberty as a seminary student in 1976, after a stint in the military, and stayed on to teach afterward. He's been here ever since, first as a dean and now as the pastor of men's ministries, a post that gives him spiritual oversight of Liberty's entire male population.

Earlier this year, Rick tried to start a group therapy session for his gay disciples (he called it Masquerade), but no one showed up for the meetings. "They didn't want to reveal their struggles," he says. "We're hoping that next year, we can tell guys they don't have to be afraid." So now, he meets regularly with forty gay Liberty students in one-on-one sessions.

For the first ten minutes of our meeting, Pastor Rick asks for an exhaustive rundown of my life--the happiest moments of my childhood, my academic interests, my plans for the future. And as I talk, he smiles knowingly, leaning back in his chair. Midway through my speech, it hits me: Pastor Rick thinks I'm Gay Student #41. Of course he does. When he asked why I had sought his counsel, I said something to the effect of, "I have a lot of gay friends back home, and I want to know what to tell them." G.o.d, how flimsy does that sound? I'm sure he hears the "so, I have this gay friend . . ." spiel every day.

Suddenly much less comfortable, I end my autobiographical ramble. Time to turn this conversation elsewhere. I ask Rick my first big question: how does he coach Liberty students out of h.o.m.os.e.xuality?