Twenty years ago, I was sitting in my dorm room at Limestone College in Gaffney, S.C., skipping classes so I could watch the funeral of Pope John Paul II. As an aspiring church musician from the rural South, I was captivated by the ancient liturgy, the solemn ritual and the grand, sacred pageantry.
But more than that, I was struck by the weight of tradition — watching an institution carry out a rite that had remained virtually unchanged for more than a thousand years.
Institutions anchor us. Whether they are religious, educational or civic, these structures shape our lives and help form the society we aspire to build.
Justin Addington with President Walter Griffin of Limestone University.
For me, one such institution is Limestone College — more recently Limestone University — where I earned my bachelor’s degree in music education in 2007.
The four years I spent at Limestone remain among the most formative of my life. Limestone is where I nurtured my love for music, where I began to explore a call to ministry, and where I met my spouse.
But my love affair with the college did not end at graduation. In 2012, I was named Limestone’s Young Alumnus of the Year, and in 2015 I was honored to be a featured organ recitalist on the college’s concert series. My alma mater holds a special place in my heart, and I imagine many readers can relate to having a school or community for which they hold similar affection.
Limestone was founded in 1845 as a women’s high school — its name deriving from the large limestone quarry adjacent to its campus. The school was the vision of two Baptist clergymen from England, Thomas Curtis and his son, William Curtis — the former helping to found Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, Ky., after his time in South Carolina.
Limestone prospered until the Civil War, with Reconstruction bringing hard times. In 1881, it was revived as the Cooper-Limestone Institute thanks to New York philanthropist Peter Cooper, and in 1898, it was officially named Limestone College.
The school continued to grow and became fully coeducational in the 1960s. But by the late 1980s, Limestone once again was struggling financially. The board of trustees turned to Walter Griffin, a history professor from Iowa, and challenged him to save the school. And he did.
During Griffin’s 25-year tenure, Limestone operated in the black, its historic buildings were restored, new athletic programs were launched — including a national championship team — and it became the first college in South Carolina to offer evening and online programs for nontraditional students.
When President Griffin retired in 2017, Limestone seemed poised for long-term success. But a few weeks ago, as another pope’s funeral unfolded on the global stage, a different news story emerged closer to home: Limestone University announced it likely would cease all on-campus operations at the end of the spring semester due to financial hardships.
At first glance, it seemed Limestone had fallen prey to the same challenges facing many private institutions: budget cuts, enrollment declines and shifts to online education. But those of us close to the school knew there was more to the story, and we were heartbroken.
“Those of us close to the school knew there was more to the story, and we were heartbroken.”
Following President Griffin’s retirement, new leadership took over, and decisions that seemed promising at the time — transforming into a university, launching a football program, constructing a stadium — ultimately became burdensome. Financial mismanagement compounded these issues, and eventually another administration had to be brought in.
The most recent president seemed to be working hard to unify the college community and stabilize operations, but it wasn’t enough. The university needed $6 million just to keep the lights on. Further investigations revealed the school was saddled with as much as $30 million in debt.
How was it possible that this could happen — again?
Two decades after that college kid sat glued to a papal funeral, I am now a member of the ordained clergy serving in full-time ministry. Since my time at Limestone, I have earned a master’s degree and a doctorate, and throughout that educational journey, I never stopped championing the institution that gave me my start.
My classmates and I often have remarked that we were leagues ahead of our peers in graduate school because of our Limestone education — one where individual attention and personal relationships with professors were paramount.
As a Christian, it did not escape me that the devastating news about my alma mater came during Holy Week. While the church prepared to mourn the death of Christ, the Limestone community was preparing to mourn the loss of its beloved school.
Let me be clear: Limestone is not the Messiah. But it is a Christian institution, one built on love, truth and service — ideals that mirror the gospel teachings of Jesus Christ.
Members of the Limestone family were told the board of trustees would meet after Easter to determine the school’s future. And so, we all prayed for resurrection. A few financial partners stepped forward, offering a glimmer of hope and a bit more time for discernment, but the reality still loomed heavy.
The period of time between popes in the Catholic church is referred to as Sede Vacante (the time of the empty throne). This “in-between” time is one of great uncertainty, where prayers of hope are offered for the future of the institution. Those of us in the Limestone community couldn’t help but notice the parallel.
Lately, I also have felt like one of the disciples during the days between resurrection and ascension — walking with a beloved teacher, only to know they soon may be taken away. I then found myself asking: What if there is no resurrection for Limestone?
On April 29, the board of trustees ultimately voted to close the school, effectively ending a 180-year tradition. The news was devastating and hard to comprehend, leaving members of the Limestone family (both on and off campus) hurting and angry. Students, faculty, staff and alumni have poured their hearts into that community, and it was hard to believe the halls that once rang with laughter and lectures soon would sit silent.
“The hope for redemption lies within us, guided by the spiritual and institutional truths that ground us.”
But then I remembered: Limestone does not reside in the buildings of that Gaffney campus any more than the church of Jesus resides in a single sanctuary. As followers of Christ, we are called to carry forward his teachings by how we live and engage with the world. The same is true for Limestone. Its physical form may fade, but what it stands for lives on in us.
The friendships formed, the lessons learned, the transformative moments — we carry them forward. We are Limestone now.
For anyone watching the values they hold dear crumble — whether in a school, a church or a nation — know this: The hope for redemption lies within us, guided by the spiritual and institutional truths that ground us. They will not die if we keep them alive, and we do so through the stories we share, the values we uphold and the truths we fight for.
Resurrection may not be found in reopened institutions, but rather in the strength and faithfulness of a community of people.
I hereby join my fellow alumni in committing to uphold the legacy of Limestone. And to others who may be experiencing a similar loss, I wish you the grace, strength and courage required to carry forward that which you know to be good and true.
I leave you with the comforting words of our beloved alma mater’s second verse:
The hours of life flow swiftly and change must come to all;
Our friendships must be severed to answer duty’s call.
But memories never perish, and that of fair Limestone,
Must be with me forever the brightest, sweetest ones.
— Frank L. Eyer (1868-1932)
Justin Addington
Justin L. Addington serves as associate minister for music and worship at the historic First Baptist Church of Savannah, Ga. He holds a bachelor’s degree in music education, a master of church music degree in choral conducting, and a doctor of theology in worship and liturgy. Learn more at his website.