There’s No Place Like Home

My older brother Gary and I made the 90-degree left turn off what was then a narrow two-lane Lewis Avenue. In our 1952 cream and red Plymouth Valiant, the journey had been a little iffy. The car—complete with a Slant-6, 170-cubic inch dog of a motor and push-button automatic transmission.  I’m convinced that if a fair portion of our drive from Western Pennsylvania to Tulsa not been downhill, we might still be trudging across Missouri right now.

We chugged through the Avenue of Flags and up toward the north parking lot—and our destiny. Moments of growth and learning, mistakes and dreaming, education and inspiration awaited us—but , I had a long way to go.

I had been to ORU previously for a College Weekend around Thanksgiving, but this time, I wasn’t here for the sights; I was here to stay. This would be my new home. And my new home was 105 degrees of sweltering humidity. In the shade.

Unlike our gasping Plymouth, ORU would be air conditioned, my brother assured me.

“Even the classrooms?”

“Yes.”

“And the cafeteria?”

“Yes.”

I decided maybe I’d live through this.

The surrealism of the campus, my new life as a quasi-adult, unlimited seconds at Saga… I was overwhelmed with a sense of adventure, as well as a sense of being completely freaked out. Still, the excitement won me over. What would the next four years hold? How would this adventure play out? Who would I be when I left?

Freshman orientation started that night in Zoppelt Auditorium. Communion was scheduled, followed by the welcoming address from President Oral Roberts. It was my first experience eating the round white wafers, which felt like chewing paper. I was certain, however, that the grape juice was pure Welch’s.

As President Roberts walked across the stage that night, with that purposeful, yet calming stride, Zoppelt fell into a hushed reverence. He was about to share his vision for ORU, and 199 other freshmen and I were awestruck.

Speaking with eloquence and without a single cue card, President Roberts emptied his soul. I remember feeling, as I had at Thanksgiving, the surety of knowing I was exactly where God wanted me. I tracked word for word with everything he said—until this:

“Everybody is hurting in some way.”

Really? Everyone? I didn’t see that. I didn’t feel it either. I began thinking, “Surely not. Not everybody. I mean, I’m here. I’m healthy. I’m happy. I’m fortunate. Sure, I’m scared, but I’m not hurting. Being scared doesn’t count.”

But it did. A lot of things counted, and over decades, I have observed that those words I once questioned and pondered are likely a universal truth: Everybody is hurting.

President Roberts went on to say that ORU’s roots began in the healing ministry. What did that mean for us freshmen? It meant ORU would not be sending us out merely as educated graduates; it would be sending us out as healers.

Beyond the obvious professions, President Roberts explained how teachers could be healers, lawyers could be healers, bankers, artists and musicians … Everyone, absolutely everyone, could be healers. So, from the outset, we understood that going into every person’s world would begin by walking through a doorway created by our education and degrees. And once through that door, part of our mission would be to heal others.

Today, we have some 27,000 graduates and 40,000 alumni in professions and pursuits of all kinds.   And all of them are hurting in some way.

This year, Homecoming has abandoned its frigid February location and moved to a new autumn address, in hopes of making it easier for more alumni to come home.

Over the years, when visiting with alumni who have returned to the campus, some for the first time since their graduation, I’ve heard a similar story: They spoke of how coming home was a time of healing. Walking on campus, re-experiencing an ORU chapel service, talking to friends, visiting with former professors, hanging out at former haunts, all while being surrounded by a new generation of students… Dorothy said it best: “There’s no place like home.”

Our alumni need to come home. To be renewed. To be restored. To be reconciled. Many alumni have suffered the hard pains of life—situations like divorce, the death of children, bankruptcy, disillusionment, depression, rejection, confusion, gnawing fear. On and on, the hurts come. Many alumni are at the peak of their professions, while others wonder what went wrong.

To all of you I say, “Come home.”

Bring your heart for a visit this Nov. 13-16 as our Alumni Nation gathers from every uttermost part of the earth to migrate back home, back to Tulsa, back to our alma mater. Stroll the campus with the newest healers-in-training, some from ORU’s 50th freshman class. Let the rising and infectious spirit at ORU touch you once again.

It’s the right time, and it’s the right season.

Chris Busch, ‘73

Chairman, ORU Alumni Board