President's Message
Dear faculty colleagues,
Every so often, an envelope lands on my desk that begins with some version of, "I came across this article and thought you might appreciate it." Those unexpected, but welcome, notes have taught me a great deal over the years. More than that, they remind me that we belong to a community of people who continue thinking about Whitworth long after retirement, graduation or moving on to other chapters of life.
Two letters recently arrived – one from a Whitworth emeritus professor, long retired, but still someone whose voice carries wisdom and affection for this place. The other, from a former alumni director, containing a draft of proposed presidential comments for Whitworth's Centennial Celebration in 1990.
As I read them, I found myself struck by how little and how much has changed. Though written decades apart, both pieces shared something in common. Their authors looked backward with gratitude, examined the present honestly, and imagined the future with hope.
One passage from the centennial materials said:
Our lives, our work, are God's trust to us, a calling activated through personal concern for the human community and intelligent involvement in its affairs.
That statement feels as relevant today as when it was written. So do the aspirations that followed in the draft – aspirations that Whitworth would remain Christ-centered, committed to the liberal arts, devoted to preparing graduates who serve the world and enrich their professions, and dedicated to shaping students whose lives reflect something "finer than virtue, rarer than competence, and nobler than success."
In other words, a university anchored by enduring commitments.
The document also anticipated changes that were only beginning to emerge. It imagined growing opportunities for faculty scholarship and student research, increasing needs for student counseling, and the value of serving many more learners beyond the traditional undergraduate population. It suggested that remote forms of work might eventually become commonplace, predicted we’d realize an increasingly diverse student body, and reaffirmed the distinctive value of integrating faith and learning.
Thirty-six years later, those observations feel remarkably prescient.
The authors didn't merely anticipate change. They assumed Whitworth could adapt to changing realities without losing its identity. That seems an especially important lesson for universities today; for us today.
Higher education often finds itself pulled between competing impulses. Some voices encourage institutions never to change; others seem convinced that survival depends upon constant reinvention. Yet our work has never been defined by either rigidity or unease.
Whitworth's mission must remain firmly anchored to guide us and yet responsive to be relevant and attractive for students.
As faculty, you live within that tension every day.
The disciplines you teach continue to evolve. New technologies reshape classrooms and research agendas. Student needs shift. Professional fields transform. Yet beneath those changes remains the enduring work of helping students pursue truth, develop wisdom, discover vocation and prepare for lives of meaningful service.
As I reflected on these documents, I was reminded of another image I recently encountered in Current: Public Theology for the Common Good. Writing about what she calls the “Understory," Anne Snyder describes the layer of a forest that exists between the towering canopy and the forest floor.
Most of us notice the trees and, specifically, their height. The understory, however, is where the future of the forest develops. It is where, Snyder wrote, saplings grow in protected shade. It is where nutrients circulate. It is where the conditions for future flourishing are quietly cultivated. Diverse and largely unseen, the understory sustains the entire ecosystem.
The image stayed with me because it feels remarkably similar to the work of a university. Much of what you do occurs in the understory. A conversation after class. A thoughtful comment on a paper. A research project that includes a student. Time spent advising, mentoring, serving on committees, shaping curricula, supporting a colleague or helping a struggling student find a path forward.
Most of that work happens away from public attention. Yet it is precisely the kind of work that sustains an institution.
The future of Whitworth is formed not only in strategic plans and public announcements but in hundreds of daily acts of teaching, scholarship, mentorship, service and care. You cultivate conditions in which students grow intellectually, spiritually and vocationally. You help them imagine not only the world as it is but also how it ought to be. That is sacred work.
The metaphor of the forest offers one final insight.
The trees that provide shade across our campus today were planted by people who knew they would never fully enjoy their maturity. They planted anyway. Over time, the landscape changes, yet the character of the forest remains.
Universities are much the same.
We inherit the work of those who came before us. We steward it for those who will follow. Both are part of the same story.
Thank you for the ways you contribute to Whitworth's story every day. Thank you for your commitment to your disciplines, to your students, to one another and to the mission that continues to guide us.
The canopy may draw the eye, but the future takes root in the understory. I hold total confidence that 36 years from now, Whitworth’s canopy will be more beautiful than ever, and the envelopes on the president's desk will be fatter than ever. Both will have taken root in the understories you will be writing this year and beyond.
With deep gratitude for your work there,
Scott McQuilkin
President, Whitworth University