In the 1950s, amid racial unrest, warfare and the rise of a new kind of America unlike that of our forefathers, an acclaimed journalist took on the  task of creating an outlet for people from all walks of life to express their hopes and dreams as citizens of a global society. This yearning for expression birthed This I Believe.

This I Believe is based on a 1950s radio program of the same name, hosted by Edward R. Murrow. In creating This I Believe, Murrow said the program sought "to point to the common meeting grounds of beliefs, which is the essence of brotherhood and the floor of our civilization." Each day, millions of Americans gathered by their radios to hear compelling essays from the likes of Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Robinson, Helen Keller, and Harry Truman as well as corporate leaders, cab drivers, scientists, and secretaries— anyone able to distill into a few minutes the guiding principles by which they lived. Their words brought comfort and inspiration to a country worried about the Cold War, McCarthyism, and racial division.

Some years later, NPR incorporated the This I Believe project into its broadcast by airing essays on All Things Considered, Tell Me More and Weekend Edition Sunday. Jay Allison and Dan Gediman, the men responsible for reviving this project on NPR, respectively take both a nostalgic and forward-looking perspective with regard to the role of this programming. Gediman states, "We hear a country moving toward more equality among the races and between genders. We hear parents writing essays that are letters to their newborn children expressing the hopes and dreams they have for them. And we hear the stories of faith that guide people in their daily experiences." In this way, Murrow sought to express tremendous hope during a time of such rapid and paradigmatic change. Nevertheless, these reasons stood as the impetus for re-envisioning the project. Allison states, "As in the 1950s, this is a time when belief is dividing the nation and the world. We are not listening well, not understanding each other—we are simply disagreeing, or worse. Working in broadcast communication, there's a responsibility to change that, to cross borders, to encourage some empathy. That possibility is what inspires me about this series."*

At the Bonner Foundation, the goal for this endeavor was to hear different perspectives from the various Bonner Scholar Program schools around the country. Students of various backgrounds, cultures and beliefs (no pun intended) honestly wrote about their points of view ranging from the importance of family to the worth of giving and taking pennies. Therefore, through the utility of Murrow's archetype, the Bonner Foundation presents This I Believe.

Related Websites:

thisibelieve.org

NPR.com's This I Believe Project

*Words drawn from the About Us page of the website listed above.

Davidson

Earlham

Juniata

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UCDavis

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Israel Durham, Princeton Theological Seminary, Class of 2011—

Believing, in and of itself, is an act of faith. Believing occupies the in-between of faith and fruition. Faith and fruition are the genesis and exodus of our natural preoccupation with and penchant for believing.

As a people who strive to believe in something greater than our present circumstance, faith truly embodies the substance of things hoped, the evidence of things not seen. All the while, fruition is the actual embodiment, the actualization, of what faith had born. Belief, therefore, is the comfort that exists in the midst of substance and success. Faith catalyzes belief and produces fruition. And yet, though we believe, we need help through our unbelief.

Perhaps it is that we continue to believe because we have a history of being believers: in a better tomorrow, a better country, a better life, a better people. Belief requires compassion and hope that the way things appear is only a glimpse into how they will actually be. Belief requires recognition of reality and un-reality simultaneously. Perhaps we continue to believe because it is easier than unbelieving.

An author once said that there is always room for doubt—in order perhaps that there will always be room to breathe. There is breathing room in our (un)belief—remnants of pasts beliefs dashed, diminished hopes, deferred dreams. And yet, believing is easier than unbelief because the full breath existent in the act of believing gives us wings and allows us to fly rather than float, to be larger and freer and more loving.

The act of believing itself—it is on this that I believe.