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At This Texas Campus Ministry, ‘Inclusive Love’ Is the Mission

By Eli Durst and Jennifer Harlan

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A young woman with long wavy blond hair sitting in a chair in a chapel, seen from behind. She is wearing a light gray T-shirt. All photos in this story are black and white.

Where We Are is a visual column about young people coming of age and the spaces where they create community.

When Sydney Cox, 21, arrived on the University of Texas’s Austin campus in fall 2021, she was eager to find her people. During the worst of the pandemic, she had spent her freshman year attending classes over Zoom. So when she returned for her sophomore year, she was craving connection.

That fall, she ticked all the typical college boxes. She joined a sorority. She went to parties. She talked to people in her classes. But none of it was quite the right fit. Sydney, who describes herself as shy, was overwhelmed — one small fish in a sea of more than 41,000 undergraduates. Then, at the beginning of the second semester, she attended a kickoff event for the Texas Wesley Foundation, a Methodist campus ministry group founded at the school in 1923.

Sydney had grown up Methodist and thought she knew what to expect from a Christian student organization. But she was surprised by just how welcoming the Wesley was. The students and adult leaders seemed genuinely invested in drawing her out of her shell and getting to know her, with no agenda. “It’s really not about getting people into this religion,” she said. “It’s just about being a community who supports others and loves others. And that was huge to me.”

It was the community Sydney had been looking for. In fact, she is now on the group’s executive leadership team. The Wesley, she said, “is a home for me.”

A young man wearing a Nike polo with a longhorn logo and clear plastic gloves holding a silver tray with rings of spots for small glasses of communion wine, most of which are full. He is wearing a name tag that reads

Many of the 80 or so current members of the Wesley were, like Sydney, involved in churches or youth groups growing up and were seeking that same kind of community during their college years. Other students simply followed their nose.

A young man with short black hair wearing a black T-shirt with a spider logo holds up a small glass of dark liquid and prepares to take a sip.
“I smelled the bacon and pancakes,” said Ethan Le, 19, below, a rising junior who lives in one of the student apartments above the Wesley’s space.
A hallway with white walls and a geometric-patterned carpet and a set of double doors at the end. The wall above the doors says
Members of the Wesley invited him to check out Overflow, their weekly Thursday night service. “The music was definitely what hooked me,” Ethan, a pianist, said. He now plays in the worship band.
A young man and young woman singing on a stage, in front of a tiled wall with a large cross embedded in it. There are microphone stands, an amp, white candles and music stands around them. The man, who is on the right, wears gray shorts, a dark T-shirt, a large cross necklace and a white name tag that says

Ethan’s parents are Buddhist and were surprised when their son started spending so much time with a Methodist organization. For his part, Ethan describes himself as agnostic and says he hasn’t felt any pressure from the Wesley to change that, but he appreciates the camaraderie the group offers.

A group of students standing in rows of upholstered gray chairs in a chapel and singing. The young man at the front wears dirty white Converse sneakers, black pants, a light gray T-shirt and a white name tag that says
“There was this one worship where, when there was a swell in the music, someone burst into tears, and then they hugged one of their friends. I am not sure what was going on there, but it was definitely a very profound experience,” he said.
Two open clear plastic containers with rows of cookies inside, sitting on a white table. There are small stacks of paper napkins and plates to the right.
“I think that’s part of what builds my respect for these kinds of worship environments,” Ethan continued. “Even though I may not be in line with the religious aspect of it all, I think it’s a very valid way to reach out to people and comfort them.”

The Overflow services are a key part of the Wesley experience, but far from the sum total of it. There’s a free dinner before every Overflow, and more food and activities — karaoke, trivia nights, line dancing — afterward. The Wesley also offers a wide range of small discussion groups, including the popular “God’s Office Hours,” where students debate topics including abortion, L.G.B.T.Q. rights and religion’s relationship to politics. There are Valentine’s Day parties, Secret Santa gift exchanges and community service opportunities, including mission trips. All of it is student-led.

The students’ levels of engagement vary widely; some come to services and multiple small groups every week, while others just drop by for the occasional social event. “Think of it like having a full-course meal, and you get to pick and choose what you want,” said Ailin Flores, 21. “You don’t have to try anything. But if you see something that you like, you can definitely ask someone, ‘Hey, so what is this about? What is small groups about? What is Overflow?’”

Close up of the chest of a young man wearing a Texas Wesley T-shirt and a cross necklace. The cross is made of metal wrapped in silver and black wire and hanging on a black cord.

The worship center doesn’t just house many of these official activities. It’s also a hub for casual hangs, study hours and jam sessions. Students can shower there or grab a nap on one of the couches. Many of them describe it as a safe haven amid the chaos of campus life.

A young woman with long, black wavy hair wearing a gray Adidas T-shirt standing in a chapel. Her eyes are closed, her head is bowed and her arms are extended with her palms facing up.
In the fall of last year, Ailin, above, who is the first person in her immediate family to go to college, found herself starting sophomore year without a place to live on campus. She turned to the Wesley.

What was supposed to be a few days of crashing at the center turned into more than a month of juggling classes and apartment visits and shuttling back and forth to Alief, a suburb of Houston where her family lives, every weekend for clean clothes. Her friends at the Wesley kept her going, Ailin said. And when an apartment finally came through, they celebrated with her.

A group of young people standing in a cluster in a chapel with their arms raised in the air. They mainly wear T-shirts and leggings or shorts. There are rows of upholstered chairs behind them. A sign on the back wall of the room advertises a retreat called
Five wooden doors leaning against the stone wall of a building. Black letters are affixed to the doors, spelling out
“It was rough, but I was able to get through it. Even though I had no housing, his home — because basically that’s how I think about the Wesley, as God’s house — kept me safe.”
A river lined with trees. There are two canoes on the river, with three people paddling and wearing life jackets in each. One of the trees on the left bank has a wood platform built in its branches.
A camp cafeteria with long wooden tables and benches and a vaulted ceiling. There is a stage at the end of the room, on which are a piano, guitar and poster boards covered in writing. A large cross hangs on the wall above the stage, above four large windows.
Once a semester, the group leaves U.T. for a retreat where they can unplug from the daily grind of campus life. Last fall, they took over John Knox Ranch, a campground about an hour outside of Austin, for a few days of canoeing, s’mores and campfire services.
Four paper plates loaded with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and rolls on a wooden table. They are surrounded by silverware, frosted cupcakes and a drink in a tall plastic cup. People out of frame rest their elbows on the table, and one person reaches for the drink.
A young woman with long, wavy hair wearing a black floral tank top with ruffled straps. Her eyes are closed.
“Being out in nature like that really helps me connect with God,” said Sydney, below.
A young woman in a black one-piece bathing suit jumping off a rock face into a swimming hole. Two young men and a young woman, also in bathing suits, climb along the rock.
Getting out of their usual bubble also strengthens their community, she said. “It’s a lot of fun to build on those connections and really dig in deeper with the friends I have there.”

The wall of the worship center is emblazoned with the center’s three core principles: inclusive love, exploring faith and real friendship. The first of those has carried particular weight in recent years as many people in the Wesley community — students of color, members of the L.G.B.T.Q. community — have struggled to feel safe in Texas.

Many prospective students come to campus with preconceived notions of what it means to be a Christian or part of a campus ministry, often informed by bad personal experiences or by seeing religion used as a cudgel to push hateful rhetoric and discriminatory policies.

“Austin might be an accepting place for a lot of different communities, but unfortunately the church has not historically been that way for everybody,” said Brandon Devaney, 22. “So it feels like we have to work twice as hard to show people that we’re not going to be oppressors.”

The Wesley is committed to being a safe and welcoming space for all students, whatever their background. That starts with acknowledging the complexity of people’s experiences. But that acknowledgement then has to be backed up by action, said Grayson Harris, 20, a member of the group’s Reach team, which is responsible for welcoming new students into the community.

Five young people sitting in a row on the ground in a forest, with their backs to the camera. One young man, second from the left, wears a black cowboy hat.

“We can print ‘inclusive love’ on the side of our building, and that’s all good,” Grayson said. “But unless we live up to that goal, it’s hollow.”

A young woman with long black curly hair wearing a black sweatshirt with the cuffs of the sleeves rolled out. She is holding her arms out with her palms facing up. Her head is out of frame.
In practice, the students said, living up to the goal might be asking people to write their pronouns on their name tags or holding space for discussions where all perspectives are heard and respected.
A white Epson projector sitting on two stacks of Bibles on a scratched wood table.
A room full of folding chairs with upholstered backs and seats arranged in haphazard rows. A couple of the chairs have pieces of paper or index cards on the seats. In front of the chairs is a small table with a laptop and projector on it. Behind the chairs, a young man and young woman sit on an upholstered bench in front of a fireplace, laughing. Another young man sits in a chair in the back row scrolling on a tablet.
“We call ourselves a Methodist group, but we are enthusiastic to accept people of other faiths, people who might not have any faith, or who are questioning their faith,” said Brandon. “We really like to meet people where they’re at.”

A Methodist organization may not be right for everyone, said Ailin. “We’re not here to win you. You’re not some type of trophy. You're a person.” But if a student is looking for a community where they can wrestle with big questions of meaning and identity, the Wesley is open to them.

A young woman with wavy blond hair kneeling on a square floor cushion in front of a stage in a chapel. She wears a T-shirt, floral pants and pointy white ankle boots with tall block heels. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are raised and clasped together in prayer.
When she first started coming to the Wesley, Sydney said, “people would come eat dinner and then leave before the service, and I thought that was bad. But that is inclusive love.”

“We don’t love them because they’re Christians. We just love them.”

Eli Durst is a fine-art photographer based in Austin, where he teaches at the University of Texas. His second monograph, “The Four Pillars,” was published last fall.

Jennifer Harlan is a staff editor at The New York Times and a co-author of the books “Finish the Fight!: The Brave and Revolutionary Women Who Fought for the Right to Vote” and “Call and Response: The Story of Black Lives Matter.”

Where We Are is a series about young people coming of age and the spaces where they create community, produced by Alice Fang, Jennifer Harlan and Eve Lyons.

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