You are to be congratulated on your way of handling yourself throughout the interview process. You have not lied to anyone or misrepresented yourself or sold out your convictions, or faked being a native speaker of the patois of the group that owns the school. A great many do this sort of thing and jeopardize their souls in the process.  I’ll give an example: a seminary I know, in line an old teetotaling ethic, had a written rule that faculty members were not to use alcoholic beverages.  Many of the teachers I knew there gained their jobs by signing on to this rule–they could not have been hired otherwise–but ignored it in practice.  They did no drinking on campus, and the administration had ways of letting them know that as long as they were discrete about it elsewhere, there was no problem.  Everybody understood the real state of affairs, but no one dared to speak out against the non-Christianity of teetotalism (as C. S. Lewis said, Mohammedanism, not Christianity, is the teetotal religion), so the school was on this and other matters immersed in the culture of a lie.

Once you start doing this kind of thing your conscience is damaged and greatly weakened.  You know you are lying before God and man, and people with weakened consciences are very susceptible to doing more, and eventually worse, things than whatever it was upon which they made their first compromise.  Eventually the school did do worse, much worse: it bought into the egalitarian heresy, and if the general history of schools founded as “Christian” is any indication, it may be expected to continue taking the path of least resistance to the Spirit of the Age in its theological and moral decline, and the term “Evangelical” in its self-description will mean about as much as “Catholic” means at Georgetown or Villanova.

The greatest practical advantage of maintaining your integrity of conscience is the (possibly accurate) awareness that you are pleasing God, and that because of this he approves of, and is overseeing, your course of life.  This is a great comfort, and it increases as you grow older and are able to view your past from a higher and broader perspective.  You will see, for example, how doing what you did was the appropriate pedagogy for what you are doing, and how many missteps you were saved from by staying honest and doing the right thing–and how what was so bitterly disappointing in your rejection at the time was in fact a merciful act of God.  There are some things, like the death of a child, where I suppose the necessary perspective and appropriate gratefulness for God’s mercy, is normally gained in the world to come, but others in which you can see him working to your advantage while you are still in this one.

I once thought I wanted to be an Episcopalian priest, and took the first steps in that direction, but was disqualified because I would not tell the examiners in the Diocese of Chicago under Bp. Griswold what they wanted to hear on certain points of progressive religion.  But my friends who were “successful” candidates are now out of the Episcopal Church if they remained faithful to their ordination vow to “banish and drive away from the Church all erroneous and strange doctrines contrary to God’s Word,” which, like the non-drinking rule at the Evangelical school, was understood by everybody who professed it not really to apply. Whoever decided to play the game and stay in, pretending that the filth did not exist, became just another microbe in the Episcopalian sewer.  They had a simple choice: integrity before God and a clean conscience–or the job they wanted.  The story in the Bible of Esau selling his birthright for a dish of stew (Gen. 25: 29f) is exactly what we are talking about here.  For God’s sake and your own, never do it.  Gratefully take whatever he gives you, even if you don’t think it’s what you want.  He knows what he’s doing, and is trying to teach you things you need to know.