A Godly Interruption

After putting it away for weeks, I got out the syllabus for the course I am teaching during the fall semester. I last taught this course once a week, for three hours. Now I must adjust it to twice a week, and restructure it as a writing course for first-year students. So, I have been less than anxious to do that tweaking of the syllabus. The course grew out of work I did during my doctoral program. I took a course entitled "The Prophetic Tradition" and is one of just a few courses I have taken in my life that I would call transformative. The professor who taught it is quiet by nature, and the intensive format of the courses in my program meant that we had the class for eight hours a day for five days. I worried that the seminar would be a snooze, and there were times that the days seemed very long. Worst of all, it met in January in western New York. Not only was there three feet of snow, but the days were very short, and, by the time class ended each day, it was almost dark. Thank goodness I stayed with it, because the subject matter of the course, and the quiet, prophetic spirit of the man who taught it worked a miracle in my life. Over the years, I had become a bit disenchanted, and even lazy, when it came to thinking, talking and living out the social justice aspects of the Gospel. I didn't know that I needed the spark that class offered until I was there and knew that something within me had been rekindled. Aside from the excellent course content, I recall a day when one of the master's level students who were also taking the course arrived very late for class. I was annoyed at her noisy entrance, and the class stopped for a moment while she collected herself. She apologized to the professor, stating that she had just received a phone call with some bad news about a friend. He said he understood and then asked the class to join him in a moment of prayer. At that moment, I felt convicted of my hypocrisy and less than understanding heart. Where I could see only an interruption in the class, the professor saw a student who had been wounded and who needed a word of compassion and encouragement. In that moment, I knew that I needed to be more like him, and that I had to be more attentive to those moments that may be an interruption to my schedule, but that were opportunities to illustrate the community of faith's unwavering love for and support of its members. I have never forgotten that lesson, or that professor. I received an email from him last week, telling me that I would not be hearing from him much, because he had been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, and he would be saving his energy for immediate tasks that needed doing. At that moment, I whispered a prayer for him, just as he has done for so many over the years, I am sure. I prayed that this quiet, brilliant and giant intellectual of a man will find courage, strength and the support of so many others now that he is traveling down a new path. The course I teach is a tribute to him and his understanding of the true meaning of the gospel message for our world. The prayer was a testimony to his loving and compassionate heart, to one who is not only brilliant, but who best exemplifies wisdom.