The Prisoner’s Cross. Peter B. Unger

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СКАЧАТЬ of the women were dressed in a more formal way than the female students at the community college back home. As Don descended the stairs that led down to the bookstore in the building’s basement, he was now feeling more and more like he didn’t fit in here. Walking into the bookstore bustling with students, he steeled himself. He was here, and no matter what, he would give it the best shot he could. He knew from orientation materials sent him soon after his acceptance letter that he would be taking intro classes in Old Testament, New Testament, theology, and church history. Don began looking at the piles of books on tables throughout the center of the store. Amid the book-filled bookshelves that lined the walls were labels that designated the different classes. He also found them taped to the edge of the tables right below the different piles of books for each course. Don quickly picked up the required texts for three of his four courses but was having trouble finding the books for his last course on theology. He finally found the course label on one end of a table toward the front of the bookstore. He then began to check the piles for the required books for the course. He soon found the first one and as he picked up the textbook off the top of the pile, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pretty brunette across the table from him. She was already holding several books in one hand, and appeared to be looking for another book among the piles. Don had looked at her a second too long and felt his face redden as she looked back at him. “Which textbook are you looking for?” Don asked, hoping to move past the awkwardness of the moment. “Oh,” she replied, “I still have to buy one text book for the intro class to theology, and I just can’t find It.” Don had put all the books he had bought into a basket he had picked up at the door. “That’s the only course I need to buy books for as well,” Don said, seeing an opening to further the conversation. She smiled back at Don and then lowered her head to continue her search for the book. Don walked over to her side of the table, extended his hand and introduced himself. The young woman looked up at him, smiled, and said, “I am Wendy Bowman, it’s good to meet you.” As they exchanged introductions Don noticed just how cute Wendy was. With dark brown eyes, dark shoulder-length hair, bangs, a petite build, and fine features, Don found her exceedingly attractive. As they continued looking through the piles of books together, Don looked sideways at her. “So where are you from, Wendy?” Don asked. “I grew up in Texas, but my family moved to the Midwest when I was in high school,” she answered. This explained, Don thought, the slight Southern accent he had detected. “How about you?” Wendy asked. “I am from Kentucky, I’ve lived there my whole life. I mean up until now.” Don replied, realizing that what he had just said sounded like a bad joke. This made him feel momentarily awkward and inarticulate. “Well Don, I think I have all the books I need, so I am going to head back to my room.” As Wendy headed toward the cashier, Don grabbed the two remaining books he needed for the theology course and went to pay for them. Wendy and Don traded glances and smiles as Don stood behind her in the cashier line. When it came Don’s turn to pay he noticed Wendy talking to another female student in the hallway just outside the door to the bookstore. Finishing his purchase, Don walked out the door just as Wendy was climbing the stairs ahead of him. Catching up with her he asked her what she thought of the seminary so far. “It’s pretty much what I expected. I had an uncle who went here about twenty years ago. He helped prepare me and told me what to expect.”

      As they walked outside and down the steps of the building together, Don suddenly felt confused. He was strongly attracted to Wendy, and perhaps, if the attraction proved mutual, it was time for him to risk opening himself up to a relationship. Still, while she had been one of the first people on campus that had seemed open, and friendly, she also seemed to be out of his league. She appeared to be from the same middle- and upper-middle-class backgrounds as many of the other students. Don didn’t want to appear pushy, so at the bottom of the stairs he turned to her and said, “Well it was good to meet you, Wendy, I hope we run into each other again.” “It was good to meet you too, Don Campbell. I am sure we’ll see each other around, as well as in class.” Her tone had a slightly teasing quality to it. She also seemed to have a mix of both down-to-earth and formal ways about her.

      As Don headed back to his room, he was uncertain of whether she would become a friend, much less be someone he could ask out on a date. At least he had broken the ice with her. For now, though, he too would head back to his room and skim through the books he had just bought. He would soon be receiving the syllabi in the classes, with the reading schedules, but he could at least familiarize himself with the different course textbooks. Don would have his first class, Intro to the New Testament, the following morning, and these were the textbooks he would skim through first. He only wished his roommate was someone he felt more relaxed around.

      Don’s first week of classes went by uneventfully. Each professor seemed to have their own unique lecture style. His church history professor was a tall, thin, grey-haired man named Canfield, whose monotone lecturing style had many students bringing the largest cups of coffee they could to class. The subject matter had been somewhat disappointing as it was more of a history of Christian thought and theology than a course on the history of the church. A better title for the course, Don thought, might have been “Intro to a History of Long-Dead Theologians.” His Old Testament professor was a short, stocky man in his fifties, who wore wire-rimmed glasses, and always had on a “Raiders of the Lost Ark” type hat. Overall, though, he seemed to Don to be more scholarly than adventuresome. His theology professor, a middle-aged man named Wallace, was of medium height and build. At first glance, Wallace, who wore glasses and, as most of Don’s professors did, a suit and tie, also appeared scholarly and aloof. Don would soon learn that this was a misleading first impression, as Wallace often flashed a warm, welcoming smile that made him more approachable than his other professors.

      Wallace was the only one of his instructors who had been a pastor for over a decade before earning a doctorate and beginning his seminary teaching career. His pastoral experience was evident in the many illustrations he brought into the lectures from his ministry days. One illustration in particular had caught Don’s attention and had resonated with him. The lecture topic dealt with the theme of suffering in theology, one which Don was specifically interested in. As a young pastor in his first church, Wallace had learned that a couple had just lost their only child, a teenage girl, in a car accident. Wallace immediately headed over to the parent’s house. The wife greeted him at the door, her face distorted by grief. “Helen, I just heard the news, I am so sorry,” Wallace said, knowing how insufficient words were at a time like this. “I am really worried about my husband, I have never seen him so angry. He is in the back, chopping wood, I don’t know if he will even talk to you,” she had replied. Wallace nodded his head trying to convey a look of understanding. In reality, given his inexperience, he had no idea what he could possibly say that would be meaningful given the depth of this man’s grief. Wallace made his way around the side of the house, and came into the backyard just in time to see the father violently swing an axe down on a piece of wood sitting on a tree stump. As Wallace approached, he knew the husband had to know he was there but he kept splitting wood, ignoring the young pastor even when he came to stand on the other side of the stump. An awkward silence followed. Without looking up, the father, in an angry, defiant voice, said, “Pastor, if you have just come to offer a bunch of religious platitudes you can turn around and go back the way you came.” Wallace prayed silently for guidance from the Holy Spirit, and then started speaking, only intuiting what he shouldn’t say. The words that came out were, “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. All I know is that whatever it is, it is completely understandable.” Wallace continued to stand there for another few minutes, as the father continued to split wood, and then before turning around to leave, bowed his head and said a prayer, lifting up the father’s grief and anger to God for validation, and help. As Wallace turned around to leave and began walking away, he suddenly heard the words, “Thank you, Pastor.” When Wallace turned back to respond he noticed that the man had said these words while continuing to split wood and without looking up. Wallace stayed in touch with the parents, but was sure it was by not trying to fix anything, but merely affirming the nightmare they were experiencing as well as God’s presence, that he was able to minister to them. Wallace did not explain the story except to use it as an illustration for a theological understanding of the ministry of Christian presence. It would be one of many critical insights Don would gain over his first year at the seminary.

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