That summer Jerry signed up for intensive Greek, a requirement for the Presbyterian ministry. The operative word was “intensive.” What was normally accomplished over nine months of an academic year would be done in six weeks. Instead of one hour classes three times a week there would be six hours of classes Monday through Friday. He had no choice. There wasn’t any room to schedule the class during his senior year.
On his first day, Jerry squatted, pivoted and plopped into a chair in a non-air conditioned, muggy classroom. Professor Story droned on while Jerry sweated. His stomach wrenched into a knot.
Something wrong calling…again, but he couldn’t just get up and take a long walk.
Internally, an apocalyptic battle was underway. On one side, his church voice, all wool suit and required attendance; on the other side , his creature comfort voice, all live in the moment and do what feels good. Creature comfort was telling him to get the hell out of here, now. Church voice was saying if you want to be ordained you have to fulfill all requirements and this is one of them .
Again, shades of basketball camp and Bard College, why does it have to be so hard, he thought. God can’t possibly want his people to suffer so much. And in this case, for what? One summer wouldn’t make him a Greek scholar, so it would be foolish to trust his own translations. Better to trust scholars who have made careers out of it. Rebellion lurked. Quitting beckoned. But he liked working with kids he didn’t want to jeopardize that. And he still hoped seminary would bring him closer to God. What to do; what to do.
***
Jerry trundled into Speer Library and parked himself in a study carol. He flashed through his vocabulary work cards. If only. Rather, he worked through his vocabulary flash cards. His hands dripped. His first exam was tomorrow.
He looked up. Outside the window, a young mom leaned against a tree trunk. Her barefoot child scampered around like a puppy, arms spread wide, feet churning, laughter spilling.
Jerry sighed. Oh, to be that child; to have that kind of joie de vivre. That had to be what God wanted of his children, that kind of celebration, that kind of exuberance about this magic called life. It had to be.
How could this drudgery be required in order to minister to others? What inspiration deemed it so? Whenever he asked an ordained minister why Greek was a Presbyterian requirement for ordination he would only get a shrug of the shoulders, a nod of compassion and an encouragement to just do it. Methinks something is rotten in Denmark.
He bowed his head as if in prayer and continued. Sweat pooled under his hands.
***
Jerry joined Nancy at breakfast.
“I’d like to pray with you,” Jerry said over eggs.
“Oh?”
“I’m having a hard time with Greek, a hard time staying focused. It’s not sticking in my brain. I just don’t like it. Well, actually I hate it.”
Nancy laughed, covering her mouth.
“Oh, Jerry, I hate it too. It’s like castor oil.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “Let’s pray.
“Lord Jesus,” she started, “our constant companion, friend and champion, we reach out to you for strength. Help Jerry get through his class. It’s all Greek to him….” She paused, tittered, stopped herself, a bolder laugh escaped, stopped herself again, then the brakes fell off. She choked on her laughter. Tears streamed down her face. Egg came out of her nose.
“I’m so sorry, Jerry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” She grabbed hold of the table with one hand for support. “Really,” she raised a finger, “Hold on.” She took a big breath. “OK.”
Jerry bowed his head.
“Jesus…,” she sputtered, howled, slapping the table. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
***
Nancy never came back to class.
Jerry wondered what finally broke her. Was it during their church history class when they were taught that certain quotes attributed to Jesus were actually authored by the newly forming Christian church? The founding fathers bolstered their shaky authority by putting words in the dead Jesus’ mouth, quotes about apostolic succession or the elements of communion.
Determining what within the Gospels were actual statements by the historical Jesus and what were later insertions by the early church was an academic pursuit unto itself. One method of determination utilized the synoptic Gospels which placed the Gospel stories in parallel columns so that one could observe what texts appeared in all the Gospels and what only in one or two. If a statement appeared in all four that was a pretty good sign that it was authentic. So much for the word of God. Is that what broke her?
Or maybe it was during New Testament Hermeneutics when they delved into the Second Coming. In Matthew 16:28, Jesus says, “Truly I say to you, there are some of those who are standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom.” This is repeated more or less in Mark and Luke, a good sign that this was an authentic quote. Two thousand years later, where’s the Second Coming? Was it a bogus prediction?
Yet in Mark 1:15, Jesus says, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.” So the Kingdom is already here? It was pointed out that “at hand” is the Greek verb “coming” and it’s in the perfect present tense, that is, the Kingdom has come and is in the process of coming at the same time. Perhaps for those who accept Christ as the Son of God, the Kingdom is here; perhaps the Apocalypse isn’t a one time cataclysmic event but a one by one, personal event.
Nancy probably didn’t like that either.
Maybe to this masculine ethos – suffering is good for you; no pain, no gain; make it hurt to prove you’re a man – she stood up and said, nunh unh, I don’t have to go this route for my faith. I believe in the Bible. I don’t need all these smarty pants scholars ripping it apart, dissecting it, exposing all these authors and their agendas, don’t bother me with that. It’s my Bible, and it’s the voice of God, and there is one road to the Kingdom and that is through Jesus. I’m good, and I don’t have to take your exams, and I don’t have to take your Blue Books.
Yeah, maybe that’s why she quit. Well, God bless her, Jerry thought. I hope I run into her on the other side
***
After class, Jerry spotted Professor Story dashing to his car. Dr. Story was straight out of central casting for a 50s movie replete with horn rimmed glasses, slicked down hair tightly parted, short sleeve shirt wilted by the humidity and polyester trousers with the permanent crease.
“Dr. Story, a word?”
Professor Story stopped in his tracks and turned.They were at the front door of his car and fortunately in the shade of a tall maple. Its leaves waved lazily from a desultory breeze.
“Oh?” His sagging jowls shored up a drooping smile.
“I’ve got a problem. This is just not my thing. I’m really struggling with it.” Jerry didn’t quite know how to put it. “I just don’t think learning Greek, and superficially learning it, is going to bring me any closer to God. I think it’s just some kind of requirement cooked up by the fraternity of Presbyterian ministers, and now I’m being hazed into doing it. Ya know?
“That’s quite an indictment, Mr. Kradleman.” His voice was kind yet with a slight gravelly sound like he needed to clear something out.
“It’s taking joy out of my life. And I don’t think that’s what God wants. I really don’t understand why we have to do this.”
Dr. Story’s smile lost out to his encroaching jowls. “I don’t either, frankly. I doubt any graduates use this in preparing their sermons. However I do think it gives you a richer knowledge of the Word.”
“All the pressure and remembering and testing. It hurts, like I’m actually harming myself. And yet if I don’t finish, I won’t be ordained.”
Dr. Story set his jaw and started to speak. Then he stopped himself. He turned and looked away across the campus quad. A couple of students flicked a frisbee back and forth. Dr. Story sighed and turned back to Jerry, “Just show up, I’ll make sure you pass.”
Jerry stared at him. Was this a joke?
“Between you and me. Got it?” continued Dr. Story. “The grace of God, Mr. Kradleman. Study that.”
Dr. Story climbed into his Chevrolet Caprice.
“Thank you,” Jerry yelled to the car as it moseyed away.
***
Each day Jerry shuffled to class; each night he struggled through new vocabulary, new syntaxes and new verb tenses. All the while he resisted the siren song of disco from across the way: Jerry knew full well Sam was in there smoking a joint (or two), drinking a beer (or three), playing a backgammon game (or four) and eating messy, yummy gyros (lost count).
***
Jerry aced the class.