Home » Academics » Prof's Office » Office Hours

Office Hours: None of Yer Bizness

"Are you Professor —"

After five seconds I looked up. The fellow who had spoken was standing at my door, trying to smooth the crumples from a scrap of paper. He held it up close to his eyes.

"— Theoptimus?" he asked peevishly.

I shook my head and went back to my grading.

"Am I close?"

"Depends on what you call close."

"Look," he burst out. "Are you the guy who writes the article?"

"Let me see your piece of paper," I said wearily. He handed it over.

"Isn't this a PH?"

He looked. "It might be."

"And how about here? This couldn't be an M. There's only one hump."

"I guess not. My handwriting's not great."

"If it's not an M, what do you think it is?"

"Maybe an L."

"Then you're looking for someone named Theophilus."

"You're right. Where's the sonuvawhatsit's office?

I spread my palms to indicate the room.

"You're Theophilus?"

"Yes. I am the sonuvawhatsit."

He sank slowly into a chair. I laid down my grading pencil and wondered what I was in for. "Make yourself at home."

"Sorry I called you a sonuvawhatsit."

"Think nothing of it. But you have me at a disadvantage."

"What? Oh, you mean what's my name. I'm Travis."

"You mentioned an article."

"That's right. The one you wrote for True Glue."

"I've written a number of them. Can you say which one?"

"Well, I didn't read it. But my girlf — my friend Audrey did." He scowled. "That's the problem."

"Help me out," I said. "I wrote an article, which was read by your friend Audrey, who is a friend but not a girlfriend — is that right? And somehow this caused you a problem."

"I'll say it did. If you don't mind my asking, who died and made you God?"

"Unpack that a little, will you?"

"You meddled."

"I'm still not following you."

"Who people date is none of yer bizness. I came here to tell you in person."

"I see. What did I say exactly?"

"That people shouldn't date people who have different religious preferences." He looked at me with exasperation. "Hey! Hey! What're you laughing about?"

"Sorry," I said. "I just can't imagine myself phrasing it that way. Religious preferences? Give me a break."

"What's so funny about saying 'preferences'?"

"It makes embracing a faith sound like choosing between strawberry and blueberry cheesecake. The question isn't what's tasty, but what's true."

"You must have said something like that."

"From time to time I've discussed how unwise it is for Christians to marry people who don't share their relationship with Christ. It's like saying 'I want to share everything with you — except what's Most Important.'"

"Don't change the subject. The issue is dating, not marriage."

"The two issues are connected. What kind of sense does it make to date someone you can't marry? Isn't finding a spouse what dating is for?"

He clenched his hands to his head like the top might blow off. "I'm not hearing this insanity."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"What do you think happened, Mr. Professor Sir?"

"You became seriously interested in the girl. You proposed spending time with her. And then?"

"She said no. Thanks to you."

I smiled. "I doubt that I have so much influence."

"Not exactly. She did have reservations. We'd talked about them a lot. But your article settled her mind. That's why I'm here. Like I said, it's none of yer bizness who Audrey dates. You're not even entitled to an opinion."

"Who Audrey dates is nobody's business but Audrey's, is that it?"

"Now you've got it."

"Then I suppose it's not your business either."

"That's different. She's my girlfriend."

"Didn't you tell me she's not your girlfriend?"

"She would have been my girlfriend."

"Uh huh. And she cut you off" — I snapped my fingers — "just like that?"

"Right. Just the other day. We were having coffee at Starblunks. That's when she dropped the bomb. I was pretty upset. I don't get this whole God thing. She didn't have time to explain because she had to get to class, so we talked about it later over lunch. I told her all my objections, and we're going to meet Saturday to discuss it some more."

I laughed again. "I wouldn't worry too much about not being able to date her, Travis."

"Why not?"

"You are dating her. Your form of relationship is talking about why you can't have a relationship."

He thought it over. "I guess you're right. Does that mean she is my girlfriend?"

I shrugged.

"But that's not logical."

"It's not," I said, "but girls do it all the time. Some people call it 'missionary dating.'"

"And people like you are OK with that?"

I smiled. "No, I think it's nuts. Don't you?"

"Yeah. I guess it is nuts. Why would a girl act that way?"

"Lots of reasons. Maybe the fact that you're not a Christian makes you seem more dangerous to her, and therefore more attractive. Maybe talking together about how you can't share the Most Important Thing seems romantic to her, because it's still about the Most Important Thing. Maybe converting you would deepen her sense of possessing you, because she'd feel that you did it all for her. And maybe," I reflected, "I shouldn't be telling you all this."

"Why not?"

"Because some guys use non-belief as a way to make themselves interesting to Christian girls. 'Help me, babe. I'm agnostic, and I can't help myself.'"

"Girls are weird." He shot me a suspicious look. "I didn't come here to agree with you."

"And yet here you are agreeing. How about that. Who knows where it all may lead?"

"What I want to know is — listen, do you have a little time?"

"Now you ask." I waved at a stack of papers. "It beats grading essays. But you have to make it quick. In a few minutes I have to leave for class."

"All right, quick. What I want to know is, so what that I'm not a Christian? Does that mean I've got bubonic plague or something? Why is it so important? Besides, I've been through all that church stuff. I was raised Christian. My family was religious. When I was little, they even took me to Sunday School. I sang "Kumbaya" and felt all spiritual for a few years, but it didn't take."

"Which question do you want me to answer — whether you have the plague, why it's so important, or why faith didn't take?"

"I thought it was all one thing."

"It's at least three things."

"Then start with whether I have the plague."

"We all have a plague. It's called sin."

He raised his hands and made a face like the figure in Munch's painting of The Scream.*

"Very funny," I observed. "But if you really were dying of bubonic plague and refused the attentions of the doctor, wouldn't that be a matter of concern? Cut off from the Source of Life, we are all dying. I mean dying spiritually."

"You're saying that because I don't believe in God, I'm morally worse than other people?"

"I have no idea what your morals may be like. That's the wrong question. Imagine two people who both have the plague. One isn't very sick yet, but has no help, and is getting sicker all the time. The other has only barely escaped from death, but is under the care of the physician, and is getting better all the time."

"OK, I'm imagining. What is that story supposed to show?"

"That the most important thing isn't how sick you are, but whether you're dying or recovering."

"I admit that you have a point."

"Do you want to talk about the second issue — why it's so important?"

"You've answered that already. I mean, if I do have the plague. Which of course I don't believe. And which you'll never get me to believe."

"Do you want to talk about why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll come back some other time and ask you about that. But not now. Talk about the third issue."

"Refresh my memory, Travis. What was it again?"

"Why faith didn't take."

"All right. Reverse the metaphor. We were speaking of sin as the infection; instead think of faith as the infection. I mean a good infection, one that heals you. Sin is infection with death; faith is infection with life."

"You're painting with a pretty broad brush, Prof."

"You're the one who raised this issue when I only have a few minutes left."

"OK. Keep talking."

"Do you know how vaccines work?"

"Sure. You inject a guy with weakened virus. That makes him just a little sick, and just for a little while. But it stimulates his immune system, so when the strong viruses come along, he's ready for them. He's got antibodies."

"Figuratively speaking, could that be what happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps you've been vaccinated. Inoculated."

"Against what?"

"Against Christianity. When you were small, you were exposed to a weakened form of the virus. You sang "Kumbaya" and 'felt all spiritual' for a few years, but then it all came to an end. You had just enough exposure to stimulate your immune system. Now you have antibodies, and they go into action automatically."

"Come on. I'm an intelligent person. 'Automatically' — isn't that a little strong?"

"Is it? Think how you reacted when I used the word 'sin.'"

"I made a face."

"Exactly. Would you say that you reflected thoughtfully? Or that you responded automatically?" I glanced at my watch and stood up.

"OK, OK. No. I did not reflect thoughtfully."

I gathered my lecture notes. He stood up too. "Wouldn't you say you're old enough to begin doing that now?"

C O F F E E  S H O P

---

What advice would you give Travis?

Join the discussion!

It wasn't much of a challenge, but I couldn't think of a better one, and we were out of time.

To my surprise, he shook my hand. "Maybe I am."

You never know.