When I attended the Ph.D. program in Systematic Theology at Duquesne University, I had a marvelous professor named Dr. Marilyn Schaub. She taught Hebrew Bible and Palestinian Archeology and became my advisor and mentor. She retired when I was in my second year of the program but was kind enough to stay in touch. For years, we met once or twice a year for lunch until she was widowed and moved away to live closer to her daughter. She died in 2018 at the age of ninety.
Marilyn had a meek and humble heart. Though she was the professor in the room and in charge, she still found a way to stay in the background, to shine the light on her students, to let the course flow from their thinking, from their engagement with the material. She was well loved and admired by everyone at Duquesne. One of the other professors described her as an earth mother, and indeed she was, rooted, grounded, close to the earth, and providing nourishment for everyone who entered her orbit.
If you had asked me while I was taking classes at Duquesne, which professor influenced my intellectual learning the most, I would not have mentioned Marilyn. I loved her, but I did not at the time recognize all that I was learning from her. Other professors were shinier, wore their acumen on their sleeves, lectured brilliantly and deeply about subjects they had complete mastery over. Marilyn’s knowledge was deep and abiding, but hidden so deeply in her beautifully humble heart, you could easily miss it. The very spaciousness she provided, spaciousness that grew from how heartfelt and deep her knowledge was, prevented me from noticing it clearly. Yet, now I can say with ease, that Marilyn is the teacher, I think about most often. I remember everything I learned from her, lessons about Exodus, and deeper lessons about gentleness and kindness, about listening carefully to others, about never breaking a bruised reed, or quenching a dimly burning wick. When I have a day of low confidence, a day when I am feeling acutely sensitive and vulnerable, I think of Marilyn. Her memory gives me both comfort and inspiration.
There are times when I am profoundly afraid of God. God’s power, God’s demands, God’s righteousness, God’s glory, and God’s judgement terrify and haunt me. I know God’s mercy and forgiveness lie at the heart of the Christian tradition, yet theology and preaching often place great emphasis on our sins and on God’s judgement of our sins. It seems that most people I know can hear about sin and judgment and feel assured that as Christians they have been forgiven and can count on God’s mercy and grace. This is not true for me though. I believe this teaching of Christianity in my mind, yet deeper resonances within me can be stirred up and I find myself believing that God has forgiven everyone except me. I am terrified rather than comforted, falling helplessly into cascading waters of deep despair.
I have a few passages of scripture that provide a lifesaving raft in the midst of my swirling waters of doubt, a raft that might carry me quietly to the place in my heart where I shelter in God. One of those passages is the great invitation Jesus gives in Matthew, chapter eleven,
Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
Matthew 11: 28-29
Jesus reveals a powerful God concerned with justice who does not use power to dominate. Instead God meets us where we are, in the place suffering and oppression has carved out for us. Through Jesus, God enters that space and offers us the fullness of love, a love so abundant it challenges all of our understandings of love, a love so abundant, we have trouble recognizing it.
God’s glory does not crash in upon us, crushing us beneath its force. Instead, it waits for us to attend to it, to uncover it, to awaken to its life and light within us. The glory of God is so meek and humble, that we might not recognize it at first. We might only see it as we look back over our lives and notice moments we at first overlooked, moments when people loved us so much that their meek and humble hearts bathed us in light and provided us with the spaciousness to be.
