Yoder: The Professor Learns the Truth
By Kathy Yoder
He used to think education was the most important thing in the world. His thirst for knowledge drove him. It was like he lived in a desert and couldn’t find water. He was always on the brink of collapse, until he opened a book. Then his well was filled again.
Like his companion, Eddie the cat, he had nine lives. The first eight he spent on accumulating knowledge like others accumulate wealth. When he had more knowledge than he knew what to do with, he took his box of degrees and became a professor, sharing his knowledge with his students. They, in turn, lorded their knowledge over younger students.
He was proud. They were the children he never had, teaching them three times a week, but influencing their lives full time. They seemed independent, but depended on him to fill their bowls with knowledge. They came back year after year, becoming older versions of him with the passing of each calendar page.
One student, a quiet girl in the back named Sarah, caught his attention early in the semester. She rarely spoke but listened intently, her eyes bright with thought. One day, she raised her hand. “But what if knowledge isn’t enough? What about meaning?” He smirked, deflecting with a quip about philosophy being a luxury for the idle. Her question lingered, though, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
He was a nice guy; mostly kind, opinionated, and funny. He was the frosting on the cake, but his cake was crumbling. He had the courage of his convictions, but they weren’t really his convictions. They came from his former professors.
God? Of course not. He told his students, “If you’re so weak minded that you need God or some other supreme being – other than me…” This always brought laughs. “…then please drop this class and enroll in children’s literature or some other namby pamby fantasy class. When you walk through that door,” he said, pointing to the entrance, “you’re here to question everything. I’ve studied the world’s religions, and I’ve found no evidence for a supreme being. Rely on reason, not fairy tales.” Sarah’s gaze met his during this speech, steady and unyielding, as if she saw through his bravado.
God was an old relic that he forgot to dust, sitting in the corner of his unused living room. God was the peculiar aunt that no one talked about and who was never invited to family get-togethers. God was the joke at the end of his lectures. God never sat down with him at the table or looked over his shoulder or gave him encouragement. He’d asked for God’s help once, when his deeply religious parents were dying, but God ignored him. Yet, late at night, when Eddie’s purring filled the silence, he sometimes wondered if he’d been too quick to dismiss their faith. Sarah’s question echoed in those moments, a quiet challenge he couldn’t fully shake.
“What a lot of hooey phooey,” he thought one day as he graded papers. “I loved my parents, but they were wrong, weak and old fashioned. I don’t need their outdated beliefs. My life is just great. I’m so busy I don’t even have time to catch my breath!” One student’s essay—Sarah’s—dared to mention “divine purpose.” He scribbled a sarcastic comment in the margin but paused, feeling an unfamiliar pang. Her words stirred a memory of his parents’ prayers. He shook it off, blaming the late hour.
Weeks later, Sarah lingered after class, clutching her notebook. “Professor, I don’t mean to pry, but… do you ever feel empty, even with all your knowledge?” Her voice was soft but direct. He chuckled, brushing it off. “Empty? Hardly. My mind’s too full for that.” But her words stuck, like a pebble in his shoe, unsettling him as he walked home.
Eddie the cat walked into the room and the old professor looked at him with an odd realization. “Eddie’s the most important relationship I have.” His chest tightened, gripping him with pain. “Eddie, dial 911.” He fell out of his chair and crawled. Like a man in the desert searching for one drop of water, he tried to reach the phone. He tried to yell, but his voice was gone. Eddie the cat looked at him as if to say, “Isn’t it feeding time?”
The professor passed out, coming to in the ambulance, hearing the sirens but feeling displaced like a casual observer. In that moment, Sarah’s questions, his parents’ faith, and the emptiness of his knowledge collided. He knew the truth: God does exist. “I was… wrong.”
“What did he say?” one EMT asked the other.
“Nothing, man. He’s not going to make it.”
The professor heard them. He prayed, “Lord, don’t take me now. I need to tell my students the truth. I need to tell them the truth!”
It was seen as a fluke to some and a miracle to others. The professor survived his massive coronary. He returned to class, weaker but changed. He told his students about his heart attack, about finding God. Sarah lingered after class, her eyes shining. “I’m glad you’re okay, Professor. And… I’ve been praying for you.” Her words startled him, but they warmed his heart. He realized she’d been a quiet beacon, guiding him toward truth.
He spent his ninth life with Eddie the cat and with his students. As he learned more about God, he passed it on, especially to Sarah, who joined him in discussions about faith after class. Instead of merely filling their heads with facts, he helped them fill their hearts with Jesus. Sarah shared her own story of faith, inspiring others to seek meaning beyond knowledge.
Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer. She is reachable at kathyyoder4@gmail.com and kathyyoder.com.
