Absence
There was a theological scholar who was reviewing the course of
his life. He remembered the many difficulties which he had to endure
in order to acquire his knowledge, as well as the considerable
dedication and sacrifices that had been required to reach his current
position in life.
He had been gifted with a near photographic memory, and
through persistence and much struggle, he had been able to learn all
of the holy scriptures and sayings of the great prophets and saints of
his tradition. He was known, far and wide, for his encyclopedic
command of the vast literature which encompassed his religion.
As he reminisced about his career, he felt a familiar sadness
creep into his consciousness. This sadness had haunted him for much
of his life, and it seemed to revolve about the fact that although he
was a very accomplished scholar, nevertheless, there seemed to be
something which was missing in his understanding that he could
never quite identify, despite having spent many nights meditating on
the issue.
Although he was semi-retired, he still gave a number of classes
at the local university. These courses were always filled with
individuals wishing to both learn from him as well as be a part of
history in the sense of being able to say that, once upon a time, they
had studied with such a scholarly legend.
In one of the courses, there was group of students whom the
scholar did not exactly appreciate because they seemed to be
constantly searching for some flaw in his knowledge. Fortunately, the
scholar always had been able to produce quotes, sources, evidence,
and so on, to silence them, but each time he entered the room for the
problematic class - or, at least, the class with the problematic
individuals, he experienced a certain amount of trepidation, not
knowing quite what to expect.
Today was the time for that class to meet again. After he had
delivered his lecture for the day, he opened the session up to
questions.
Nervously, he eyed the side of the room where his problematic
students usually sat, but, they were all quiet -- at least, for the
moment. On the other side of the room, a young lady raised her
hand, and the professor pointed in her direction and invited a
question.
The woman said: “I am just auditing this course on behalf of the
administration, but I have found your presentation to be well-
prepared, and, if I may, I would like to follow up on one of the things
which you discussed.”
The professor smiled and nodded his head in a way which
conveyed both a sense of acknowledgment and assent to her request.
He waited for her to continue.
The young woman began: “In your lecture, you talked about a
saying which described an encounter between God and a human
being who, if I remember correctly, was being chastised by Divinity
because the individual had failed to visit God when God was ill, or
feed God when God was hungry, or quench the thirst of God when
God was thirsty. You went on to explain that the person being
chastised had wondered how it was possible for God, Who that
person considered perfect and beyond all needs, to be ill, hungry or
thirsty. You further informed us that at this point the individual was
told by Divinity that God had been with a certain man who was sick,
and the person being chastised had not visited that ill man, and, in
addition, there had been a woman who had been hungry, and a child
who had been thirsty, both of whom God had been with, and, yet, the
man being chastised had not fed the woman, nor quenched the thirst
of the boy.
“Is my understanding of things correct, so far?” asked the
woman.
The scholar shook his head in the affirmative, adding: “And,
your question?”
“Do you agree with the implication of the story you have told?
That is, do you attempt to implement its moral and, therefore, try to
be with someone who is sick, or feed someone who is hungry, or
quench the thirst of someone who is thirsty, not only because these
are good things to do but because you know that God is present with
such people and God is witness to what we do or don’t do in these
respects?”
Put off somewhat by the challenging nature, if not sheer
effrontery, of her query, nevertheless, the professor gathered his
composure. While he was thinking of what to say, the thought
crossed his mind that, possibly, the troublemakers in his course had
been fermenting dissension outside the classroom, and, for whatever
reason, the administration had decided to investigate.
Sensing there was more to the question than appeared on the
surface, and uncertain as to who was behind things, he tried to give
a measured answer. “Well, young lady, naturally, no human being
can be with everyone all the time, and there are limits to what can be
expected of any individual, nonetheless, I do try to help out the
needy, and, therefore, the answer to your question is ‘yes’ – I have
visited the sick, and I have fed the hungry, and I have given water to
the thirsty, although, I am sure there is probably much more that I
could have and should have done in order to help people out.”
As soon as the professor had finished, the woman responded:
“Whatever else you may have done, I believe there is someone quite
close to you who was ill, hungry, and sick, but you ignored that
individual.”
A wave of shock went through the classroom. People seemed to
be divided over whether the woman’s comments were rude and
uncalled for, or whether they were about to hear revelations of
spousal and/or child abuse.
There were others who thought the whole situation rather
amusing. However, the professor and the young woman were not
among this latter group.
The scholar was nonplused by the turn of events. He didn’t quite
know how to reply to the woman.
The woman turned to the rest of the class and said: “The
professor is not the only one who has failed in this regard. Many of
the rest of you also are guilty of the same thing.”
Now, that the fitting of the shoe had turned away from the
professor, some of the titters had changed to murmurs of
indignation. Angry remarks arose from various sections of the
classroom, especially from among those who often liked to give the
professor a hard time.
The professor appealed for quiet. When things had calmed down
somewhat, he turned to the woman and said: “Perhaps, you would
care to explain yourself.”
The woman wasted little time in taking advantage of the
opportunity afforded her, and remarked: “Professor, you are a very
knowledgeable and kind man. You have, indeed, visited many who
were sick, as well as fed those who were hungry, or quenched the
thirst of the thirsty, but I still maintain there is someone whom you
have missed in this regard.”
The professor, who had a photographic memory, wracked his
brain, trying to identify the individual whom he might have failed.
Try as he might, no one came to mind, and, finally, he shrugged his
shoulders, looking to the woman for some sort of answer, and, yet,
fearing what she might say.
The woman smiled at the professor and said: “For years, your
soul has been ill and although God has been with your soul night and
day, yet, you have not visited God there. For years, you have been
hungering for the Divine Presence, but you have not taken the time
to feed yourself spiritually, rather, you were preoccupied with the
information contained in books, and for years, you have been thirsty
for knowledge concerning the reality of Divine unity, but you have
not quenched your thirst, merely read about the Oasis in the desert.”
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