Remembering Mrs. Rudolph (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

What was I doing in a remedial English class?

The full answers are complicated and must be saved for another time. The short version: my prior year English teacher had recommended it. Granted, it was a first-world problem (like all of my problems), but as a freshly minted high schooler, I was in shock.

Just to be clear, this was not a language class like Spanish or French. This was the U.S. schools version of English (i.e., grammar): a class about reading literature, identifying themes, writing papers, crafting declarative sentences, etc.

I had always loved reading, and in recent times had begun to enjoy writing, as well. With each passing year, school had become more interesting to me. I was excited about the new adventures I supposed were coming my way at the high school.

But, no. At least not in English.

It was a very difficult year for me. Despite realizing pretty quickly that I was improperly slotted, my English teacher was unable to correct the situation, though she tried. I stayed the entire school year. I lost hope. Things got so bad, I actually considered dropping out of school (which was allowed at age 16). I came to think of that year as my "low year."

And then, just when I had decided that school, at least school like that, was not for me, Mrs. Rudolph rescued me.

In the church calendar, November 1st is All Saints Day, the time set aside to remember those who have gone before; fathers and mothers of the church, martyrs, our own loved ones, and, not incidentally, those significant others who helped shape our lives. And so I pause to remember Rosemary Rudolph, teacher extraordinaire.

I had known her since my early childhood; she and her husband lived directly across 21st Street from us. So, perhaps when she heard about my unusual predicament through the English teacher grapevine, she recognized my name. I'm not sure how she came to be involved. I just know that at the critical moment, I was directed to go to a certain room and there was Mrs. Rudolph offering a possible way out.

The room, a precursor to today's reading labs, was intended for people who had problems reading. But Mrs. Rudolph explained to me that we (oh, how I cherished that word!) would be using it to measure and document my reading ability. She told me it would cost me a study hall twice a week, but promised me that if I could perform well there, I could have a chance to move into an English class more suited to my abilities. I don't know if she knew just how at-risk I was. Maybe. Or maybe she just wanted to collect some assessments more objective than the opinions of one individual.

There are many fine teachers toiling away in our public schools; low pay, little spare time, working far more hours than most of us. And I am privileged to know a few of them. These folks deserve our thanks and more. There are many stories about sacrifices teachers have made for their students.

Mrs. Rudolph was NOT my teacher; on her own, she came up with a scheme to use the reading lab assessment tools to prove I was a good reader and writer, and she arranged with who-knows-how-many in the faculty and administration for me to spend two study halls each week working there. That seems above and beyond to me. It was remarkable that anyone, especially a teacher who did not have me in class, was taking time away from what I know was a packed workday to try to fix the problem!

I did my part: I delivered good work in my English class, gave the reading lab my all, and made good grades in my other classes. And Mrs. Rudolph did hers. When the next school year rolled around, I found I was assigned to an English class more commensurate with my skills and abilities:

Mrs. Rudolph's.

We read a lot in Mrs. Rudolph's class, and we wrote a lot. Yes, I found it challenging, especially following an entire year where the greatest challenges were not academic, but rather boredom and depression. Oh, don't think I considered my "low year" a wasted year. What one may have meant for ill, God meant for good. I learned several lessons that "low" year in English, just not a lot on the topic. From my classmates, I learned that a person's value is not related to their academic performance; that some people just need a little help to move past the thing that's holding them back; and, perhaps most importantly, I learned that friendships need not always be with people who are like us. Different is good.

Mrs. Rudolph has passed from this world. But she is well remembered, and not just by me. In her obituary, I read that the Board of Education conferred on her the coveted "Most Inspiring Teacher" Award a few years ago. Mrs. Rudolph loved the Lord, and that relationship was the energy that moved her through this world and the compass that guided her actions. She embodied, and not just for me, the commandment to "love your neighbor as yourself."

A saint, indeed.
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I am including both the regular Lectionary readings and this for All Saints Day; readers choice.

http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 26 (31) (November 1, 2015)
First reading and Psalm
Ruth 1:1-18
Psalm 146
Alternate First reading and Psalm
Deuteronomy 6:1-9
Psalm 119:1-8
Second reading
Hebrews 9:11-14
Gospel
Mark 12:28-34

All Saints Day (November 1, 2015)
First reading and Psalm
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 24
Second reading
Revelation 21:1-6a
Gospel
John 11:32-44

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We're having a great time Friday mornings at Lectionary Breakfast. Join us and spend some time with saints-still-becoming. We read, discuss, nosh, and laugh (not necessarily in that order). We meet at 8:00 at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant for about an hour.

You would love it 😇

Enjoy the week!
Steve

Passing Away

Passing Away (a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I have never been very good at endings.

I remember reading a comment one author made about his craftwork where he indicated he thought he wrote good beginnings and great middles, but that he had trouble with endings. Man! Do I get that! When I am in the flow of it; when my characters are doing interesting things, going interesting places, speaking interesting dialog ... it is SO hard to shut the door on that.

But it is not just in the realm of writing that I have this challenge. I hate to come to the end of the books I'm reading. Orson Scott Card, opining on the craft of writing, claimed the sad ending is not the opposite of the happy ending. He reserved that dishonor for the unsatisfying ending. And I agree.

I am coming to an ending of something that has given me great joy for several years, and I am very reluctant to be done. Some years ago I decided to read all of Ed McBain's 87th Precinct novels, in order. Just so you have the picture: he wrote almost 60 of these, starting in 1956 and continuing until just a few years ago (I think he published his last in 2008). This was a tall order.

Since I wanted to read them in order, I needed to start with books first published in the mid-1950's. So, part of the fun was the hunt! My family can testify that I have haunted every used book store in my path, be it in Seattle or San Diego, Boston or Kennebunk, Sitka or Quebec, Texas or DC. And, yes, I even made a point of going to 84 Charing Cross Road when I was in London. You never know where you will find that next book. And, little by little, I did find them.

Over the years, I have been with these fictional people through good times and bad. I have watched them become parents and struggled along with them as they attempted to raise their kids they best way they knew how. I was there when some of them met harm in service to the greater good, and was saddened when some of them didn't recover. [Little plug here: If you ever enjoyed an episode of Hill Street Blues, Law & Order, or NYPD Blue, you may want to take a look at these. All of those trace their roots right back to the 87th Precinct.]

But now, after all these years, I have come to the very last book. I had to skip this one, initially. I found and read the two on either side of it, but I could never locate this particular one (it came out in 1976). Oh, I could have ordered a hardcopy from one of those websites, but that was not part of the game at the time. Now, because ALL of them have become available on Kindle, I am going to read it electronically.

And I am reluctant to start. But I am going to start. And I am going to read it. Partly because I just can't stand to not know what happened. But it is also partly due to the fact that I have learned something important about endings: they aren't really endings.

They are transition points.

True; this particular thing is ending, but it leads to something else. That is the reality. What we have to do is stop looking at endings like they are stopping points, find a way to see where they lead. Because there is always a "next." There's a reason graduation is called "Commencement." It says in 1st Corinthians: "the present form of this world is passing away." And that is true. But it is only part of the truth.

There is something else coming to replace it.

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Third Sunday after the Epiphany (January 22, 2012)
Jonah 3:1-5, 10
Psalm 62:5-12
1 Corinthians 7:29-31
Mark 1:14-20