"My Brothers, My Sisters":

Last night was the first session of the class on Rastafari Religion. I have been looking forward to this class for months, and have heard nothing but good things about the professor. I was not disappointed. He is Jamaican, and although he has been in the States for nearly thirty years, his accent is still thick. And wonderful. I could listen to that all day. He does return home several times a year, and is still a principle exam and dissertation reader for the University in Kingston, so it is no mystery why he has not lost a bit of his accent.

He is not a Rasta, but he brings to this class first-hand knowledge of the culture. He was an eye-witness to the rise of this movement, and has been personally affected by it. He is an ordained Baptist minister, and the son of a Baptist minister. His mother was the organist in their church. When he was a little boy, he watched a Rasta burn a copy of the Bible on the steps of his father's church. In spite of this, (or perhaps because of it) he remains fair and balanced, respecting their individual rights, their autonomy as fellow human beings; and instead of condemning them has delved deeper into their culture/religion.

This regard is not reserved for the Rastas. One has the impression that this man is endowed with an integrity, a personal ethic, and world view that simply will not allow him to lack respect, charity, or love for any person. Including his students. Every opinion is respected, every voice is encouraged and heard. We are, as he calls us, his brothers and sisters. I've never been asked in any class by any teacher or professor, "Sister, what is your name?" Everyone is "Brother Christopher" or "Sister Jennifer." His use of these terms is in no way forced or artificial. It is as natural to him as breathing; a result of his genteel, Baptist, British/Afro-Caribbean upbringing. And in those three hours I experienced moments of grace and a true sense of home, family, and community that has been all too rare in my Seminary experience thus far.

We started the class with a little Bob Marley and some Peter Tosh, and spent a great deal of time discussing marijuana. I would have been very surprised if neither of those things happened! My only regret is that I did not have the opportunity to tell him how I almost started a political uprising in Jamaica. Perhaps another time...Oh, I'm not going to tell you, either! You'll just have to keep checking in to see if I share that story!