I have a habit of falling in love with my college classes. And it usually has a lot to do with the individual standing at the front of the classroom.

This past semester of college was no different.

When I signed up for a random honors course on religion, I didn’t have any expectations. The class fit well into my schedule and seemed moderately interesting. I hit the enroll button.

The first day of class, Professor Z walked in and told us that the subject of this class was “complete nonsense.” He said it was obscure, esoteric, and mostly useless. An offbeat blend of religion, comparative literature, history, and philosophy. Complete conjecture.

I was sold.

I was going to spend the semester studying a seemingly random sect of Christianity from the second century.

I remember leaving that first class absolutely grinning. And every class after, my feeling of joy usually increased.

Our class was small. There were only 12 of us, and while we never bonded on any personal level, there was a sense of camaraderie. Z would walk in the room, leather satchel in hand, and pull out his tattered copy of the gnostic scriptures. He would then make some completely ridiculous remark, and we would all chuckle, and the fond energy in the room was just so palpable.

I knew when Z said something particularly amusing, I could glance over at Robert next to me, and we would completely understand each other. Z was unique, and we were both happy to enjoy the experience together.

We would read ancient texts over the weekends, come into class completely confused, and then Z would somehow both engage in a dialogue and explain the literature at the same time. He always said that he was learning from us while he was teaching. And from the way he listened when we spoke, I knew that to be true.

I distinctly remember a moment a few weeks into the class. We had been discussing the cognitive parallels to the gnostic mythology. We were all participating, leaning forward, completely engaged, feeding off the energy.

I believe it was at that moment that Z become personally invested in our class. He smiled and said, “Well, that’s the course then. I’ve never had a class arrive at this depth of understanding so quickly. Let’s all just go home.”

After that, we were all just having fun.

My favorite class period happened about halfway through the semester. We were discussing salvation and working hard to understand the topic but completely failing. Z assured us that “if you can understand this, you can understand anything.”

He then did his absolute best to lead us through the complex philosophical depths, and I think I managed to briefly grasp the threads of the topic. It was exhilarating.

When our classes switched to online, it was this class I was most disappointed to lose.

We would all join the Zoom call at the same class times, but it was never quite the same.

If I logged into class a few minutes early, Z would be there chatting with other early students. He would often ask people how they were doing and then respond to the same question with complete candor.

One week he said: “This is becoming unbearable.”

I had to agree.

Another week he said he was having a hard time concentrating on his work

And I had to agree with that as well.

There is just something refreshing about an individual with so much institutional power giving it up so easily. By letting us in on his own human struggles, he brought us all to the same table. We were in this together.

On the last day of class, he told us that he was grateful for us. That he had greatly enjoyed teaching our group.

I believe the feeling was mutual.