by Leland Ryken, Clyde S. Kilby Professor of English Emeritus (Spring 2004)

Sabbatical. Noun. A year or half year of absence for study, rest, or travel, given at intervals, originally every seven years, to teachers, in some colleges and universities. This dictionary definition confirms again what I regularly tell my students in my literature courses-that abstraction and propositional discourse, for all their usefulness, never do justice to human experience as actually lived.

It is doubtless risky for me as a teacher to say that my recently completed sabbatical semester was my best semester in 36 years on Wheaton’s faculty, but…last semester was my best semester at Wheaton.

What my sabbatical semester gave me more than anything else was leisure of a certain type.The word leisure is traceable back to the French word leisir, from the Latin licere, meaning, “to be allowed.” Our word license comes from the same root.

What did I have license to do while on my glorious sabbatical? I was free to pursue a wide range of research and writing projects without intrusions. I was still sometimes the first person to arrive at the office and the last to leave, but since it was something I was free to do rather than obliged to do, even that felt leisurely. In addition, I woke up without the sense of latent anxiety that I feel even after all these years when I wake up knowing that I need to stand before an audience.

My sabbatical gave me the freedom to speak around the country in a way not allowed by my teaching routine-at Milton conferences in Tennessee and Pittsburgh, a Reformation Day in Dayton, a writer’s conference in Virginia, a theology conference in Atlanta, colleges in Alabama, a Christianity-and-the-arts conference in Kansas City.

I also had license to do some of my study and writing in sites far removed from Wheaton, and the result was a feeling of accomplishment with a “value-added” sense of refreshment and expanded horizons. My ongoing scholarly project is to contextualize Milton’s sonnets in a Puritan milieu. It was more invigorating to work on it at a chalet in Wisconsin and a hunting estate in Maryland than in my office.

All of my previous leaves of absence have been conducted under severe time pressure to meet a publishing deadline. I resolutely refused to let it happen this time, and it is one of the best decisions of my scholarly life.

In my writings on work and leisure, I have asserted that leisure must be felt as leisure before it genuinely is such. The sabbatical allowed me to translate that theory into practice, and I am grateful.

The following statement was included at the time of publication:

Dr. Leland Ryken has taught at Wheaton College for 36 years. He has published two dozen books (including edited and co-authored books). In 2003, Dr. Ryken received the distinguished Gutenberg Award for his contributions to education, writing, and the understanding of the Bible. His wife Mary ’88 is a graduate of the Wheaton Graduate School, and his three children- Dr. Philip Ryken ’88, Margaret Beaird ’93, and Nancy Taylor ’98-are graduates of Wheaton College.

by Lon Allison, Former Director of the Billy Graham Center

This summer (2002) I visited with two titans of the Christian faith, John R. Mott and Billy Graham.

Mr. Mott died in the fifties, so obviously, my introduction to him was by way of biographies and his own writings. Mott, more than any other leader, was responsible for the Student Volunteer Movement, which recruited more than 25,000 college students to careers in missions. In 1910, he drew church leaders together at the World Missionary Conference in Edinburgh, Scotland, with the vision to present Christ to every tribe and nation in their generation. Mott was the friend of presidents and the counselor to corporation leaders. His knowledge of world events was so vast and his friends so many that Woodrow Wilson twice sought him to be America’s first ambassador to China. Princeton offered him its presidency, though his formal education concluded with a bachelor’s degree. He declined both appointments because of a more important calling. In 1946 he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.Yet for all his accomplishments, he voiced at the end of his life that he wished to be remembered as an evangelist.

This week I sat with Billy Graham for part of an afternoon. Our talks over ice cream sodas covered a range of subjects, but, as was Mott, Mr. Graham is first and forever an evangelist. His love for the gospel and lost people consumes his thoughts. Billy Graham was to the second half of the twentieth century what John R. Mott was to the first; his commitment to the whole church birthed a host of “Edinburghs” around the world. His desire to raise up the next generations of evangelism leaders built the Billy Graham Center.

In our musings, I mentioned my fascination with John Mott and how much he, Billy Graham, reminded me of him. At the mention of Mott his eyes began to sparkle, and he said,”I knew him. He was a giant.” I learned later from one of his closest advisers that Mr. Graham saw John R. Mott as somewhat of a hero and model for his own life.

Yes, I stood with two giants from two generations this summer, though my hunch is neither of them ever thought of themselves as such. They and so many like them are quick to tell us that it is Christ who is to be lauded, and that Christ is the source of whatever accomplishments we may see in their lives.

As I left Mr. Graham and reflected on our talk, I realized that I am the same age difference from our incoming freshmen as Mr. Graham is to me. Who, then, are the “titans” of evangelism in my generation? God save us from ever seeing ourselves as giants of the faith. But should the light of Christ shine through us enough to spill on the generations now rising, let us be both humbled and grateful.

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Twenty years ago, the Wheaton Alumni magazine began a series of articles, titled “On My Mind”, in which Wheaton faculty told about their thinking, their research, or their favorite books and people. Former Director of the Billy Graham Center, Dr. Lon Allison (who taught at Wheaton from 2000-2013) was featured in the Autumn 2002 issue.

The following statement was included at the time of publication:

For the past 25 years, Dr. Lon Allison has immersed himself in many aspects of church and parachurch ministry. As an author, educator, minister, evangelist, and performing artist in music and theater, he travels extensively in sacred and secular venues sharing his passion for relating the Christian faith to all aspects of life. In addition to membership on several missions and evangelism boards, Dr. Allison is director of the Billy Graham Center at Wheaton. He lives with his wife, Marie, and three children in Palatine, where he enjoys a variety of athletic pursuits.

by Jeffry C. Davis ’83

I am composing these words at an altitude of 31,000 feet. After attending a four-day conference on teaching writing to undergraduates, I’m flying home. My mind feels like a suitcase packed full of new clothes; many fresh and colorful ideas are returning with me as a result of my participation in various lectures, workshops, and discussions.

Of all the subjects in English that I teach at Wheaton, courses in writing thrill me most. Yet, I must admit that my calling to the composition classroom exhibits a bit of God’s ironic humor: when I was an undergraduate, I loathed writing papers. Breaking a bone or catching a virus seemed like more tolerable experiences at the time. The task of putting words onto a page usually filled me with intense anxiety.

My frustration had little to do with the fact that I lacked a computer with a spell-checker; somehow I managed to type all of my college papers on a manual Smith-Corona, with a well-worn edition of Webster’s dictionary nearby (though I’m certainly grateful for my PC today). Nor did my travail result from a lack of scholastic interest or effort; as a new convert to Christ, I truly believed that the world–in all of its sadness and splendor–should he seriously studied because God made it.

My struggle, I now realize, came from my incomplete understanding of the purpose and practice of writing. As I then perceived it, the main reason I wrote papers was to show my professors two things: first, that I understood the subject matter of their courses, and second, that I understood how to craft my thoughts into grammatical sentences. Consequently, I tended to see writing as a skill primarily concerned with correctness. With each sentence, typically written at a snail’s pace, I asked myself, “Is this right?” And often, a voice inside my head would shout back, “No!” So, I would scratch out the sentence I had just written, and try to write a new one. My preoccupation with correctness paralyzed me.

In her essay, “The Watcher at the Gate,” Gail Godwin explains that most writers have an internal critic, an unrestrained negative voice committed to one goal: “rejecting too soon and discriminating too severely.” In describing her own Watcher, Godwin reveals one of her characteristic messages: “‘What’s the good of writing out a whole page,’ he whispers begrudgingly, ‘if you just have to write it over again later? Get it perfect the first time!'”

Now, as I teach my students how to write, I try to disabuse them of the myth that good writers get it perfect the first time. A great writer becomes great not because of inspiration, but because of dedication and perspiration. For example, I remind them that Thomas Jefferson carefully drafted the Declaration of Independence several times before it was finished, an accomplishment which he was prouder of than being the third President of the United States. Jefferson didn’t get his writing perfect the first time.

Instead of primarily focusing on the product of writing, I encourage students to consider the process of writing. Serious writers, more often than not, develop good habits that naturally foster good writing. They learn to observe, and to wait, and to receive; this approach requires a certain degree of humility.

Serious writers learn how to write when they don’t feel like writing, becoming obedient to the task at hand. They care about words as they think in ink. The novelist E.M. Forster explains, “How do I know what I think until I see what I say?” And after they have written something, they let other—those whom they trust—examine their work, and they actually welcome constructive criticism.

What’s more, they learn how to revise, which literally means to see again with new eyes; they accept the necessity of change.

In a real sense, the process of writing is analogous to the process of spiritual growth. Working with words demands discipline, which paradoxically sets us free to write well. So, too, living for the Word requires us to let go of our inclination to strive for our own perfection, which inevitably brings paralysis. We are asked, instead, to develop a habit of the heart, wherein we welcome the Word to dwell more fully in us. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God In Him was life, and that life was the light of men.”

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Twenty years ago, the Wheaton Alumni magazine began a series of articles, titled “On My Mind”, in which Wheaton faculty told about their thinking, their research, or their favorite books and people. Current Associate Professor of English, Jeffry Davis (on faculty since 1990) was featured in the Spring 1997 issue.

The following statement was included at the time of publication:

Dr. Jeffry C. Davis ’83 (Assistant Professor of English and Director of the Writing Center) has taught writing at Wheaton for more than a decade. He earned his M.A. in English from Northern Illinois University. Presently he is working to complete his Ph.D. at the University of Illinois at Chicago. His dissertation focuses on Quintilian, a first-century teacher of writing. In his spare time he gardens and listens to country music.

by Helene Slessarev

Scripture speaks so eloquently of God’s passion for the poor and the outcast. Throughout my adulthood, I too have had a passion for seeking justice for the poor. Prior to coming to Wheaton, I had worked as a community organizer in an all-black neighborhood in Chicago, as an advocate for stronger civil rights legislation and job training programs for the poor, and as an organizer for several local reform politicians. I saw coming to Wheaton as a continuation of my calling to a ministry of justice because it was my hope that through teaching and writing I would be able to impart those passions to my students.

Every year I have new students in my classes who have been inspired by a church missions trip or an urban immersion experience and are now eager to learn more. They understand that Christian leadership means service, and they want to know how they can best live that out in what they choose to do as adults.

A growing number of Wheaton students are wrestling with a sense of calling to some form of urban ministry as they prepare for adulthood. For them, urban studies can serve as a window into what in most cases is a very different environment, while also serving as a window into their own souls.

As director of urban studies, I see it as my calling to broaden and deepen my students’ thinking about poverty so they can clearly see the impact of societal evils in creating and perpetuating poverty and hunger in the world. Unlike the students I taught at the University of Chicago when I was in graduate school, Wheaton students’ faith serves as a common foundation. They come into the classroom knowing that God expects them to serve the hungry, the homeless, the sick, and the needy, because “when you did it to one of the least of these, my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me” (Matt. 25:40). I seek to present them new perspectives on Scripture, often drawing on the prophets of the Old Testament such as Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, as well as Jesus’s own ministry among the outcasts of Jewish society.

I seek to challenge many of my students’ assumptions about the life conditions and hardships that confront people who live in the poorer communities of our nation’s big cities. They are accustomed to thinking about poverty as an individual problem, yet the growth of large poor neighborhoods in central cities is also the legacy of housing and school segregation, the loss of industrial employment, and flight of financial capital.

For young Christians to seriously engage in ministry among the poor, they have to recognize that there can be no genuine solution to poverty in America unless those most hurt by it become actively engaged in the search for solutions.

Young Christians trained in Christian colleges like Wheaton who are seeking to do urban ministry will have to form partnerships and share skills and experiences with Christians who have grown up in these communities. For many students, their urban experience will be life-transforming because they learn that to be a light in this world requires that they give of themselves. They have to empty themselves in order to serve others. They learn that there are no easy solutions to renewing poor communities and that any change requires great love, hard work, and deep commitments.

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Twenty years ago, the Wheaton Alumni magazine began a series of articles, titled “On My Mind”, in which Wheaton faculty told about their thinking, their research, or their favorite books and people. Former Associate Professor of Political Science and Director of the Urban Studies Program, Helene Slessarev (who taught at Wheaton from 1991-2006) was featured in the Summer 1999 issue.