Chapter 3 – The Bookbinder’s Signet

Charleston, South Carolina, USA

September, Current Year

Dr. Marcus McCord had walked in a fog all week, disappointed to learn the artwork he currently researched had been lost somewhere in Italy. He left his books and notes on the lecturing desk as the students filed out the door to his right and checked his phone for a message from his contact in Turin. Nothing  yet. 

His students at the mid-sized southern US college had been way beyond distracted this hour, and not at all excited about tomorrow’s quiz on the Byzantine period that he announced at the last minute. Word would get out to his second cohort of European Art Survey before lunch. “That should start their day off on a happy note,” he smiled.

Marcus emptied the last sip of coffee from the cup on his desk. It was too room-temperature for him, but a third cup was a must on a full day of classes like today. The last student to leave paused at his desk to read the logo on the cup. Marcus guessed he was too young to know the movie reference, “no matter where you go, there you are,” from one of his favorites.

He’d taken this teaching assignment straight out of seminary three years ago. Competition had tightened for teaching positions and he was glad he landed in Charleston near where he grew up. But like most new hires, he was saddled with mostly introductory level courses. His dual doctorates in Church History and Art were a perfect fit for this assistant professorship at Newton College and Seminary. By his third year, though, he’d hoped to teach more advanced subjects. 

For now, five days a week, he joined the traffic across the Ravenel Bridge from Mt. Pleasant to the campus for morning chapel, student sessions, faculty meetings, and most importantly, his students. He’d adopted the half-hour drive twice a day for his favorite podcasts and to catch up on phone calls. Every afternoon, he called his father to check on his mom; they still lived in the same house he’d grown up in near downtown Monck’s Corner. His father spent his days looking after the only wife he’d known as she had crept into dementia; some days, he was a stranger.

Marcus visited most weekend so his father could mow the lawn or, more often, simply rest. He saw the little changes most days, but other days felt like an emotional ambush as father and son adapted to the unexpected. Marcus especially felt the loss, and the unanswered pleas for God’s intervention. Classes, at times, were the diversion that held at bay a growing resentfulness.

His classes were well-attended and the college board was grateful for the prestige his field work and writing garnered for the seminary. But, it wasn’t his research in the field that landed him the gig at this mid-sized Christian college. During the hiring interviews, his previous research was mentioned only once in passing. Still, he was encouraged to be a part of a dynamic campus; and his favorite course on Spiritual Awakenings was next on his schedule. For 75 minutes he got to talk about the different ways God had changed culture’s direction measurably at different times in history. He also recognized his lecture notes were written during a time when this kind of movement was real in his own life. 

The students would be here in ten minutes.

While he waited, he rechecked his emails on his phone, hoping for a response from the university in Turin. He had opened a dialog with the Art Department Director in this school in northern Italy concerning a set of missing sketches used in a fresco from the 1300’s. His research had located all but one set of the art pieces from the project; still missing was the primary cartone that served as a full-size sketch used to transfer to the wall the fresco’s outline.

The last communication from the university indicated the art pieces officially remained lost. Nevertheless his contact offered hope with rumors of the whereabouts of this treasured piece of art history. It mattered to Marcus because these pre-Renaissance sketches became a significant part of his own story. As an art student, he stood in the chapel in front of the same fresco that the sketches and cartone represented; he, in his own words, woke up.

His phone showed no response yet from Dr. Bosco from the university. The early students walked in for class.

“Dr. McCord,” one student, a young man with his dark hair in a bun, took the professor’s attention from his screen. “I have a question. I’m reading about how these French evangelicals made the trip across the Alps, right?  How did they manage to stick together in Lyon with all they went through? What held them together for such a hike through the snow and thin air?” The student asked. His questions were legit. Marcus had wondered during his own research about the intense commitment they had centuries ago, especially in light of how indifferent, almost cavalier, modern believers could be toward church. 

“Good question, Jeff, and I’m glad you’ve got your readings up to date,” he said. The seats filled up with students. Marcus knew everyone had likely not read the three chapters on the Waldensian spiritual movement, but encouraging one student encouraged all.

Marcus continued, “From our perspective of this story, we tend to compress it all together into one event. Peter Waldo, or Petrus Valdesius as he was known by the Roman church, had sent others ahead to scout the Italian valleys. It was better to travel in smaller groups from the French side of what they called the “passageway of the lamb” – since they were already in trouble with the law of the land, that being the Church. Depending on when they traveled, they faced the storms and heights like any pilgrim or merchant would through the passes into Italy.” Marcus stepped from behind his lectern. 

“So, when larger groups left, they were better prepared,” he added. He leaned toward his students and his 6’4” frame breached their comfort zone. This made the moment equally engaging and terrifying for the front row.

“Even with belongings and children trekking through the 15 miles of high Alpine donkey trails, they traveled with confidence. It was dangerous, but they maintained their provisions, and had a destination in the Pellice Valley in Italy. They had trustworthy leaders and, most importantly: in their minds, they were really in the hands of God,” he replied.

The student added, “I get it that they felt like God was in charge. But even if they were running from their French persecutors, that’s a hard move and a lot of miles on foot. I’ll take my beautiful Honda Accord any day.”

Most of the class was in the room now and groaned with him at the expense of what had to be the most ancient and noisiest car on campus. Marcus was just about to load his timeline for the Christian movements in northern Italy into the Smart Board when a student, the normally shy girl who sat to his left each week, raised her hand. 

“Yes, Elena,” he nodded to her. Marcus taught six courses over the semester, but each student had found a place in his memory. 

Elena asked, “Professor, can you tell us what you’re so busy doing when your grader fills in for you? And are you going again soon? I read in a chat you were in Europe somewhere searching for ancient cartoons or Medieval comics or something.”

Jason, another sophomore, followed up. “It’s in Italy, right? I heard you’re working on your next big discovery.” He emphasized his comment with his hands spread wide and a tone of snarky humor.

Marcus replied, “Those are great guesses and I’m flattered to be the chat topic on the campus Tumblr.”

“But, I really can’t really ignore how much you all enjoy Mr. Shoals. In fact, I’m sure you like him better than me, and I’m wounded. Yes, wounded by this obvious and painful vibe,” he said dramatically.

It was true that his grader was focused, gave clear lectures, and his notes each day were all on his quizzes. That made high scores in reach for every student who took good notes. That Shoal’s was single and a little closer to the class’s median age with looks to go with it didn’t hurt Shoals’ popularity. 

Since no one would admit what he already knew about his grader, he continued. “And, Elena, since you asked when my grader will return, it will be soon, I promise. I haven’t really shared a lot in class about the trips I’ve taken to France and Italy, even with my art history students. But, I guess what I’ve found so far fits with today’s class notes, since some of my research is in the Cottian Alps of the Piemonte region. And that’s where Peter and the Waldensians settled.” 

 Marcus had a decision to make. What he said next would keep his class on track for the semester or it would totally derail his planned lecture on the history of Waldensian revivals for at least till next week.

He decided this rabbit was worth the chase, especially since his mind was already in Italy and hoping for more news out of Turin. And somehow, after the disappointments he’d faced after seminary, talking about spiritual awakenings and God being active in one’s life, or his life, wasn’t as appealing. That made the rabbit trail more inviting.