For the first time in my career, this semester I taught on the philosophy of liturgy. It did not go as planned: I was teaching about community, rituals, and the ordering of time. All of which was disrupted. Which is to say, it was a timely topic.

I thought we would have a seminar together; we’d meet regularly, in person; we’d pay attention to Lent, Passover, Ramadan, and we’d discuss our diverse traditions as we observed them; write thoughtful term papers.

A syllabus is like a road map: an orderly plan made before the journey. The pandemic has been like trying to drive the planned route through a massive storm that destroys bridges and roadways.

A fool tries to drive ahead when the bridge is gone. We sought higher ground, side roads, way stations. The seminars became online lectures and zoom discussions. We lost sight of one another. We stayed in tough by text and email and phone calls.

My undergraduate T.A. became a key resource for me. Her mother works in a meat packing plant that made international news, so she knows firsthand how the pandemic is affecting some of the most vulnerable in our community.

She made herself available to classmates who wanted to talk about the books, but also to those who just needed to talk. Our academic rituals were disrupted, so she invented new rituals of care. Nothing was ideal, but Sara was an absolute gem.

I’d rather not have a pandemic at all, of course, but when one hits, it’s good to have community that cares for one another as Sara cares for her classmates. And it’s good to have rituals that can flex to provide a sense of time when time’s structure seems to melt away.

Now, as Ramadan comes to an end (Eid Mubarak to my students and friends who are celebrating!); as we Christians have observed the feast of the Ascension; and as our semester comes to a close, I am reflecting on what I’ll teach in coming semesters. This feels hopeful.