The Original David Charles
I met David Charles Thomas (always “Dr. Thomas” to me) in my sophomore year of college when I took one of his introductory history courses. As a self-proclaimed history “buff,” I was astonished by the depth of his knowledge, which was well below the surface of what I thought I knew. I had other, more energetic professors who were more pedagogically exciting, but Dr. Thomas quickly became my favorite. He spoke casually, often pausing as he spelled words out on the whiteboard (“are there two ‘t’s or just one?”). He taught us that “history is an exercise in empathy.” He regaled us with tales that made us squirm in our seats (did you know that diarrhea killed more people than bullets in the American Civil War?). The multiple-choice questions on his self-designed tests often spelled out a funny quote or phrase. He was enigmatic, to be sure.
When my father left my family at the end of my freshman year, I was unmoored by the sudden disruption to security and stability in my life. Dr. Thomas and his wife, Nan, heard about the upheaval in my life and invited me over for dinner. I sat on their back patio, fending off mosquitoes, and let them glimpse the pain I was concealing behind my expertly curated veneer of perfectionism. Nan had lots of questions. Dr. Thomas mostly listened. They both prayed.
Over the next three years, Dr. Thomas listened to me as I navigated all the things a college student navigates—existential crises, a serious boyfriend (now my husband), uncertainty about my future. We would often sit at Panera Bread and discuss books we were reading together. I have Dr. Thomas to thank for introducing me to C.S. Lewis, Tim Keller, John Calvin, and, ultimately, Anglicanism. When I confessed that I didn’t know how to pray, Dr. Thomas gave me Martin Luther’s short book, “A Simple Way to Pray.” He later gave me a small copy of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, replete with small purple Post-It Notes marking the pages I would return to most frequently. The first time I attended an Anglican worship service, it was on Ash Wednesday. I sat between Dr. Thomas and Nan and felt, for the first time since early childhood, that I had come home.
During a critical season of my life, God intervened through this kind professor who became my mentor and spiritual father. My relationship with Dr. Thomas has been a safe haven and unfathomable means of grace for nigh on ten years. Dr. Thomas (along with his precious wife, Nan) has walked with me through every major event of my adult life: he attended our wedding, prayed for me as I entered seminary, wrote my personal recommendation for ordination, held our babies, and served as the namesake for our son, David Charles.
On the prie-dieu in my office is a small ’79 BCP. The pages are worn now, but the purple Post-It Notes are still right where they were meticulously placed all those years ago. In some ways, they are an icon of what Dr. Thomas has been (and continues to be) for me: unassuming signposts pointing me to Jesus.
Dcn. Bree