There are people who make you acutely aware that you reside in their shadow, and then there are those who bring you into the light. Even at above six feet tall, Tim Keller was the latter. His accolades never decorated the walls around him. I only ever saw books. Many, many books.
Providing accessibility to both Christian and secular thinkers will be one of Tim’s lasting legacies as a professor—just one of many hats he wore. He did the hard work of reading Kant, Bellah, and Nietzsche, packaging them into student-friendly digests to help us make sense of a cultural moment. He took the words that Jesus spoke and showed us the gospel hope for those in the first century, as well as to us in the twenty-first century. However, aside from this aspect of his legacy which blessed so many, he will be remembered for his love.
Any student of Tim’s can attest to his genuine care. Before COVID and cancer, he stood at a podium, notebook and pen at the ready to scribble down the next student’s name and interesting personal fact. One hour into class, our names were memorized. He wore the same tweed jacket, often reaching inside to pull down his inner shirt sleeves that got stuck.
During COVID, he typically had a cup of tea accompany him on screen, taking little sips now and then. Tim Keller has started screen sharing. This announcement always made me chuckle. He quite seamlessly navigated the online classroom. These weekly “Tuesday Teatime with Tim” sessions fostered sanity during one of the most confusing and chaotic times the world had seen.
No question was beneath him. Sometimes he would pause to think, forehead furrowing as he glanced up at the ceiling. Eventually, his face would relax into a wry smile as he provided his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” he said as he almost mischievously grinned, knowing we were salivating for something more profound.
In my last class with Tim, I wrote him a short note at the top of my final paper. I asked for a favor. I knew he would have the heart to want to answer me but given the circumstances of his illness, I doubted I would hear back. However one month later, the class TA forwarded me a correspondence from Tim regarding my request. At first I was surprised. Then I wasn’t. It was exactly like him to care about his students, and use his position to empower others.
When he talked about the future after his cancer diagnosis, he spoke of a world he would not live to see.
“30 years from now…,” he would begin, and we would collectively shudder behind our screens, denying the fact he would not be there with us. Pre-and-post-cancer Tim were largely the same, but the latter sounded more resolute—every second of his life mattered, not for his legacy, but to equip and prepare the next generation of ministry leaders for what lay ahead.
We are already in the haze of this familiar yet altogether new territory. In many ways, Tim’s mere presence provided assurance as we waded through murky waters. In his absence, we must all the more hold onto the source of his strength and the love of his life—Jesus.
Tim—we are grateful for you, we miss you dearly, and we are glad that you are home.