A Morning with Philip Yancey

Why do we ask for autographs?

I was going to say no one would want mine, but I realise that is not true. Many students have asked me to write in their autograph books. And I have had my share of writing "Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet and so are you.." in the autograph books of classmates when I was 10 or 12. Do any of these classmates and students keep these autographs I wonder. And what significance does it hold for them?

Yesterday J and I attended a Writing Seminar conducted by Philip Yancey and at the end of the morning I stood debating with myself whether I should stand in line to get his autograph on a copy of his book. By the time I decided, I was second last at the end of a long line.

A number of things intrigued me - why did I feel a desire to have this man's signature on the front page of my book? After all, he did little more than sign his name, and his name was already on the book anyway! If he had written a special note (eg "To dear Vara, my ardent admirer"), I could understand. That would have made the experience special and the book would have been accorded special status because it was distinguished from the other thousands of copies of the book on book shelves and in stores every where. Yet, I knew when I stood in line that he would not.

Did I want Yancey's autograph because he was famous? Wouldn't that make wanting to get Yancey's autograph a form of idolatry? Was I making him out to be a larger-than-life figure? That would ironically be undermining his testimony because his books were intended to point me to God and not himself.

And what about the self-consciousness I felt? Why this feeling that People would smile to themselves if they saw me standing in line? That somehow by getting up and walking out of the auditorium they were displaying superior attitudes to those of us who stood there clutching our copies of Yancey books, waiting for our 30 seconds of proximity to greatness.

A friend messaged me to ask where I was and I told him I was contemplating standing in line for an autograph. "Interesting" came the reply. "I have never done that before." I replied "Me neither." But in the cab home I realised I had. I have 3 autographs in my possession. The first was the autograph of an Indian actor, Kamalahasan, whom I bumped into in CK Tang's in 1978. The second from Joyce Huggett (who wrote 'Listening to God') and the third from Paula Rutherford (who revitalised my teaching with The Skilful Teacher workshops in 1996). I had not, however, stood in line for any of these other 3 autographs. And of the 3, I no longer have the same breathless, adolescent adoration for Kamalahasan I once had. Joyce Huggett and Paula Rutherford, I still admire, for they both touched me personally with their work.

So perhaps, that's what drew me. The sense that through this person's life work, he had impacted me. And I wanted a sign, an acknowledgement that somehow we had connected. A small sign - his name, not in print, but in his own hand, that reminds me that one morning in May, I had been inspired to write, by this man, who had devoted his life to "building his faith, word by word". Maybe when we ask for autographs we just want to remember again, a moment that meant something to us.