Academics killed Christ. That’s what Charles Péguy thought. Outraged by being outshone by our Lord during his juvenile teaching at the temple, the doctors of Israel schemed for 30 years to take him down. It was a matter of professional pride.

Of course Péguy – mystic, poet and socialist – was lampooning contemporary Catholic anti-Semitism. But the protean editor of Les Cahiers de la Quinzaine was, as usual, only half-joking. He was reminding his readers that Christ (“the great disruptor” as Henri de Lubac called him) comes to puncture our cosy assumptions about the world. Success, wealth, popularity, knowledge: the “things of this world” might mean everything to us, but they don’t mean much to the Lord God of Hosts.

With these dire thoughts circulating in my mind I sloped back to university a few weeks ago: tail between my legs and mask on my face. I’ve been out of education for some years now, and much has changed since I first left home to start my undergrad degree. For one thing, I’m now old enough to shave.