The Genius of the "And"

I'm fascinated by the way God can take a bunch of different pieces of inspiration and bring out a unified idea. In my case, the last six months have led me to: 

• Andy Crouch's awesome book, Strong and Weak
• James K.A. Smith's You Are What You Love
• Bill Dagget's Rigor and Relevance Framework
• Steve Carter's brand new This Invitational Life
• A trip to Israel with Ray Vander Laan that opened up a whole new perspective on scripture for me 
• And a 30-week Innovation Management Certification cohort at NewNorth where my instructors and classmates brought the gift of Design Thinking into my life.

All of these experiences, readings, the resulting discussions with friends and colleagues have helped shape a point of view in me—a vision for what Christian education should look like. Last week Thursday, I had the chance to share that vision with the employees of Holland Christian Schools during my address for our week of orientation activities. I'd like to share it with you all, and I'd love to hear your thoughts and reactions:

Today I’m here with you standing on this stage in this nice, air-conditioned auditorium feeling quite comfortable. But 66 days ago, I was in a very different place.

It was the second day of our Israel Trip, and we were hiking in the middle of the Negev Desert.

It was about 110-degrees.

The loose rocks meant I had to be watching carefully where I placed my foot for each step.

My backpack was loaded with my notebook, some snacks, sunscreen, first aid supplies, and about six liters (or 13 pounds) of water to help me keep walking until lunchtime.  

Take a good look at that land—its barrenness and desolation. In the minds of the people of the Ancient Near East, the desert represented Chaos:

The place where life was hard. 

Where it was easy to get lost.

Where the barren desolation didn’t exactly bring to mind the abundance and flourishing of God’s creation.

We were hiking through Wadi Zoar. A wadi is a dried up riverbed that snakes its way, canyon-like, through the desert, providing nomadic families an “easier” way to get around. Before highways and roads, wadis united cities and even served as trade routes.

But there is a portion of the year when additional danger makes its way into the wadis. During the rainy season, if there’s precipitation up in the mountains or foothills (even far away), it can make its way down to and through the wadis very quickly resulting in flash floods. With only 8-10 seconds of warning, getting stuck with a flock of sheep or a family with young children becomes a real risk. Churning, rushing, uncontrolled water like this was another image of Chaos for these ancient cultures, so you can imagine the foreboding and the fear of situations where desert and flood unite. 

Now, think about the story of the wise and foolish builders at the conclusion of the Sermon on the Mount . . . You know, the one where “the rains came down and the flood came up?” This is the kind of place that Jesus is talking about. 

If you dig up a handful of sand from the wadi floor, you’ll find something very different than the wonderful soft sand of the Lake Michigan dunes. Its coarse, big grains resist sticking to each other when they are wet. You aren’t going to be building any sandcastles in these spots. Water just scatters the sand. 

Jesus said, “But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

And we all know the other half of this teaching: “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.”

Now, stop and think for a second about what this story doesn’t say. 

It doesn’t say, “The foolish man builds his house in a flood zone.”

It doesn’t say, “The wise man stays out of the wadi.”

It doesn’t say, “Those who follow God’s commands will stay away from Chaos.”

In fact, it reinforces just the opposite.

The wise man’s house is right there in the wadi, with the floodwaters rising and the winds beating against it. It’s right there, amidst the chaos. The only difference is that it is built on the rock. As Christians who are called to be a Kingdom of Priests in this world, we are charged with bringing peace, order, fullness, flourishing—bringing Shalom—to Chaos in all its forms.

But there’s a tension to this, and I think that it often comes out through an inappropriate dichotomy—one that sets us up as either being in the middle of the world’s chaos or being holy.

We feel that tension in Christian education too. 

We know we’re supposed to prepare kids for a life of engagement in the world so that they can “transform [it] for Jesus Christ,” as our school’s mission statement says. But there’s also a protective instinct in us as parents and mentors who know how difficult the real world can be—an instinct to preserve our kids’ innocence and keep them safe just a little while longer.

It’s easy to start thinking this way: Chaos or Holy. 

Worldly or Safe.

It’s a linear, one-dimensional approach to understanding that leads us to a false choice because it eliminates the possibility of paradox—the chance to turn our world upside down in favor of a true Kingdom view.

Because the opposite of engagement with the world is actually withdrawal. 

And the opposite of holiness is really wickedness.

So a more appropriate way to frame our lives in this instance is a 2 x 2 chart—one that embraces the paradox of holiness and engagement with the world . . . and perhaps helps us discover that having the fullness of one requires the fullness of the other. 

The parable of the wise and foolish builders says that God doesn’t want an either/or people in this regard. He wants a both/and people. 

Engaged and Holy.

Certainly, He wants us firmly rooted in His word, knowing what the right path is. But as we walk that path, it needs to take us into the Chaos. It needs to take us into the midst of people’s hurts, into the midst of challenging conversations about our marginalized brothers and sisters. 

And those places aren’t easy. 

But they are exactly what the world needs, aren’t they?

The tyranny of the “or” . . . and the genius of the “and.”

A paradoxical call to live like this can seem overwhelming to us because it’s hard to make room for nuances in our theology. It’s demanding to bring an empathetic approach to each interaction we have with another person. It’s tough to live this way! 

But it’s our calling.

It’s Reformed.

And it’s . . . possible.

Because although the desert is a place of Chaos where life can chew us up and spit us out, it’s also where God draws us close to Himself. It’s no coincidence that the Lord met the nation of Israel in the wilderness to propose His nuptial covenant to them and prepare them to live as His people. It’s no coincidence that Abraham, Jacob, Elijah, David, and the John the Baptist all met God in the desert . . . where He sustained them and shaped them and equipped them to be heralds of His Kingdom.

And Christ Himself . . .

Not 40 years, but 40 days in the desert at the onset of His ministry. Where He too felt hungry and lost. Where He too was tempted. Where He too stood in the midst of the Chaos and affirmed His Lordship and His purpose of bringing Shalom.

In the Chaos . . . and Holy.

The genius of the "and."

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And it gets me wondering if we don’t set up false choices in other parts of our lives—even in our work as Christian educators.

It seems to me that it might be easy to build an axis in our minds on which we see ourselves as either relational mentors for our students or academic trainers—concerned with reading, writing, and arithmetic; college and career readiness; standardized test scores; and GPA’s.

And this becomes an opportunity for us to show what is distinctive about our work—within the worlds of Christian education and schooling in general. It certainly brings out the overarching principle of my own vision:

We need to embrace the genius of the “and” as educators.

Because the opposite of relational is actually impersonal.

And the opposite of academic is actually ignorant.

These qualities aren’t at odds with each other! We need to know our students and become a part of their lives as we help nurture their faith, modeling for them what it looks like to be all in—to live as Shalom-bringers to the Chaos of this world. Kids need to see in our interactions and our relationships—with them and each other—the fullness that Christian community can be.

And we need to care about building our students’ knowledge 

and skills 

and curiosity 

and wonder

and creativity 

and problem-solving.

Both relational and academic . . . The fullness of one requires the fullness of the other.

We’re talking about the whole child here, and that’s something I think resonates with all of us. We’ve got to be continually pressing up and to the right on the 2x2 chart—toward fullness and flourishing. If we care about our students’ faith and their humanity . . . then we also certainly won’t want to omit their academic training, which equips them with the toolkit they need to exert Kingdom-building change on this world.

And likewise, if we care about the intellectual, creative, and capacitive growth of these students . . . we also wont forget that they are unique image-bearers of God with different life stories, different strengths and challenges, at all different phases of their faith journeys.

Relational education, in conjunction with academic education, points toward flourishing and Shalom. 

The bad news about getting away from a linear point of view and looking at things from this two-dimensional perspective is that now there are actually three ways to miss the mark in our work. We can be solely academic; we can be solely relational; or we can even omit both.

But just like being holy amidst the chaos, pulling off this model of education is entirely possible—not easy by any stretch of the imagination . . . but possible.

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If you can hang with me for just a few more minutes, I want to paint a clearer picture of those words: academic and relational.

Starting with the relational piece:

courtesy of The Loft Board Game Lounge

First, before we can establish the right kinds of relationships with our students and before we can serve as mentors and models for them, we have to make sure that we’re dedicating ourselves fully to our own faith . . . that we’re All In as our school’s theme this year puts it. Or to say it another way, we have to risk something.

Steve Carter in his book, This Invitational Life, says “Trust God by leaving the familiar and stepping into the unfamiliar; risk yourself to align with God’s heartbeat for humanity. Make the difference you were created to make in the world.”

“Risk yourself to align with God’s heartbeat for humanity.”

That’s a beautifully worded, in-your-face challenge, isn’t it?

Are we willing to step out of our comfort zones? Are we willing to live out the world-changing message of the gospel . . . even though it will often be inconvenient for us? Are we ready to consider that every action we take within a relationship either fills or empties God’s name of its meaning?

. . . Gulp.

Sounds like a call to go All In to me.

courtesy of www.gostica.com

Second, being relational is about empathy. It means getting inside someone else’s head, or as Atticus Finch tells Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view . . . until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.” 

Watch your students and each other closely. Notice words . . . but be aware of countenance and body language too. Ask questions. And really listen to the answers. The great thing about empathy is that it’s right in line with Christ’s gospel call in that it’s an intentional effort to direct our focus away from ourselves and onto someone else. 

To put them first.

With that kind of mindset, a relational approach blossoms . . . and this isn’t just about teachers and students. For administrators, aides, custodians, food service workers, support staff, bus drivers, coaches, and any other classification of school employee: you’ve been given the opportunity to bear the fruit of empathy in every interaction you have . . . with each other, with parents, grandparents, neighbors, visitors, opponents on the field or court, donors, and any other manner of person who comes into contact with our community—and, you get to help build the environments in which teacher-student relationships can flourish.

courtesy of www.time.com

And then third, a relational approach to education must have direction. And by that, I don’t mean it should be prescriptive. I mean that it has to be oriented down the right path. If you’ve had the chance to read You Are What You Love, by Jamie Smith, you’ll remember his assertion that we are all beings of desire—or love as he says in other places . . . and no matter what, we are going to love or desire something. The Fall didn’t turn off our ability to love; it simply pointed our loves in the wrong direction.

The kind of relational approach to education that we need to take helps orient students in the right direction. Our connections with others should serve to point them to God and to the life that is truly life.

So, embrace the relational aspect of your job. Pour effort into this work . . . And know that we don’t all go about building relationships in the same way. There’s room in this model for introverts and extroverts; for lions and otters and golden retrievers; for cholerics and phlegmatics, . . . for the unique personalities and gifts that each of you bring to the table.

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But remember, there’s more: we need to be doing academic education too.

And when I say “academic,” I’m not using it to differentiate between certain types of classes or subjects we offer. I’m including our core disciplines along with the arts, PE, industrial arts, technology, and so on.  I only have two key points to remember when it comes to what should mark this academic piece of our educational model.

courtesy of 123rf.com

The first is rigor, and I think this word suffers from a connotation problem . . . because it’s often used as a synonym for “harder” or just “more”—as in, “Hiking uphill is more rigorous than hiking on level ground” or “Writing a 10-page paper is more rigorous than writing a 5-page paper.”

I’d like to steer us away from those definitions toward one of depth. When we talk about rigorous academics, I think it means bringing about higher order thinking in our students. We need to have kids applying their skills and knowledge in new contexts. We need to have them digging down and asking great questions—so as to find the root causes of problems that need solving. It’s our job to build our learners’ capacity to identify the connections that unite separate ideas and events at work in the world around them.

These are deep activities. This is the kind of learning that will allow our students to break free from so much of the mindless vitriol that sadly divides whole segments of our population today. It will equip them to be informed decision makers who can become shapers of society—all the more when empowered by a robust faith.

Now, I certainly recognize that there are foundational pieces that must be a part of a child’s learning . . . and even—to some degree—that the developmental ages of our students determine just how deep we can dive at any given time. But regardless of the point we’re at in a child’s education, if our teaching stays in the shallow end of the pool—if we don’t progress beyond identification and recall, beyond the parroting back of facts or ideas—then I would go so far as to say that our approach is devaluing the very image of God that each child bears.

So avoid the temptation to plow through content . . . and take time to wade deeper with your students. You can reach out your hand to serve as an anchor point for them as they learn to identify the rushing waters of the Chaos around them and take their first steps out into it.

courtesy of 123rf.com

And finally, academic education should be relevant.

During our accreditation self study, we challenged ourselves with the question of whether our content, our teaching, and even our school culture is the right fit for the world as it exists today. Relevant academics will always be tied to the context of society—its opportunities and its challenges.

I’d like for our schools to be known as places in which students are both equipped and challenged to apply their learning in ever-broadening ways:

• Within their subject area

• Across disciplines

• To the more predictable situations in the real world

• And finally to new and un-predictable situations

So as we think about the essential questions of our classes . . . as we plan out the focus of our units . . . as we develop and structure opportunities for students to put their learning and their faith into action . . . let’s do so in a way that doesn’t leave our kids wondering, “What’s it all for?” but instead boldly answers:

“It’s for this time and this place. 

It’s for these people and for these problems—

To bring about this Kingdom here on earth.”

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Relationships marked by risk, empathy, and direction. 

Academics marked by rigor and relevance.

Relational and Academic.

Holy and Engaged.

Rooted and in the Chaos . . . The fullness of one requires the fullness of the other.

The paradoxical genius of the “and.”

But paradoxes are difficult. It’s easy for me to stand here or for you to sit here today and say, “Yup! Sounds great!”

But what about those moments when frustration comes? What about the gravitational pull back to the status quo? What about when our comfort zones get breached and our defensive mechanisms go to DEFCON 1?

It’s going to take a whale of a commitment to get us where we need to go. No dipping our toes into the pool to check the temperature. It’s cannonball time. 

Hmmmm . . . if only we had some kind of theme that tied into this idea . . . 

Oh wait. We do.

But being all in isn’t something that we have to do alone. 

Our last big hike in Israel was up Mt. Carmel—the place where Elijah had his showdown with the prophets of Baal and called down fire from heaven. 

It was really steep. 

I had been struggling with leg cramps for a few days, after unknowingly brining myself by floating in the Dead Sea for an hour and a half and sucking all the moisture out of my body. So on this hike, every one of my steps was pretty small.

And my friends, Dirk and Tom, came along side me and helped drag my sorry behind up that mountain—going so far as to point out where to place my feet and which tree branches to grab during the final steep ascent. 

I couldn’t have done it without them. 

And although that story is about physical effort, it’s a beautiful picture of what we do for each other as the body of Christ. This is how we encourage each other and strengthen each other in our faith and our work as Christian educators.

So think about your fellow employees and look into each other’s eyes. They are your team. They are your crew.

Brothers and sisters, let’s be all in together—for our students, for their families, for each other, and for the glory of God.