Not by Steering a Nifty Joystic
When I was growing up, I remember hearing about how some acquaintances of ours had decided to do "unschooling." Replete with the wisdom of modern educational philosophies, they let their kids choose their own curriculum start to finish, which turned out to involve things like horseback riding between 12:00PM - 2:00PM -- and then not much else.
My 12-year-old self was agape. Flummoxed. Nonplussed. (And probably a little envious.)
When there are no fixed standards in play for education, you can get a whole lot of interesting results, all of them (of course!) equally valid. Biff is a math whiz and publishes a paper on neutrino detection by the time he is nine years old (nice job, Biff), whereas Tuppy likes to get up at 10AM, play video games till four, and then kick around some blocks till dinner ("I love how hands-on Tuppy is!" says his mother). Some kids like to go to class and work hard, others prefer SnapChat Mondays. It's all a beautiful matter of personal choice. Our precious children are learning about what they love.
One of the crucial things for us to understand as parents and educators is that this kind of relativistic educational philosophy is no surprise at all if we don't have anywhere to hang our hat. If we can't point to a universal standard that says, "Here, not there; this, not that," then why shouldn't our kids do what they want? We can say that they'll have a miserable life if they don't work hard -- but what about (says Tuppy) the miserable life I'm having right now by doing all this dumb homework? What about the students' feelings? Who died and crowned my daddy's educational views king?
This may seem far-fetched, but given current educational trends and philosophies, it isn't far off. And even the best-raised kids like to intellectually gripe, and someday they will be asking questions about why all this rigor is really necessary? When they do, will they have a standard of excellence and a standard of beauty to point to in answer to their questions?
The Bible has many principles and few methods, and so we shouldn't thwack our kiddies on the mazzard with it and tell them to get to work. But we should always teach our children, gently and joyfully, that Scripture shows us rich, gospel life in full color -- and that kind of life is replete with hard work, sacrifice, stamina, and eyes trained to see God's grace and beauty. Not a life you can get to by steering a nifty joystick.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Fighting Blindness
Little kids bring us back to basics. My wife and I knew this was coming before we had children, and we haven't been disappointed. Our Clyde and Haley love stuff. They can't enough of it. Every morning when they wake up, their over-sized grins (and body convulsions) shout one thing: let me see more stuff! Except for them, it's not "stuff."
It's magic.
Toys, Mom's eyes, Dad's grab-able nose, a new book, sun making checkered patterns on the floor, fluttering pages, mallards on the frozen pond -- dreams come true. And we've discovered that they are right. Those things are magic, and we had only begun to slowly stop noticing them. We had grown up.
In Orthodoxy, Chesterton (who loved kids) said this:
The only words that ever satisfied me as describing Nature are the terms used in the fairy books, "charm," "spell," "enchantment." They express the arbitrariness of the fact and its mystery. A tree grows fruit because it is a magic tree. Water runs downhill because it is bewitched. The sun shines because it is bewitched.
Bewitched by the loving, adventurous hand of God. Our children will grow and mature. They will move from arithmetic to calculus and from dependence to independence. But they must never lose their sense of wonder and observation that they first had as little children. They will observe more somberly, more deeply -- but always with open eyes for God's countless gifts.
In the midst of grades, registration deadlines, homework, and extracurricular events, this is a fundamental mark of true education: fighting blindness. Keeping eyes of wonder open.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
The Trivium for Life
Life is full of phases. We enter them, we pass through them, and then we're done. Just how it's supposed to be. But as we come out the other side of a phase, we always carry something permanent away.
This is one of the beauties of the Trivium, both for us and our children. Here's why:
1. In the Grammar Stage, students learn by repetition and singing in class because . . . they love repetition and singing at home ("Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" or three-hour loops of a single chorus from Frozen). It's a phase. But even though they leave the Grammar Phase in 6th Grade, we want them to carry its basic outlook into adulthood -- like God. As Chesterton said, "It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon . . . [He] has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
2. In the Logic Stage, students learn how to think neatly in all their classes. Why not theistic Evolution? Why did Rome fall? Why is this story in your history text and not that one? Why are you right and they wrong? Who says? Kids like being argumentative just because at this age. It's a phase. But we want them to carry Logic's basic outlook permanently -- like God. "Come, let us reason together, says the Lord" (Is. 1:18), and "In the beginning was the Word" (John 1:1).
3. In the Rhetoric Stage, students learn how to make their knowledge persuasive and beautiful. They're interested in making people believe them (especially college admissions officers). It's a phase. But we want them to carry Rhetoric's basic outlook permanently -- like God. "The words of the Lord are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times" (Ps. 12:6).
What we put into our kids doesn't easily come out -- and when it comes to the Trivium, that's a very good thing.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Running Toward Challenges
As you probably know, I've been emphasizing hero-and-dragon themes in Chapel this year. This is not because I want to reduce Scripture to Andersen's Fairy Tales, or make knights-errant out of our little boys (and girls), but because this kind of story-metaphor is so central to both education and Christianity. Knights and dragon-killers lay down their lives by definition. Christ was a warrior, but he beat his enemies by laying down his life. Christ (like David) was a giant-killer, but he beat that giant (Death) by submitting to the will of the Father. Then the Father gave him a seat at his right hand. That's the heart of the gospel: spectacular joys and victories by means of suffering and death.
It's the heart of Christian education, too. Suffering, then reward. Struggle, then success. Grunting and hair-tugging over math problems at the dining table, then the light bulb. As the writer of Hebrews might have said, "For the moment, all studying and homework seem painful rather than pleasant, but later they yield the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by them" (Heb. 12:11).
Is this a trivialization of Scripture? Not a bit. One of the Bible's great commands is that we must educate our children according to high gospel standards (Deut. 6:6-9), and if we do this well, we are teaching our children to be giant-killers. As David "ran out to meet" Goliath (1 Sam. 17:48), we're teaching our children to run toward every challenge. As Christ did not run away from the cross (Luke 22:42), we're teaching our children not to run away from difficulty and pain in the classroom. We are teaching them to grow.
God's stories always end well. Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward (Job 5:7), often tragic trouble, but God's purposes for us and our children are always good. These are great, biblical truths for all of life that we want to get into our students' bones now. Work is hard, and they will sometimes fail, but that is not the end of the story.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
What's Your Line?
As we continue the slow, wonderful task of teaching our children the love of learning, we have to be aware that at some point they might call our bluff. "I'm supposed to love learning? Just like you don't, Pops?" If we never crack a book, or if our kids see our recreation time as little more than Facebook surfing (and they're always watching us), the game will be up sooner or later. If we want our kids to love learning, we've got to love learning, too. And that means knowing a wise thing or two about basic fields of study.
Recently, I mentioned a few fundamentals on the importance of Science, particularly as related to typical classical-Christian-school pitfalls. History is another core subject -- and even more foundational -- that we must have some love of, or respect for, if we want our children to engage the culture and redeem the time.
But frankly, this is tough. History, for today's generation, is a cultural weirdo. Uncool. Irrelevant, unless you're into that sort of thing. Sequestered. History is now over there for those people. (You like History, and I like my fries with cheese.) And those people either (at best) "read biographies" as a hobby, or (at worst), if they're an academic heavyweight, swing History around like a sledgehammer for the sake of pet political agendas.
But that's false history.
History is more than events and more than a subject in school. Studying it is more than just reading a novel that actually happened. Getting history into your bones is a lot like getting wisdom into your bones -- a task the Bible is constantly setting us to. "See him, son? Don't do that. See wisdom over there? Be like her." In short, history is a life-long study of wisdom for the wise. Here's why:
History tells great stories. There are few things more compelling than a good yarn or tale. But when those tales are actually real, their force is huge. It may be that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction, but truth is always a better story. Fiction has appeal and vitality, but a story that’s true has the unstoppable power of reality. “Did that really happen? How is that possible? I can’t imagine doing that myself. I want to be like them.” History excites questions about real things. History inspires action. And that's the kind of inspiration we want for our students.
History involves real people. Poorly written textbooks that are strong on dates, controversies, and propaganda are pretty good at making historical figures look like figures and not people, but a true history, in all its romping, story-telling glory shows them as men. It shows them as women. They lived as we live. They thought the thoughts we think. They struggled with the same temptations. They ate, slept, went to the bathroom, and dressed. They had quirks and personalities. Of course they were great. Of course they were noble. Of course they were evil. This is why they are in books. But we forget that they were human as we are human, in every particular, and this should give us perspective, respect, wisdom, and inspiration. God died for them, too.
We are history’s actors. The present is now the past. History is not just about those people over there: it is also about us. Just as the men and the women of the past shaped events to bring us to now, so we are shaping now to make the future. This is our sobering and fantastic responsibility. We are called. We have roles to fulfill. And our children are watching us.
History is thankfulness, because it gives us an ability to honor our forbears. We owe everything to those who went before us. Our primary attitude should be, “How is it possible that we have so much?” and never “Why do we have so little?” Why should any of life be even remotely pleasant? Why are we free? Why can we choose our religion? Why can we have any beliefs we wish? Why financial well-being? Why any finances at all? Why are we educated? Unless we are content to forget origins and assume all these things are rights, history gives us reason to be thankful in everything. Those who went before us gave all of themselves to us.
History is thankfulness, because it gives us an ability to condemn our forbears and avoid their paths. History is full of not-so-good people. History is full of vice personified. Knowing history allows us to discriminate and condemn, which (done the right way) furthers the goal of humanity.
History is teleological, not cyclical. History has an end. It has a goal. It’s true that history repeats itself because of the changelessness of human nature, but this is not the overall character of history. History is driving toward something. It is intentional. From the dawn of time, through the rise and fall of many civilizations and religions, there has been progression. Knowledge has grown steadily. The stories of law, politics, philosophy, medicine, and religion have developed and matured. We're headed somewhere -- and that somewhere is that real (historical) future date when "the earth will be full of the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." (Hab. 2:14)
So act. We're in a Story. What's our line? Do we know our cues? How will we respond to the romping, unpredictable, gritty adventure of it all?
Love the Story you're in. Walk up and say hello to the great men and women who have gone before you. They're all a big part of why you're here now.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Two Christmas Trees
At Christmas, we get down to one of the roots of Christianity. God, greater than Zeus, Odin, Vishnu, Allah, or any of the other impersonal constructs of our superstitious imaginations, came off his throne of glory, into a bed of straw, and onto a cross to rescue us from death. Immortal, invisible, God only-wise became mortal and visible so that he could be a legitimate hero in our Story, so that he could shed human blood for human sins, and so that he could die a real death to save us from real damnation. At Christmas, this all started. At Christmas, our hero-knight entered the story.
I recently told this another way to our students in Assembly. In the Garden of Eden, Adam sinned at a tree. At Calvary, Christ (the "second Adam") saved us on a tree (the cross). At the Garden of Eden, Adam ate the forbidden fruit and received the cup of God's wrath. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus accepted the cup of God's wrath on our behalf.
So as we gear up for Christmas and enjoy our decorated trees, let's think about the two historical Trees they point to -- Adam's sinful tree and Christ's redemptive "tree." And as we look at Baby Jesus underneath the tree, let's remember (in songwriter Andrew Peterson's words) this baby's past resume: Maker of the Moon, Author of the Faith. And now, lying in the feeding trough, his next job is to slay the Dragon.
And all of it is for us.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Seconds on Mashed Potatoes
One of the reasons Thanksgiving is such a great holiday is its role as a gospel metaphor. Year after year, we sit down at sagging tables and eat turkeys that somehow have gone from small egg to large, soporific bird. We eat breads, fruits, and vegetables that have magically come out of the dirt. And then we mix flour and fat (think I am the bread of life and the fat belongs to the Lord) and drizzle it over the top of our meal. Then we eat.
This is the gospel, and this is grace. Gifts from God's hand, received by God's people. Unmerited blessings, accepted with gratitude. We were broken, now we are healed. We were condemned, now we are forgiven. We were empty, now we are filled.
But this grace/thanksgiving/gospel has two sides. A gift is given . . . but that gift must also be received. Jesus said, "it is more blessed to give than to receive" (true), but for some of us, it can be harder to receive than to give. Yet this is exactly what God calls us to. Acceptance. Gratitude. Guiltless consumption. God gives to us lavishly, and it's our job to grin big and have seconds on mashed potatoes.
Can we tie this in to education? Of course. As parents and teachers, let's view education as a gift, and each day of classes as another rich Thanksgiving table. We're here to serve our children a joyous academic feast, and like mothers who work hard to make their tables beautiful, we want our students to work hard devouring the meals placed on them. Just like David says: "Taste and see that the Lord is good!" (Ps. 34:8)
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Showing Kids How to See
As we seek to educate our children well under the classical Christian model, we can eventually come to the general sense that we're doing something different and good but be unable to say exactly how it is different. And while "being different" should never be the basis of an educational model, we must always be able to articulate the basis of our children's education as in Christ -- and Christ is gloriously different from our fallen world.
Classical Christian education is different as it very simply teaches Christ as the foundation of all subjects -- not just an add-on -- and this means that we are able to take meaningful joy in all things. All things are his gifts to us. The result is a rich joy that goes all the way down, does not ring hollow, and allows us to truly see.
Seeing, particularly with wide-eyed wonder, is so important for children. This is one of the main things we're after at ACA as a classical Christian school: to show our children how to see. Show them how to name things (as Adam did). Show them how to enjoy things (as God does). Show them how to love.
Man by nature tends to criticize and dislike because of our sin; God always loves. Think of it this way: in the Garden of Eden, there was a single tree of "No", and thousands of trees of "Yes". In other words, God loves to say Yes to us, and that is how we should be toward our students. We give them learning as gifts. We teach them the quadratic formula as information, but we teach it more importantly as beauty that reflects God's orderly character. We teach them the anatomy of insects as information that reflects God's love of artistry. In short, we teach our students to notice, to see, to laugh, and to give thanks.
As we walk through our children's lives together as both educators and parents, let's help them to love God's world by showing them how. Let's practice seeing God's love of beauty in all life's details so that they will look outward with thanks, not inward with selfishness. Above all, let's thank him for the profound gift of kids who will, if we are faithful, rise up and call us blessed (Prov. 31:28).
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
The Arbitrary Nature of School Uniform
School uniforms.
Hassle. Uncomfortable. Controversial. Unimaginative. Robotic. Problematic.
But do they have to be? School uniforms are nothing new in the educational tradition, but they are recently misunderstood. For a rich, rigorous school, however, a dress code is usually essential, typically via school uniforms. This is rooted in the fundamental purpose of a school—to educate well. For a Christian school, it’s to educate well by scriptural standards. This purpose drives everything else, from vision to curriculum to discipline policy to dress code. What students wear is directly linked to what students learn.
The basic purpose of school uniforms is to promote good, honest learning without distractions. Uniforms support the primacy of excellence in academics without compromising beauty. They promote focus, reduce sidelong glances, and foster unity. Learning class material well is arduous, and uniforms show respect for that task.
But this might not be immediately clear without understanding that everything in God’s world speaks (Rom. 1:20, Ps. 19:1). Nothing is neutral, which means there is no part of life that can claim exemption from the way God made things, and there is nothing—plant, animal, or mineral—that can opt out of speaking. As Bonhoeffer once said of Christians, “Not to speak is to speak.” So just as the heavens declare the glory of God, the clothes we wear also declare something. They either speak well or badly.
Not only does everything speak, but everything has its place. A great question to ask of pretty much everything is, “What is it for?” Baseball caps are for the outdoors, not the dinner table. Bluegrass is for barbeques, not church. A man who interviews for a respectable job wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt won’t get the job—and not because the shirt is evil. The problem is the place, not the thing.
Still, uniforms tend to give the impression of robots, not students. Why dress all students the same when no other area of society does that? The answer is that every area of society does that. Businessmen must wear suits. NFL athletes must wear helmets and tights. Swimmers must wear swimsuits. And every public school student must wear whatever is considered most cool. All areas of life have dress codes and uniform policies. So when a classical school student who wears a uniform envies his public school counterpart who does not, he is simply envying a different kind of uniform (and one usually much less classy). He is not envying that student’s freedom, which does not fully exist.
A uniform policy could also be seen as an arbitrary set of rules. Why blue Polo shirts and not green? Why a zippered sweatshirt and not a hoodie? Who’s to say? The answer is that a uniform policy by definition is arbitrary, and that is a good thing. A school could have chosen green shirts, but they didn’t. They could have allowed hoodies, but they didn’t. Sometimes these decisions are based on good solid morals (miniskirts probably belong in the trash, not in school), and other times it could go either way and isn’t a moral issue at all.
The issue here is the difference between principles and methods. The principle should be the same for every Christian school—dress in such a way that God is honored and academics are the focus—but the methods can be different. One school allows navy blue pants, the other only allows khaki. Both methods are perfectly fine. One is a pear, the other is a banana, but both are fruit. And God likes fruit.
So students and parents should clearly understand the standard and know that their school’s uniform policy is simply one way of upholding that standard. But even though it’s only one of many ways, it is the established way for that school and should be honored as such. When this harmony between principles and methods is clearly understood, and everyone knows that it’s not a moral issue (button-downs are “better” than Polo), a uniform policy becomes a freedom, not a restriction, and everyone is able to lighten up a bit.
And what about beauty? A uniform policy is meant to reduce distractions for the sake of academic excellence, but it should never sacrifice beauty. Schools should choose styles and items that are classy, sharp, and lovely—even if simple by other standards.
Last, enforcing a dress code policy necessarily involves a bit of grit and discomfort. Any kind of law creates resentment and sin (Rom. 7:7), and so complaints about uniforms, and violations of the code, are no surprise. Students test boundaries as a matter of course. But any discipline must be driven primarily by joy, or else it will be ineffective. Violations should have consistent consequences, but those consequences must be administered with mercy and joy, not finger-wagging and condemnation. The consequences must be real, but they must almost be light-hearted—the entire purpose of school uniforms will fall flat otherwise. Any school can get students to obey the standard if their stick is big enough (and busy enough). Not every school can get students to love the standard. And unless students love a school’s standard—whether the uniform policy or something else—they will simply grind their teeth, say the right words, do the right things, and count down the days till they can get the heck out of there.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern
Science: Carrying the Torch
An increasing number of Americans are aware of classical education, but with a few misconceptions. "Brand recognition" is increasing, but an understanding of its basic ideas still has a ways to go. In an average conversation about classical education, most people want to know what careers are available to classically educated students, or whether science is taught effectively (or at all). Common assumptions are that classical education does not teach science effectively, or that classically educated students rarely become scientists. These assumptions are unfortunate, because largely false, but we do need to understand that they are held for a reason. And the question is legitimate: “Where are our Christian scientists?”
Augustine Classical Academy heartily embraces the sciences as a crucial part of classical education, beginning in the Grammar School and continuing through our nascent Upper School. In teaching science, ACA is committed to the interconnectedness of knowledge and to the truth that all knowledge is God’s knowledge. Science, like Latin, is part of God’s truth. Science, like history, reflects God’s character -- and like all other subjects, it is necessary to know God as fully as we can. Simply put, science education at ACA matures students into whole human beings who see a complete and beautiful picture of God’s reality.
At ACA, we believe that science classes are important – not just a necessary evil. God has given us two primary forms of revelation: specific revelation through the scriptures and general revelation through creation. General revelation is the physical world, and therefore general revelation involves the sciences. Can we know God fully by minimizing an aspect of his revelation? Can we expect to impact our culture for Christ and yet be ignorant of a large part of his character? Knowing God means becoming experts on the created order.
Second, we think science is beautiful. Students – especially young students – are good at seeing amazing and beautiful things. As they get older, they copy us and stop looking. We want to keep the glories of creation alive in science classes. As we move through the Grammar School and into the Upper School in 7th grade, students will begin studying basic aspects of astronomy, meteorology, geology, oceanography, biology, zoology, botany, physics, and chemistry. These are all worlds to explore, and everything to be seen is beautiful. Our goal is to cultivate a true appreciation of beauty that does not fade, but grows with age.
Third, we believe science requires hard work. The beginning elementary grades are no exception, so students may find themselves making an adjustment they’re not too fond of. There is lots of memorization and lots of detail. But we’re with them to show the way. The survey of science subjects is beautiful and rich, but it is difficult. Yet this prepares them for the rigors of biology, chemistry, and physics in high school and holds them to the high standard God has set for all of us in life.
Finally, ACA seeks to raise up godly scientists to live for the glory of God and the good of all people. We realize that science is not the most important subject by any means, and we realize that not all students are called to careers as scientists. This is good. But regardless of calling, we want to raise up students who know their science well, even if they are writers, attorneys, or pastors vocationally. Whether a student becomes a musician, a teacher, or a biochemist, we want them to be able to speak the language of science. Science is relevant. Who will carry the torch into the fray of stem-cell research, for example? Of drug development? Of human cloning? Of eugenics, euthanasia, and abortion? Of Darwinian Evolution and its consequences? Who will defend a creation account persuasively? Who will defend it on a legitimate scientific basis? And on a different note, who will continue to make brilliant practical advances like the light bulb, the vaccine, and the iPhone? Are we content to leave it to others?
And who will claim the beauty of things through all this? The matchless, unjaded wonder of things? If we are to truly influence our culture for Christ, we must know what God is saying about what he made, and we must love it. We must be as nimble navigating the sciences as we are Latin and Logic. In short, we must be creators, like God.
Grace and Peace, Nate Ahern