Resources

It isn’t over. “It,” of course, is the Covid-19 crisis that has moved students, faculty and staff off our physical campuses, moved learning to online platforms, and disrupted the normal rhythms of an academic year. What is certain right now is what is not happening: honors ceremonies, graduations, conferences and research days, sports, dances, and chance encounters with friends and colleagues on walks across the quad. Everything else is uncertain, unbounded, unknowable in its detail, and often frightening, especially as this crisis is malleable and continues to unfold globally. It is an anxious time. That anxiety is in our [Zoom, Google, WebX, Canvas] classrooms, and despite not having its own picture box, it takes up a lot of space. This leaves faculty in a quandary: should we address the anxiety in the room, potentially inviting difficult or emotional reactions from students, or should we turn away from it, focusing as much as possible on business as usual, even as we acknowledge that nothing is usual right now. I have written before about using dialogic practices to meet disruption, arguing that structuring classes for curiosity and genuine encounter across difference gives students the tools they need to lean into the wobble that comes from meeting something new or strange. Teaching curiosity, holding up listening as a value, and giving people the tools to do it better creates brave spaces where students can genuinely explore themselves, others, and new ideas. These are skills we all need right now. They allow us to invite the kinds of conversations and reflection that can recognize anxiety and then nudge it toward connection, purpose, and hope. What does this look like? Last year, after the Tree of Life synagogue and New Zealand mosque shootings, it meant taking time in class to recognize those events, and then offering a path to agency in the face of horror. I gave each student a 3 x 5 notecard and invited them to finish the sentence “I can . . . ” on one side, and “I will. . . ” on the other. I didn’t collect the cards. Some students report still having them, and one recently called the experience formative in the way she has come to find purpose in the face of overwhelming events. Right now, it means inviting students to reflect on when they have met challenges before, relationships and connections that are important to them, specific things that the virus has changed, and opportunities that their new situations provide. Doing this has allowed my students to realize that this is not the first time they have successfully met the challenges disruption brings, and to find sources of inner strength and social support as they recall those who helped them before. Asking students to name one thing that has changed for them narrows generalized anxiety, making it concrete and approachable. One student mentioned that “bumping into people” in Zoom meetings, while a poor substitute for the cafeteria encounters they missed, did help fill that gap. Asking about opportunities leads students to think about purpose and even hope in the face of loss. Students talk about the gift of time with siblings and parents, slower and less regulated days, and new grading standards that are letting them dig more deeply into subjects they love. Taking the time to lean into the discomfort of the current situation also creates and reinforces the social connections that keep the demons of anxiety at bay. I’m on research leave this semester, but invited students I taught in the last year to a Covid-19 dialogue hosted on Zoom late one Friday afternoon. A handful came. We had a genuine and moving conversation using the questions outlined above, and before we dispersed, they asked if we could do it again, every Friday. We can, and we will. This is what hope, connection, and community look like in the face of Covid-19. They’re still here, and so are we. Suggestions for check-ins (choose one question and invite students to reflect on it for a minute, then report back in one breath): • Tell us about one thing that’s made you feel rooted in the last few days. • Talk about one person you’re supporting right now. • What’s the best thing you decided to do this week? • Bring an object from where you are to share. What’s meaningful about it? For longer discussions: • Tell a story about a time you overcame a challenging situation. • What strengths did you draw on? Who supported you then? • Tell a story that would help us understand what’s changed for you as a result of the virus? • What hopes or opportunities might you see in your new situation?

When we suddenly made the transition online, I wanted to try to maintain as much normalcy for my students (and myself) as possible. I teach a small, honors section of our introductory Religions of the World course. There are only 11 students enrolled this semester—a real luxury. I thought we might be able to continue synchronously, if they all were able. So, I asked: Did they have the technology to make it happen? Did they have the availability? Did they have the space? Did they have the desire? They did.  After our first synchronous class session, the Monday after an extended Spring Break, I asked my class, anonymously, how it worked using Zoom for our class that day, in a PollEverywhere poll (which they were used to doing face-to-face). This is the kind of check in, a form of formative assessment, that I love. If I want to know what students think or how a class activity is going for them, I ask. Among their replies: “I really liked how we could all see each other” and “It will be a good way to keep the community feel.”  We made it to the end of the first week, during which time I led whole-group discussions among all students, offered mini lectures, used Zoom’s breakout rooms to set up pair and group work, asked them to do quick writes and type their thoughts in the chat box, showed videos, and even had them share drawings on the computer screens. In their weekly reflections, which I’ve written about elsewhere, I asked them to respond to one additional question: “How did it go having our class online this first week?” As expected, students were struggling with motivation and time management, known challenges in any online learning environment. But they also shared: “This is the only class I use Zoom for and it also feels the most normal because of the level of interaction;” “I think having class online this week went well, especially since we are using Zoom, which I think helps preserve the community feel of our class;” I like the fact that we are able to break out into smaller groups and still have discussions with each other;” “I am really happy we are able to maintain the personal contact and the feeling that our class is a community.” What my students have reminded me, in this moment of social distancing, working remotely, and self-imposed isolation, is just how much they crave connection, how much they benefit from learning in place and among people. I work hard, in a variety of ways, to create this community in my face-to-face classes—and I have worked hard to maintain that communal feeling, even though we are now all separated, flung across the corners of the United States, with our cats crawling across the video feed and our classroom attire now consisting of grungy sweatshirts and bed covers. What this COVID-19 crisis has underscored for me is just how much students knowingly appreciate and crave those connections too.  There are lots of ways to stay engaged and connected with your classroom community without all meeting at the regular class time as I’m doing. I recognize that what I’m doing may not be possible, or even advisable, for all religion instructors, given class sizes, content, personal comfort with technology, instructor and student availability, and so forth. Perhaps it’s as simple as creating an announcement on your LMS just to ask students how they’re doing—not academically, but as people. Perhaps it’s creating a Google Voice Number so that you can give students a way to text you, without giving out your private contact information. Perhaps it’s holding online office hours, through Zoom, WebEx, or Google Hangouts, so students can see you if they’re in need of a friendly face. Perhaps it’s calling all of your advisees, as one of my colleagues did, or reaching out to former students with a mass email. Perhaps it’s creating opportunities for pair or group work, for instance, through an online discussion board. Perhaps it’s simply sharing with students that you’re feeling anxious or stressed or worried or discombobulated too. On our campus, we are hearing from students (and sometimes from their concerned parents) just how disconnected, discouraged, and dissatisfied they are now that the human dimension of learning has largely been taken from them. Students do not simply want to read a textbook and submit a short essay in response. They want to talk to their peers; they want to hear from a real, live instructor; they want to sit in the same space; they want to learn in the context of others. A student once asked me, a few semesters back, if I thought learning always takes place among others. I said yes. Another student disagreed. By way of evidence, he said that he taught himself how to play guitar. I asked how he did that. He said he watched YouTube videos. Okay, I said, but who created those videos? There was a long pause. Learning is communal. Never has there been, paradoxically, a moment when this has been more clear—to me and to my students.

Caught In-Between Questions “I always figured my music came from somewhere between,” said singer-songwriter John Prine in an old interview.[1] I’ve been listening to his music as part of praying for health, and now mourning his death to this pandemic. We are in an in-between time, caught in-between mourning and making music, moving through the day and being stopped in our tracks at the sheer weight of the pandemic. Some things are falling apart. Some things are holding steady. Where does the seminary curriculum fall in this spectrum and why does it matter?  Discussing teaching and learning pastoral care amid pandemic, one student asked about the purpose of specialized training in theological education. In this moment of human solidarity does professional training serve to unite and/or separate?  Another student revealed a nagging feeling that seminary wasn’t built for them and that the curriculum isn’t as inclusive as it professes. Now that finishing a semester of disruption is taking so much energy, the student wonders if it’s worth it. Is it? I share such vocational questions: what is the purpose of professional training? To what extent are our institutions exclusive or inaccessible and can this disruption lead to expansive and deep change? What is crumbling? What is holding firm? What does all of this mean for my vocation? To what extent do I believe my courses and teaching and learning practices could resource this moment? Attending Seminary in Pandemic Crisis is an unbidden test. The COVID-19 pandemic tasks the curriculum–assessing all we have learned and taught, drawing sustenance from deep wells of knowledge and wisdom, exposing as shallow what we may have thought was deep. How could theological education resource this crisis moment? Sacred texts and philosophies speak to people across times and spaces, in good times and hard times, and mostly in-between. Text and tradition can both expose and salve wounds, make and undo worlds for whole peoples. Academic practices of digging, studying, connecting, unmasking, lingering with words are staples of theological education across the curriculum that could help give energy and direction on as we move through pandemic. How does my discipline of pastoral care resource this moment? Moving In-Between We are in-between what was and what will be. Human interaction with the novel coronavirus has begun, but not yet ended. More pointedly than most days, in pandemic we linger between life and death, searching for what will give and sustain life while minimizing and transforming, vaccinating against what kills. This is a time of in-betweens. We abide in the middle. School is not what it was and is not yet what it will be next year or in five years. We move through the in-between. Medical care, economies, policies, birthday parties, clothing ourselves for the day, visiting the sick and imprisoned while advocating for health and release, embracing at weddings, births, deaths, and other momentous life occasions–our institutions, civic practices, and religious practices and so much more are not what they were just weeks ago and are not yet where they will be. We abide in the middle. Pastoral care is a discipline that pays careful attention to the in-between that could resource the in-between-nesses of our lives in this moment of crisis and disruption. Pastoral Care Can Resource the In-Between pastoral care in-between selves and communities. It is important to honor the dignity and uniqueness of each human person while also studying the places, spaces, and communities in which individuals live. Pastoral care recognizes individual vulnerabilities and limits. Pastoral care also affirms compassionate connection. Practices of faith and religious experiences abide in-between personal piety and social justice. Practices of self-reflection, communal reflection, and conversation between selves and communities can resource lingering in this in-between. In crisis, we link “how you are, really?” to “what in the world is happening?” pastoral care in-between identity and interculturality. Not only are selves and communities constantly interacting, but identities and cultures constantly interact and affect each other. An intercultural posture recognizes that there is no such thing as an identity or a culture that is exactly one unchanging thing for all times. Practices of bordering and border crossing affect belonging. Much pastoral attention is focused on the borders of identities and the deep interactions of living cultures. Practices of storytelling, translating, learning and listening across cultures, and paying attention to borders and border crossing can resource this in-between. In crisis we link “who am I?” with “how does my story reflect and contribute to a world of difference?” pastoral care in-between roles of different levels of training, authority, and power. Pastoral care practices pay close attention to the character of relationships between parents and children, between teachers and students, between faith leaders and faith community members, between therapists and clients. People with more role-based authority have more responsibility for creating and maintaining good boundaries. We also know that role-reversals can happen where the student becomes the teacher (momentarily or in more sustained way). In many families, children become care takers of aging parents. Practices of collaborating across roles with good boundaries help attend well to in-between that characterizes much of our relational lives. In crisis that crosses borders, we ask what wisdom children bring while carefully reexamining and recommitting to boundaries that guard against abuse of power. pastoral care in-between theories and practices, in-between actions and reflections. Knowing and doing, learning and acting are deeply interconnected. Inseparable. The way we know and what counts as a source of knowledge (epistemology) is affected by and affects who we are and how we engage life practices. Likewise, practices of moving through the world help us understand and evaluate theories, often interpreting or creating new ways of thinking about what it is we do and why. Practices of integrating what we do and what we think about what we do can help to resource the in-between. In this crisis, we link questions about how to lead and teach while staying home with questions about why it matters, and in what ways it is challenging. pastoral care in-between what is and what ought to be. Practices of pastoral care are transformational, not transactional. Chaplains and other faith leaders participate in pastoral care because we believe it does something in the world, something like healing, something like liberating, something like instilling courage into the heart of fear. Crisis times can bring up all the old patterns, coping mechanisms that got us through hard times before, but may not help us be well. Systems thinking helps us recognize both life-giving and stubborn harmful patterns. Crisis times can also make new collaborations possible, help structures of injustice fall away, and fuel energies for deeper transformations. Practicing noticing patterns, remaining non-anxious, and dreaming dreams of possible futures can resource this in-between. This is a time of in-between and it makes sense to be asking questions about what matters, what is worth giving up, what must be grieved, what endures. Is theological education important in-between? To me, it’s not a question of whether, but how theological education can help resource this moment of crisis–not solve it, but help move through it. I am thankful for the ways pastoral care locates study and practices in the in-between. We’re going to need all the resources each other brings as we navigate this in-between. How is your discipline resourcing the moment?  [1] https://youtu.be/x-SKCWXoryU

We live in a world that tries to manage risk, to assess whether this decision or that decision is more or less risky, better or worse for the long term good of the institution, more or less likely to lead to student complaints, and more. And we make plans to mitigate risks based on knowledge and experience. Then, the crisis we are not prepared for appears. And if the crisis occurs in the midst of a semester, teachers rightly find themselves asking, what does it look like to teach in the midst of a crisis? There is no "one size fits all" response in the midst of a crisis. Each school is different. Teachers are different. Students respond in their own ways. Some classes are small, some large, some medium. Some students and teachers have lots of experience online and others none. In addition, there are a variety of emotions that may be present such as fear, anxiety, lethargy, depression, panic, and worry to name a few. It is important for teachers to recognize that both the teacher and the student/s may be experiencing challenging emotions that they have to navigate while functioning in an upended life situation. Our awareness of these situations can help us as we think about teaching strategies during a crisis situation. These strategies are familiar. First, invite the whole self to be present in the classroom. When my institution moved to the fully online environment, I set up a forum for each class and invited students to “check-in” with both myself and fellow students. They were invited to share how they were doing, how they were feeling, and how they had been impacted by the coronavirus crisis. I gave a little credit for completing the forum to show students that I really wanted to hear from them. I also shared some of my own concerns with them so they could see that I was also impacted by this crisis. I plan to continue this “check-in” strategy over the weeks ahead since the impacts of the crisis will be felt for months to come. There is no use denying the presence of such a crisis. Second, communicate clearly. In the first week that we were online, I sent out several announcements sharing information as it was made known to me. For example, I let the class know it had shifted from face-to-face to online and indicated when I would send out more information. Two days later I emailed them with the class outline for the week and clear instructions about how to access and complete that week’s class. On our normal class meeting day, I reminded them that my TA and I would be available via Zoom for an optional session where they could chat or ask questions. Third, change assignments to fit the crisis. For example, in a class on the book of Acts I asked students to analyze the speeches in the book of Acts in small zoom groups and then talk about the message the scattered disciples took with them as they left Jerusalem. I then asked them to think about what message they wanted to take with them as they had been scattered from the seminary to their homes. And, I asked them to think about how they would communicate this message in the time of social distancing. In a different class, I changed a requirement for service hours to an opportunity to write on the early church’s response to plague and connect that writing with our own situation. Finally, aim for an encouraging, empathetic tone. Creating a tone that encourages both students and teachers, reminding us of both frailty and hope, and calling us to our best selves will strengthen the community of the course. Allowing many to reach out and uphold each other in the midst of challenging times means the burden is not on just one person (usually the teacher). In this way, teachers can model for the future leaders we are teaching how to be people who name their emotions/vulnerabilities, recognize the variety of responses people have to crisis, communicate clearly, work to connect the current crisis with current learning, and reach out to support one another. Which strategies are you using to teach during the time of coronavirus?

I’ve been reviewing instructional video presentations for a project. Primarily I screen them to review how effective the presenter is in applying sound pedagogy. It’s amazing how many basic rules of good communication presenters break—consistently—-even professional speakers and celebrated “master teachers.” The other side of the equation that puzzles me is the level of tolerance audiences seem to have for poor presentations. I wonder sometimes if we’ve seen so few well-delivered presentations that we’ve lowered our expectations, and therefore, demand so little of presenters. Most of the presentations I see are entertaining but not educational, even when they portend to be. Here are five elements that are consistently ignored or poorly handled by presenters—lecturers, instructors, or workshop leaders. If these had been given attention every presentation I reviewed would be improved tremendously. Focus. Presenters need to have ONE focus for their presentation or lecture. The question to ask oneself is, “What is the ONE thing this presentation is about?” When you identify it, then stick to that one thing. The most powerful presentations make the “one thing” a concept, sometimes called a "big idea." Therefore, the better question is, “What is the one concept I want to present?” To maintain focus, it is critical to avoid "scattered dialogue," digressions, or any verbiage that is not on point. If something is not related to or derivative of your big idea, don't talk about it. Scope. Scope has to do with coverage. Any one thing (concept) we choose as our focus can still be complex. The question is, “What is the cope of my treatment for this one thing I want students to learn and master?” Every element of the presentation—from illustration to visuals, should support and legitimately connect with the one concept you are presenting. Pace. The brain has its own rhythm for how it processes information. One element is the role of “attention span.” People have a longer attention span than we give them credit for due to the brain's capacity to "chunk" and make connections with the information it receives; but we have to help students make the connection. One key to helping students process information is the pace of the presentation. An effective rule is to change the learner’s focus every five to seven minutes (using "stimulus variation"), and you want to shift the pace every ten to fifteen minutes. Acquisition. In order for your presentation to be meaningful to the learners, they must be able to “acquire” the concept you are trying to teach. Students cannot learn what they don't understand. The question is, “Do my listeners comprehend what I am communicating?” Therefore, you need to build in points of “testing for comprehension” throughout your presentation. This includes testing for misunderstanding and providing correctives. The flow is: (1) provide exposition, (2) assess comprehension, (3) provide correctives, (4) link to previous, (5) bridge to what is next. Application. The final element that most often is missing from presentations is application. If your listeners or students are not able to immediately apply, at some level, what you are presenting then (1) it is not meaningful to them, and, (2) it will result in a failure of retention. If you cannot make immediate application of the one concept you are teaching, then your learners will tend to forget it as soon as they walk out the door. The next time you prepare a lecture, class, session, or workshop presentation, check to see how well you address each of the five elements for effective instruction.

The notion that learning is not an outcome of teaching is a challenging conundrum to those who teach. Perhaps for two reasons, first, it’s counter intuitive, and second, it begs the question, “Well then what am I teaching for if not to bring about learning?!” While teaching and learning are two sides of the same coin, the reality is that it is possible that what learners actually learn in a given lesson or course has little connection to what the teacher does or is trying to teach. We can imagine that some of this has to do with poor teaching. But some of it has to do with other complex dynamics of learning, including motivation, confirmation bias, attentional states, and capacities. A teacher who does not understand principles of learning, neglects to prepare well-designed learning outcomes, fails to ensure student engagement, and fails to apply sound instructional practices will likely not bring about meaningful learning. But the concept that “learning is not an outcome of teaching” goes deeper than that. The idea has to do with the fact that learners need to be, and are, active participants in their own learning. Regardless of our particular educational intent as teachers, students bring to the learning experience their own expectations, felt needs, goals, assumptions, frames of reference, and limitations related to the learning experience. Those factors often are more determinative of what will actually be learned than will anything the teacher intends or works toward. Experienced congregational ministers are familiar with this phenomenon. Regardless of how well they craft a sermon and despite how intentional they are in being clear about the purpose, function, and objective of the sermon, the fact is that the “real” sermon is the one that is heard by each parishioner in the pew and not the one preached from the pulpit. The preacher may be preaching the one sermon he or she prepared for Sunday, but there will be as many sermons heard as there are people in the sanctuary. This phenomenon always makes for interesting conversations at the door as the pastor greets the parishioners. If five people comment on the sermon on their way out, the preacher will be left wondering how and when it was that they heard those five different things in the sermon! The concept that learning is not an outcome of teaching can challenge certain educational approaches, like “teaching by telling,” lecturing, or an exclusive diet of direct instruction. If learners are active agents in their own learning, then we need to use those educational approaches that tap into what students bring to the learning experience. Ways to Ensure Better Outcomes The best way to ensure better learning outcomes is to design for student engagement. • Facilitate ways for students to discover their own learning and insights • Allow students to negotiate their own learning goals and facilitate ways for them to achieve them • Focus on problem-posing (which requires data gathering, observation, analysis, and interpretation) as well as problem-solving • Cultivate student's capacity for learning how to ask questions rather than getting good at answering teacher’s questions • Facilitate ways for students to construct their knowledge rather than providing them with information • Help students articulate their prejudices and bias • Help students uncover and identify their misunderstandings • Help students identify their resistance to new ideas • Allow students the options of approaching learning in the ways (modalities) they need. • Ensure that students apply knowledge to demonstrate learning, including through non-academic venues.

Years ago I devised a classroom demonstration, to use early in a semester when trying to help students become more aware, first, of the multiple dimensions of religion and, more importantly, of the ways in which diverse analytical lens for comparing and contrasting religion in a “toolbox for critical thought” will bring different dimensions forward while leaving others in the shadows.  Conceptually this is not a groundbreaking theoretical intervention for a first week of class exercise, although it does imply some theoretical “chess moves” that I feel strongly about.  Its main value here is to hone an entertaining and effective way to dramatize my points with a set of children’s blocks—both old-school wooden blocks and a few legos—plus a few crowd-pleasing additions to spice up the demonstration. I wrote this up for Teaching Theology and Religion in 2009 and have used it “live” with reliable success many times since then. Since I recently have been experimenting with moving one of my classes online, I decided to make a video version for my voice-over-powerpoint lectures.  It seems potentially useful to share the video here.     

The Liberty Bell. The Franklin Institute. The Betsy Ross House. The Philadelphia Zoo and Botanical Gardens. The Art Museum (infamous for the Rocky run up the stairs). Boat House Row. The Library.  My brother and I attended public schools in Philadelphia, and these were some of the places we visited on trip days. These days were marvelous! Each trip brought great anticipation. We were thrilled about going, doing, being outside of the school building and away from the routine of the classroom setting. Our excitement, and the excitement of our classmates, was palpable. The excitement burst from the classroom into our household. There were permission slips to be signed, brown bag lunches to be packed, and outfits appropriate for the trip to be laid out the night before. Once we returned from the trip, the stories of what happened and what we experienced carried us for days.  Certain people and some kinds of experiences cannot and should not be brought into the classroom confines. Certain knowledge is best encountered in community, in neighborhood, in museums, in parks, and even on rivers and while crossing over oceans. Taking students to new lands, to meet new peoples, to encounter new smells, tastes, sounds, sights, feels and ideas summons the imagination which is too often dampened in classroom spaces. My hunch is that there are mysteries, experiences, knowledges, and truths which refuse to enter into the classroom; these understandings require learners to participate in excursions, pilgrimages, and field trips. In other words, some of the best learning happens outside of the classroom.  Learners must leave home to learn. If done correctly, excursions guarantee a decrease in a teacher’s control of learning and an increase in a student’s control of learning. Many teachers who, for example, have taken learners to the zoo to view the new born panda only to have little Jane or Johnnie be fascinated by the flock of pigeons and never once pay any attention to the pandas. Pigeons were not on the syllabus and will not be on the test! What if learning resists domestication? What if the better learning does not tame us, but instead makes us wild, unruly and free? What if, when given the chance, learners set their paths in such a way as to render our established curricular choices as being contrived and unhelpful in the landscape of the 21st century? What if the roads discovered while learning are more interesting than the roads mapped by teachers? The longer I teach adults, especially scholars, the more I work-at giving up control of their learning and allowing them to “go” by themselves into learning experiences.  In several classes, I required students design their own excursions based upon the themes we were studying in my course. Students were instructed not to go anywhere alone; they had to take someone from class or from their family or friends or church members. I required that the student facilitate a conversation with the accompanying persons and include the comments and impressions (based upon course learning outcomes) of their companions in their excursion report. Some of the most successful learning of students happened when they went into the world with their teenaged children or their church deacons - going together to places they had not been and talking with persons they had previously had no discussions. I learned from my colleague, Heather Elkins, that some excursions are pilgrimages. Sometimes, leaving the classroom requires the search for and journey to holiness and wholeness. I have had the privilege of witnessing the movement of the Holy Spirit with my students in New York City, Newark, Maui, Accra, Dublin and Long Branch, New Jersey.  Sometimes we were in a retreat setting – there for an intensive course. And other times we were traveling together for weeks – crossing borders, visiting our global neighbors in their own homes, mosques and shrines. Pilgrimage learning takes ahold of entire groups and brings expected and unexpected lessons for teacher and learner, alike. My advice is to resist trying to orchestrate trips which demonstrate the theory you are teaching in class as if the theory is in action in the world. Teaching and learning is much more complicated than this - learning defies this mundane dichotomy. Instead, ask yourself: Which colleagues’ work is best encountered, viewed, and metabolized in a visit to their studios, offices, shops, pulpits, and places of business?  What trip will best assist students with connecting the knowledge they have with the knowledge they need?  What experience will challenge the normative gaze of students and allow them a new vantage point upon the complexity of a craft worth seeing differently and better? Then - design a trip. Excursions, field trips, and pilgrimages must not become logistical nightmares; teachers are not travel agents nor concierges. And, refrain from trips where the passivity of the classroom is duplicated in the field.  Students leaving the classroom to sit in different chairs to hear someone else lecture is not optimal. Take students, body-mind-soul, into the world so they can encounter the unknown and the previously misconstrued. My most agile traveling students have always been my international students.  I suppose it makes sense.  If you are courageous enough to leave home and settle in a new country to learn – going to NYC is welcomed – journeying to learn is your motif. My most fearful students were those who had never traveled on urban public transportation and wanted me to rent a bus from New Jersey to New York so they would not have to bump-up-against the peoples. I paired the fearful students with the international students and off we went to see what there was to see (via NJ Transit and NYC subway). We all survived! Sometimes, mystery tiptoes around pedagogical mundanity and refuses to reveal its riches until we take or send our students out into the world. Avoid the mundane and design encounters for your students which will surprise, delight, befuddle, and amaze. What my brother and I remember most about our childhood field trips is that they were days of fun. Learning moved from the daily routine and became enjoyable.  Plan experiences for your students and for yourself which bring fun and joy into the collective learning. I have just returned from my annual pilgrimage to the Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference (SDPC). It was great fun and much joy! SDPC convenes leaders from the academy, church and community to discuss issues of justice. This year more than one thousand persons attended the Washington DC conference.  Also present were two hundred fourteen seminarians attending the conference for academic credit.  This excursion keeps me informed and reminds me of the critical importance of partners and collaborators. The plenary speakers, workshop leaders, preachers and musicians assist me in thinking through the social, economic, and political realities which so greatly impact the teaching and learning in colleges, universities and seminaries. Like the trips in elementary school, my excursion to SDPC renewed my spirit and sent me back to the Wabash Center with new questions and refreshed curiosities. The Wabash Center is a destination for those teachers who want to leave home in order to learn. We are an excursion, a field trip, and in many cases, a pilgrimage. What would it mean for the Wabash Center to expand and deepen the experience of learning by teachers? If the better learning requires leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar, in what ways might the Wabash Center became “unfamiliar” even for the most seasoned teacher? In what ways might the Wabash Center pitch a wider tent for more pilgrims who fear domestication and who are willing to risk gathering and scattering to kindle and rekindle the delight of learning while a teacher?

Cognitive strategies are pedagogical ways that enable learners to manage their own learning. They mediate the transition from teaching to student learning. Instructors and students acquire cognitive strategies from their experience and schooling—for better or worse. Many instructors settle on those strategies that "work," or seem to. This is a pragmatic approach often uncritically unlinked to foundational theories of learning or research-based knowledge. The danger here is that it does not take long for these uncritically held strategies to become biased practices. An instructor will continue to use them even when they stop working. Lacking rigorous assessments of learning there is danger in continuing to use methods even when they don't work. Below are four theory- and research-based cognitive strategies. Most instructors use some form or another and likely refer to these as "methods" or "approaches." You can download a handout of these strategies here. Input Cognitive Strategies. An input cognitive strategy depends on those things to which learners pay attention. Most instructors overestimate the level of attention students give to the instructional intent of learning experience (the teacher's lecture, for example). Aside from short attention spans, learners pay attention to events external to them, by their own choice, or by distraction. An external stimulation might include anxiety about a job loss or family situation, which creates significant emotional distraction and is an un-motivator to learn. An internal stimulation might include remembering a career goal, which will motivate learners to give attention to those things in the lesson that will help meet that goal. Input cognitive strategies are applied to intentionally gain and maintain student attention. The rule is: students learn that to which they pay attention; and when they don't pay attention, they don't learn. Process Cognitive Strategies. A process cognitive strategy helps learners make sense of what they learn. Gagné and Medsker (1996) list several such as, Rehearsal: trying out something new; Elaboration: associating something new with something previously learned; Organization: imposing a structure on what is newly learned through such methods as outlining, categorizing, or diagramming. Instructors need to embed student learning activities throughout the lesson or course that facilitate these experiences. Output Cognitive Strategies. An output cognitive strategy helps ensure that learners acquire new knowledge or skills by applying what they have learned and making meaning of their experiences. For example, assigning learners to teach on something they would like to learn. The teaching (output) focuses the learners’ attention on organizing the new knowledge or skill to teach it to others. Through this approach, learners make sense of what they want to learn. Feedback Cognitive Strategies. Through feedback cognitive strategies learners to acquire new knowledge or skills by giving feedback to others. An example is to ask learners to hear a presentation or sermon and provide feedback to another student about that delivery. Giving feedback focuses the learners’ attention on organizing the new knowledge or skill to provide feedback to others. It is necessary to provide students a rubric of the concepts, principles, or criteria for assessment upon which to give feedback. For more information on cognitive strategies see Rothwell, William J., et al., Mastering the Instructional Design Process : A Systematic Approach, Center for Creative Leadership, 2015. See also Gagne and Medsker, The Conditions of Learning Wadsworth Publishing, 1996.

As a teacher trained in textual analysis and the religious practices of living human communities, the language of images, videos, and recorded sound are not my mother tongue. Yet, I know that for my students, communicating in an era where these visual forms of communication are the lingua franca of the people they lead means that they must develop the capacity to deploy images and cinematic narrative styles to engage their leadership teams, parishioners, board members, students, or volunteers in not-for-profit organizations. So must I.  Given the powerful digital image-making and sharing tools that over 77% of the US population carries in their pockets, working in video and image while teaching is not a problem of a lack of technology. A lack of fluency keeps us from speaking these languages. However, like learning to communicate in a foreign language, the only way forward is to begin to speak. Many of us have had the experience of trying to hold a conversation in a language where we have novice level competency. We search for words, we stumble over the technicalities, we feel our intelligence level has been dropped by decades because we have only the most rudimentary vocabulary to express complex ideas.  Learning to work in the visual languages of digital media is no different. We may have fabulous pedagogical visions for what is possible, but our capacity to capture those ideas and craft them to our satisfaction feels elementary and gawky. We have all been trained by our daily exposure to visual culture to recognize good visual communication when we see it. As veteran radio producer Ira Glass once noted, when we start a new form of creative work, our taste often outdistances our ability and causes us to become discouraged in what we produce.  And as professors, we often do not want to appear a beginner, especially in something we are trying to teach our students. Rather than continuing to practice that new creative form, many of us, cowed by the challenge, stick with what we do best. We work primarily in text and demand that our students do so as well, whether or not this is to their detriment in the performance of their leadership when they leave our programs. After my first miserable quarter of teaching youth ministries online a decade ago, I realized that I was going to have to learn to play online if I was going to be able to teach online. The easy student interactions, the joy of conversation and dialogue, the embodied relationality of the physical classroom was gone, and I was either going to have to quit teaching or figure out how to do some of those things in a virtual environment.  That is what drove me to join Facebook, and I began to reconnect with family members and friends far distant in time and space, practicing the skills I needed to teach online. I re-discovered how to be playful, to delight in connection with other human beings, to share things that were important to me in online settings.  Practicing those skills in an environment where I was not the expert allowed me to develop them and deploy them in my teaching work. Likewise, I think faculty benefit from opportunities to play with new forms of visual communication outside of the classrooms in order to learn how to work with those languages. This could take many forms. My own faculty at Iliff brought in a photographer for a playful session during faculty retreat where we learned how to compose images and edit them with Snapseed. We wandered the retreat center, snapping photos and editing them digitally on our phones, then enjoyed a slide show at the end where we explored the resulting images. During the “Teaching with Digital Media” Workshop at the Wabash Center last summer, we sent faculty with disparate teaching contexts and fields of expertise off for an afternoon to create a “Teach Something in a Minute” video (a classroom exercise that Elizabeth Drescher had previously developed with her students at Santa Clara University). Participants decided on their topic, storyboarded videos, shot them around campus, edited them in free available software, and screened them that evening. We set minimal criteria (videos had to be one minute long; had to include titles, moving and still images; needed a soundtrack; all members of the three person team had to be involved in creating it), but otherwise allowed them to do what they could in the time allotted. We also invited the participants in the Wabash Programming Leadership Event into a similar activity to create short videos communicating the significance of various Wabash Center programs last October. The trajectory of these experiences for participants has been the same. Disbelief at the enormity of the task without adequate instruction in the technologies and techniques. Frustration at their lack of prior experience in filmmaking. Emerging eagerness to give it a try as they work together. Laughter and camaraderie as they shoot the material.  Frustration with learning editing techniques as they try to pull together the piece in limited time. Moderate satisfaction with a finished project. Pride in their team’s efforts and emerging confidence to try again another time. No faculty inservice on the importance of digital media or demonstration of someone else’s use of digital media in teaching would serve as well as playfully engaging in the task of speaking the new language together and using it to teach one another.