Blogs

In Toward a Theory of Instruction, educator Jerome Bruner insists that a theory of development must be linked both to a theory of knowledge and to a theory of instruction, “or be doomed to triviality.” (Toward a Theory of Instruction, Jerome Bruner, Boston: Harvard University Press, 1974, 192 pages, ISBN 9780674897014, 21). I’ve long felt that this is partly the reason why so much of what passes for religious education and religious studies are at best benign, and at worst, risk a tendency to trivialize faith and religion. Being “interesting” may provide enough impetus to keep people coming back to participate in religious education and religious studies for a while, or to keep students engaged during a course, but ultimately, there are more “interesting” things in the world to capture and hold our attention if entertainment is our vehicle for retaining people’s participation in learning. An effective education program (1) must give rigorous attention to the developmental dynamics and processes of its subjects (learners), including motivation (which is based on “need” and not “interest”), (2) must hold to an epistemological philosophy of how learners learn, and, (3) must apply and practice a theory of learning related to how to teach, be it instruction, nurture, training, demonstration, tutorial, apprenticeship, etc. Bruner suggests that mental growth “is in very considerable measure dependent on growth from the outside in—a mastering of [the ways] that are embodied in the culture and that are passed on in a contingent dialogue by agents of the culture.” (Bruner, 21). He claims that this is the case when language and the symbolic systems of the culture are involved. Can we say the same about faith formation and development for ministerial and religious studies students? Perhaps it’s helpful to consider that while faith is a universal human potential, it is dependent on growth from the outside in “a mastering of the ways the practices of faith are embodied in the faith community’s culture that are passed on, as Bruner says, “in a contingent dialogue by agents of the culture.” That strikes me as a more helpful and promising start at understanding how faith develops than fuzzy devotional notions, individualistic or “magical thinking” related to how faith comes about and develops. Worse still, the temptation to make learning entertaining and interesting. Further, Bruner’s statement that ”much of the growth starts out by our turning around on our own traces and recoding in new forms, with the aid of adult tutors, what we have been doing or seeing, then going on to new modes of organization with the new products that have been formed by these recodings” (Bruner, 21) suggests three things. First, the necessity of a core curriculum structured in a spiral or holographic framework. This allows for intentionality in creating opportunity for re-tracing and “recoding in new forms” the fundamental concepts of faith (this may be a good rationale for the power of the observance of liturgical cycles in worship and educational programming). Second, it highlights the necessity of mediating relationships for growth in understanding—teachers, mentors, guides, spiritual friends. Third, the constructivist understanding of epistemology (knowing) through which the learner creates knowledge, insight, and meaning through the experiences of faith and relationships. Or, as Bruner puts it, ”the heart of the educational process consists of providing aids and dialogues for translating experience into more powerful systems of notation and ordering.“ (Bruner, 21).  

Killer Mike said, “I hope we find a way out of it, because I don’t have the answers. But I do know: we must plot, we must plan, we must strategize, we must organize, and mobilize.” In this moment of triple-pandemic, the story of the Wabash Center aligns with Killer Mike’s message for agency, imagination, and cunning, as we support faculty and administrators in religion and theology. I read the many, many statements, treaties, and proclamations written by school administrators, corporate chiefs, government officials, and preachers.  Each statement, in its own way, condemned the deplorable activities of racial injustice.  I suppose making a statement declaring one’s values in a moment of social strife is better than leaving us to guess about institutional commitments concerning racism. But, most statements, from my vantage, while noble, did not provide a clarion commitment to the work and sacrifice needed for sustainable change.  Killer Mike’s statement, simple and elegant, was a call to gather together and design the America which is dreamed about, but which goes unrealized. Michael Santiago Render, better known by his stage name Killer Mike, is an American rap artist, songwriter, actor and activist. He is also the son of an Atlanta police officer. Killer Mike was called to speak on camera the day after the social uprisings began in response to the public torture and execution of George Floyd by the Minneapolis police. The tape of the police torturing and murdering George Floyd has gone viral and has ignited, again, the outrage of those of us who are against police brutality.  Police terrorism is one of the many forms of white supremacy which infest and infect the U.S. democracy and keep racism an integral part of capitalism.  Now, months after the day George Floyd was killed while calling upon the ancestors, the marches, protests and rebellions continue.  Additional police executions caught on camera since the murder of George Floyd has served to increase the anguish, fear, anger and terror which grips the USA people.  White America is coming to terms with what Black Americans have known and survived for 400 years, i.e. African American citizens, and other racially marginalized communities, are systemically terrorized by police forces in towns and cities all over the country as an accepted means of white supremacy and structural oppression. Ending this scourge will take all of us plotting, planning, strategizing, organizing and mobilizing for meaningful change to the infrastructures of America. We, all of us, are in the throes of reckoning with the exposed fissures of racism made vivid by the flagrant police terrorism caught on cameras. We are depending upon good-hearted white people to shed the flimsy veneer of “I did not know,” and work to redesign the social systems broken by white supremacy. Complicating this work, is the national economic upheaval for which we have no map and no solution. Beyond white supremacy and impending economic disaster, we, all of us, are grappling with a global pandemic caused by the novel corona virus for which we have no vaccine, no medicine cocktail, and little federal leadership.  The triple pandemic heightens the need for our best minds to collaborate, partner, and find new solutions for these mammoth problems. If we are to survive, we must plot, plan, strategize, organize, and mobilize. While there has been emancipation in the USA, there is not yet freedom for all. It’s almost difficult to remember my job as director before the pandemic, before the rebellions, before the skyrocketing U.S. unemployment rate. I started my new job as director on January 1. Then, along with the faculty, administration, and students of Wabash College, the Wabash Center staff began working remotely on March 17. Orientation to my new responsibilities and role, new house, new town, and new staff colleagues quickly shifted to a kind of triage where we asked ourselves, in every way we knew how - What can the Wabash Center do to support faculty of religion and theology in this moment of confusion, remote learning, and economic uncertainty? The Wabash Center’s nimbleness, willingness to be flexible and tireless work ethic, girded-up in March when our work went remote. My blue-ribbon staff and I immediately made the following pivots to the Wabash Center programming: • all late spring and early summer activities went online or were rescheduled • produced topical podcasts and webinars – to date we have more than 4000 downloads • created Digital Salons for fall 2020 (See: https://www.wabashcenter.wabash.edu/programs/digital-salons/) • spoke with more than four hundred workshop and colloquy participants for care and check-in • spoke with grant holders to extend deadlines of reports • created new resources for website on topics of remote teaching and racial justice • created the Teacher’s Art Corner for expressions in this moment We are currently in conversation with the colleagues of Lilly Endowment, Inc. to develop new programming for 2021 which will focus on issues directly related to the triple- pandemic. In this proposal, we would build partnerships with the Fund for Theological Exploration, In-Trust, Collegeville Institute and several Historically Black Colleges and Universities plus African American seminaries. A grace of this moment for the Wabash Center is that our story, since its inception, has been a story of justice, activism, and teaching toward equity. Twenty-five years ago, Raymond Williams proposed a center for teaching and learning to strengthen teaching by teachers of religion and theology in colleges, universities, and theological schools in the United States and Canada. Raymond, to this day, is on the frontlines fighting for issues of racial justice and equality.  Under the leadership of Lucinda Huffaker, the Wabash Center offered its first workshop in 2002 exclusively for African American faculty.  I was a participant of that workshop.  It is not an overstatement to say that that experience saved my career.  Colleagues in that workshop have served as Deans, Department Chairs, and Presidents for theological schools and universities.  Our contribution has been significant and I would like to think that Wabash Center had a part of our strivings. Dena Pence deepened and expanded the offering of support for racial/ethnic particularity. Dena expanded the grants for racial justice, created the Peer Mentoring Program, expanded the Consultants Program which, among many issues, sends colleagues to schools to discuss issues of diversity and inclusion. The programmatic archive of the Wabash Center speaks for our commitments to resisting racial oppression and the challenge of redesigning the higher education enterprise as a place of racial equity: Racial/Ethnic Diversity - Teaching Workshops and Colloquies 2019-2020 Colloquy on Race Critical Consciousness for Transformative Theological Education 2018-19 Teaching Against Islamophobia  2017-18 Asian/Pacific Islander Faculty 2015-16 Faculty of African Descent 2012-13 Workshop for Latino/a Faculty 2011-12 Asian/Asian North American Faculty 2009-10 Faculty of African Descent 2008-09 Colloquy for Latino/a Faculty 2006-07 Asian/Asian North American Faculty 2006-07 Fostering Effective Teaching and Learning in Racial/Cultural Diverse Classrooms 2004-05 Teaching in Racial/Cultural Diverse Classrooms 2002-03 African American Faculty 2019 Asian Theological Summer Institute Workshop on Teaching 2018 Hispanic Theological Initiative Workshop on Teaching 2017 Asian Theological Summer Institute Workshop on Teaching 2016 Hispanic Theological Initiative Workshop on Teaching 2015 Fund for Theological Exploration Workshop on Teaching Fund for Theological Exploration Workshop on Teaching 2014 Asian Theological Summer Institute Workshop on Teaching 2013 Hispanic Theological Initiative Workshop on Teaching 2012 Fund for Theological Exploration Workshop on Teaching Fund for Theological Exploration Workshop on Teaching 2011 Hispanic Theological Initiative Workshop on Teaching Beyond our programming, the Wabash Center has funded several hundred grants and fellowships supporting the work of racial ethnic scholars, as well as supporting projects which boost the scholarship of teaching for diversity, inclusion, and equity. The Wabash Center is uniquely positioned to respond in this peculiar and unprecedented time.  We, staying true to our own DNA, are working hard to assist with issues of remote teaching, stand with those who teach against white supremacy, and support schools who are in the throes of the economic downturn. This work is our mission, our legacy and will be our future.  Our greatest asset is our constituency. We are uniquely positioned to nurture sustained social change because of those scholars who have participated in our workshops, colloquies, conferences, podcast and webinars; those scholars who have received grants and fellowships; those who have written for the Journal on Teaching and received support and mentoring through a consultant’s visit - have created a vital network. 

We can teach the ongoing struggle for civil rights by taking students to the current day struggle via Instagram and sacred sites.  Who on Instagram is doing the work that the great ancestral photographers like Mikki Ferrill, Louise Martin, Moneta Sleet Jr., John Shearer and Gordon Parks did?  One is Joshua Rashaad McFadden.  His Instagram is liberative in every way.  We can invite our student to share who they are following, while also inviting them to follow those doing the work of showing us the struggle.  What this does is show the students the power of photography in the liberation struggle yet lives as it did in the 1950s and 1960s. Moreover it takes them out of the classroom and into the real world via a virtual photography feed.  The second step in this process is taking student to sacred sites that are living.  When you go to the field and experience the sites where the struggle occurred in your town or the town the student is living in, if they are taking the course online.  Go and see, feel and hear the power of the sacred sites where the struggle was and is being waged.  In the video below I take you to the sacred site where we in Atlanta honored the life of Rayshard Brooks. Rayshard Brooks was lynched by the Atlanta Police Department on June 12, 2020.  The Wendy’s where the lynching occurred has become a sacred site of remembrance and resistance. I take you there in this video and you hear from one the leading modern day civil rights photographers alive today.  Joshua Rashaad McFadden is someone you want to follow. May the videos speak for itself. http://www.joshuarashaad.com https://www.instagram.com/joshua_rashaad/ [su_youtube_advanced url="https://youtu.be/XpFNU0eKzwA"]

Too often when grading theology work, I find myself writing critical comments on students’ papers reminding them that their responses lack substance and need to be supported by scholarship. Their work is interesting but, at times, can drift between heresy and emoting. They mean well in making application in their essays to their personal relationship with a deity or critiquing such reality, but I remind them that theology class is an academic endeavor to which researchers, teachers, and practitioners have given their lives. There are other spaces that are more appropriate for disclosing feelings and discussing personal relationships with God. As we pivoted to remote learning and teaching, I found myself not being as severe in my demand for substantive support of their claims. In fact, in our section on social justice, I encouraged it. I wanted them to think deeply and broadly about justice. Justice demands a thorough critique of our present economic, social, political, and even religious realities. Our students need this in order to reimagine resources to meet the needs of tomorrow. Defining Justice Understanding justice can begin with an experience of injustice. I asked my students to reflect on an instance in their lives when they were slighted or scammed. Subsequent questions focused on areas where, historically, I have not gone: When did you first sense that you had been violated? What was the catalyst? Did anyone come to your aid? How did this experience make you feel? How did you know what you experienced was wrong? Did this experience lead you to recognize others also have been victims of the same heinous or did you believe you were the only one to suffer?  The example that I used is driving in New York City. Whether students drive or take public transportation, all them know motoring here is a horror show, and what subsequently happens, too often, only deepens the disgust. I will be in the midst of heavy traffic on the expressway with everyone sluggishly driving to more open areas when all of a sudden a new lane appears to open up. What has really happened is that someone is driving in the safety lane to bypass the rush-hour traffic. I am always astonished by this. How could anyone do this knowing that all the drivers are frustrated and eager to get to their destinations?  They violate a basic rule of justice we learn as children: You don’t cut the line.  I then asked the students to recall moments of injustice from these months of Covid-19 and began with the same question “Where have you been slighted or scammed?” They recalled some hard experiences when others they know, or they personally, were offended during this time. These moments made often exclaim, “That’s just wrong!” I urged my students not to be quiescent in the face of these injustices, but to think more deeply about what needs to be rectified in the “new normal.”  Imagining Justice Students admitted that in some instances people feel helpless, and, historically, many efforts to rectify injustice have failed. It is discouraging when perpetrators are not held responsible for their actions. They referenced my example of driving on that crowded road and the inevitability of others using the safety lane to bypass the traffic: “You can’t do anything about it. People are going to continue to do it. The police don’t even seem to care.”  Students are right. The police generally don’t get involved; they do not want to be stuck in traffic no less spend time writing moving violations. The other drivers and I could let it go, but we only would be contributing to a series of greater injustices. When people violate simple traffic rules on a regular basis, why do drivers tolerate such abase actions?  But, It is not enough to recognize an injustice. My response in traffic: pull to the side and block the line cutters from proceeding. It is a risky action. I admit that. But, perhaps, at an historical global pause when injustices, sadly, have multiplied, the human community needs to be more imaginative to offset economic, political, social, and religious abuse. The “new normal” does not have to be a return to business as usual and, as I remind my students, injustice is a failure of the moral imagination.

What excites me about teaching theology to the Z-generation is their unabated courage. Admittedly, their actions online and public voices could get them into some pickles at times, but they model for previous generations the need to be concerned about things that matter, eternal things that matter to God. Issues of social justice, accountability, transparency, solidarity, lasting peace, and equity are important to my students even if they do not share the same commitment to organized religion their parents do. Their fresh voices are critical, but they also need to be political, in the best sense of the word, to achieve results. When teaching a course on social justice, I encourage my students to reflect on three moves others have made to create social change. The first move is to study carefully the behaviors of ancestors who wished to communicate who God is and the divine plan. I invite students to study the prophets who call people back to the terms of the covenant. Prophetic voices direct people to see how their misery is a result of their deviation from the fundamental agreement between God and humanity. In fact, they are not only the inheritors of such horror, but in many instances, the perpetrators. Students recognize that they must be clear on how they understand justice and take responsibility for their own complicity in the evil of which they speak. None of the prophets seem quite comfortable in their vocation. Their calling displaced them from comfort to speak on God’s behalf. As they came to embody God’s vision, however, their voices became clear, emboldened, and confident. Once students realize that their call to rectify injustice is part of an eternal effort, their voices are are similarly strengthened. Next, I turn to the life of Jesus. Whether a student is a believer is not my concern. It is about examining Jesus’ movements to invite people to inhabit the vision and values of the basileia ton ouranon. Four dimensions of Jesus’ ministry strike me as examples of effective preaching. First, Jesus used vivid imagery to illustrate what God’s justice demanded. These stories invited listeners into a process that captured their imaginations and hearts. Second, like the prophets, Jesus was unafraid to eat with his opponents and call out the leaders of his people and identify how they had strayed from their responsibilities. Third, Jesus made time to recharge through prayer and intimate relationships. Finally, Jesus was an individual of integrity. His actions supported his words. Students generally appreciate the need to communicate data and share narratives. They waiver on engaging their adversaries, taking time for themselves, and being models of authenticity. The third move I point to is that of the prophetic missionary activity of Paul of Tarsus. In Paul’s efforts to evangelize the world with the Christian message, Paul tackles the hardest reality first: he engages the Jewish community and invites them to conversion before moving onto the Gentiles. What Paul models for my students is a political maneuver that is generally not appealing. They are accustomed to building a support network primarily through crowdsourcing, but Paul’s life and mission encourages to make their cases for social justice by going first to their staunchest detractors. This strategy of Paul’s is particularly troubling to my students. Why would someone with a vision contrary to the status quo engage opponents?  When I hear this question, I remind myself that this is the generation that spends a lot of time and energy proposing their viewpoints online. Information communication technology becomes a platform then for them to enjoy supports or “likes.”  Their preference for social media allows them to restrict who they follow and who follows them; ultimately their worlds become echo chambers. They hear me, but I am not sure they fully understand. Students are a sign of hope in our very troubled and uncertain world. In their nascent knowledge and youthful energy, they are eager to change the world. Unfortunately, they do not always recognize how complicated it can be. Many give up. Yet, the prophets, Jesus, and Paul all can provide models of effective engagement and hopeful transformation of the culture.

Planning for fall teaching frightens me much more than the spring switch to online teaching did. Going online in the spring was a mad, last-minute scramble, and it felt like an adventure. My students and I had already bonded so I had goodwill built up and I used it shamelessly. It also helped that we were in a crisis. My students didn’t expect me to do things perfectly and I lowered my expectations of them as well. I interacted with them as a fellow human being, providing structure, a sense of normalcy, and a little philosophy. I knew how to do all that, and my students helped me out whenever the technology confused me. But what about the fall? I just went through a few packed training days about teaching online. I left terrified, feeling that I had to spend the summer acquiring technical mastery in online teaching, learning to create snazzy videos and other exciting content. But am I teaching online? I don’t know yet. The situation is too fluid. I need to be prepared to teach online, in person, or in a hybrid format. And I’m tired. I can guarantee that my students will be underwhelmed by any videos that I create over the summer. I won’t have enough time to acquire the technical expertise required to create even decent videos. And because my classes are discussion heavy and lecture light, I’m not sure what I would put into those videos in the first place. Still, I felt pressured to switch to a lecture format, learn to lecture, and then to create videos of those lectures. All in one summer. Wait. Stop. Is that really what I should be working on this summer? No. The online teaching experts who conducted the training forgot that this year is extraordinary. In preparing to teach in the fall, we must start by considering our situation: Our students didn’t choose to take online classes. My students are at a small college, and they came here because of our small in-person classes. If I’m teaching online in the fall, it’s because we were forced into it. Our students are living through a pandemic and political upheaval, so they are distracted and stressed. If they have mental health issues, and many do, those are exacerbated. They are shaken and they feel less safe than they used to. They may have lost loved ones and they are worried about those who remain. We too are living through a pandemic and political upheaval, and it affects us in the same ways that it affects our students. My experts didn’t take any of this into account; they focused on how to create an online course under normal circumstances. And then, I freaked out instead of asking what portion of the advice was applicable to our current situation. Don’t make that mistake. Before spending precious time and energy on your online teaching this summer, ask two questions: What do your students need most from you and your courses under these circumstances? What is your energy level and mental health status, and what are the competing demands on your time and energy? Here is my list of what my students need: A sense of normalcy. A clearly structured course, website, and a set of assignments where expectations and directions are spelled out in simple language. Compassion and flexibility Discussions about meaning and purpose, including some that help them make sense of the current moment. Community and connection. My work this summer will be about doing these five well in any of the possible formats: in-person, online, and hybrid. I’ll work on lectures and videos only if that helps me with the five. I’ll work on technology because I need a better handle on Zoom and our learning management software. But my most important task won’t be about technology. It will be figuring out how to foster community in my classes if we are forced to start the semester online. It’s the most important task for me because I have at least some experience in doing all the others. But how do I build community online? How do we get to know each other? How do we learn to trust each other enough to have a real conversation? I’ll be thinking a lot about that in the next few weeks. Molleen Dupree-Dominguez offers some great places to start.

A traumatic event is one that is sudden and unexpected. Is Covid-19 a traumatic event? Jonathan Porteus, Ph.D., a licensed clinical psychologist who oversees a crisis and suicide hotline in Sacramento, CA., points out high levels of emotional distress from the Covid-19 crisis, and recommends attending to this mental health crisis as a traumatic event. Porteus comments, “Our society is definitely in a collective state of trauma.”[1] The Covid-19 pandemic may also lead to an upcoming wave of mental disorders claims Sandro Galea in an April essay published in the Journal of the American Medical Association.[2] Online learners may be experiencing traumatic emotional distress which may have an impact on their academic performance in their online classes. Then, how can educators in the online teaching of theology and religious studies offer trauma-informed care for online learners? And what should they avoid? What to do: The educator will likely observe changes to an online learner’s behavior and academic performance if mental health challenges arise from traumatic events. In the face-to-face classroom, the educator is, presumably, more easily able to perceive mental health warning signs such as mood changes, change of appearance, absences, and unusual behaviors. In an online class, it is more difficult to assess warning signs of mental health distress. Thus, online educators need to develop strategies for identifying mental health challenges in order to provide appropriate trauma-informed online learning. Trauma often impacts the psychological mechanisms which regulate emotions. If there is a sudden change in academic performance, disruptive interaction in the online discussion, disrespectful behavior toward peers and faculty, or failing grades, an educator should reach out and check on a student’s emotional state. It is critical for educators working from a perspective of trauma-informed online learning to know the warning signs of mental health challenges. Bonny Barr offers these guidelines for identifying the warning signs of mental illness or emotional distress in online students.[3] ATYPICAL BEHAVIORS (a change from the usual) UNUSUAL BEHAVIORS ACADEMIC PERFORMANCE PROBLEMS (Sharkin, 2006) Becoming irritable/short-tempered/obsessive Emails are accusatory, manipulative, sexually inappropriate or threatening Late assignments from beginning of course Sudden deterioration in quality of work Discussion post contents are: bizarre, fantastical, paranoid, disruptive, confused, or show disorientation Failing quality of work from beginning of course Abruptly begins turning in late assignments Student clearly seems out of touch with reality Not returning emails or phone calls Becoming disrespectful in discussion posts   Not turning in work at all Stops responding to email   Not re-doing work when given an opportunity Content of work becomes negative/dark/odd in tone   Ongoing display of anxiety about assignments   Trauma-informed care in online-learning is to acknowledge the earlier signs of traumatic experiences. It means that it is valuable to contact online learners when they display atypical behaviors. As Bruce Sharkin states, “Early intervention can help reduce the chance of a student’s problems turning into a crisis situation later on.”[4] An online educator should be encouraged to address a mental health concern in the early stages of a sudden change of behaviors and identify the emotional distress caused by stress. What not to do: Trauma-informed online learning begins to create a safe space in the learning interaction. When an educator reaches out to learners by any vritual communication, it is critical not to be judgmental. Remember you are not there to give a diagnosis or ‘solve’ mental health challenges. Your first contact is to initiate safe conversations with acceptance and encouragement. For example, an educator can say, or write an email, “I’m touching base with you because I noticed you hadn’t submitted anything for several weeks. It seems as if you are having a rough time,” or “In the discussion post, I see you are stressed out.” An educator’s concern and empathy can be expressed by virtual communications. This approach will encourage a learner to share their struggles without having defensive responses and confrontations. An education in trauma-informed online learning can be the first responder for students. Also, a trauma-informed educator needs to equip themselves to have counseling resources available to students and to know the institutional policies for students with mental health challenges. If anything in the initial conversation leads the educator to be alarmed or have increased concern about the mental health of the learner, then the academic support process can be initiated. Trauma-informed educators in online learning occupy a unique position to help learners be aware of their mental health struggles and seek helpful resources for their well-being. Further, trauma-informed educators in the online teaching of theology and religious studies are in a unique position to influence religious communities by caring for the online learner. When online educators equip themselves to address the mental health challenges of learners, the online educator becomes a great support system for responding to the psychological needs and wellness, not only for online learners, but also for religious communities during the Covid-19 pandemic. [1] Katherine Kam, “Mental Health an Emerging Crisis of COVID Pandemic,” https://www.webmd.com/lung/news/20200508/mental-health-emerging-crisis-of-Covid-pandemic?ecd=wnl_spr_051120&ctr=wnl-spr-051120_nsl-LeadModule_title&mb=210I6N5H5gRJeKEyXlsPHQPCAlmlkpgV9%40IzB8Po%2fgY%3d, May 8, 2020, (Accessed May 12, 2020). [2]Sandro Galea, et.at., “The Mental Health Consequences of COVID-19 and Physical Distancing: The Need for Prevention and Early Intervention,” Journal of the American Medical Association, Published online April 10, 2020. (Accessed May 12, 2020), doi:10.1001/jamainternmed.2020.1562. [3] Bonny Barr, “Identifying and Addressing the Mental Health Needs of Online Students in Higher Education,” Online Journal of Distance Learning Administration, Volume XVII, Number II, Summer 2014 University of West Georgia, Distance Education Center, (Accessed May 12, 2020) https://www.westga.edu/~distance/ojdla/summer172/barr172.html [4] Bruce S. Sharkin, College Students in Distress: A Resource Guide for Faculty, Staff, and Campus Community (Taylor & Francis, 2013), 52.

[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LvIfdwQV5dY[/embedyt] Hi friends. As I and others have reflected on in recent posts, our students have been experiencing not simply the typical challenges of online education, under the best of conditions: difficulty with time management, lack of motivation, glitchy or unavailable or prohibitively expensive technology; they’re also experiencing a lack of connection. My students liked being in class: they enjoyed sharing space with each other; they wanted the chance to interact with me. And it wasn’t just them; I really missed the in-person experience too. Today, I want to offer the concept of “self-disclosure” up for consideration, as one frame for thinking about closing such connection gaps, which have only been exacerbated by these times of distancing and isolation. There are lots of different definitions of this term, “self disclosure”; I personally like the one I found on YouTube from a Communication Studies instructor who said that “self-disclosure is the process of deliberately revealing significant information about oneself that would not be normally known by others.” To repeat, “self-disclosure is the process of deliberately revealing significant information about oneself that would not be normally known by others.” There are, I admit, risks to this kind of self-disclosure in the educational context, for instance, a loss of credibility in the eyes of some students, depending on the significant information shared; apparently, studies have shown that students don’t exactly appreciate hearing about their instructors’ drinking habits! Who would have guessed? But research has also found a lot of benefits too. Self-disclosure can signal the values of openness and humility, it can foster interest and motivation, it can increase the activity in a class, and it can even improve final course evaluations. But, for our current context, I want to focus on another one of its many benefits: that self-disclosure can humanize everyone involved in the learning process and can therefore help to create connections—connections that have been so compromised by the coronavirus. We can, as Rick Moody recently wrote in The New Yorker, “try to cause the humanness to shine through the ones and zeroes.” This revealing of information, on the parts of faculty and students alike, has already been occurring in various ways in our courses, even at the most “normal” of times, from what the syllabus communicates about us as instructors (i.e., our values, our personality, our pedagogy) to what we (think we) learn about individual students through disability accommodation requests that we may receive. In the past, I’ve certainly shared a variety of significant information about myself that my students would not have otherwise known: the time I took a trip, on my own, to India, between my junior and senior year of college; my positive experience with the meditation app Headspace; my great love, borderline obsession, with extra toasty Cheez-its (and yes, this does count as significant piece of information about me). It’s happening now too, online, when cats or kids pop up onto screens; when I wear my Colgate sweatshirt to teach synchronous sessions on Zoom rather than normal work attire; when students mention how bored and out of sorts they are. But such self-disclosure has always seemed a bit impulsive or haphazard. In these times of crisis, I’m suggesting we try to be more intentional about it. The literature on self-disclosure offers various recommendations for how to be effective, some of which seem beside the point to me right now, for instance, making sure to relate it to your course content or trying to vary the topics and timing. The recommendations I’m gravitating toward the most, right now, are the ones that say: be honest, be authentic, be vulnerable. If you’re struggling, let students know. If you’re worried, tell them. If you’re tired or stressed or overwhelmed or uncertain, don’t feel like you have to keep it to yourself under the guise and pressures of professionalism. We all know those standards are biased anyway. Be real. This can let students know they’re not alone. It can model how to handle ambiguity or difficulty. It can create connections, between actual human beings, which is precisely what we all need right now. Thank you.

The day before we were told to go online, rumors that we would transition were flying think and fast. It was a Tuesday. I was supposed to head to Vanderbilt that evening to give a talk on Wednesday, but the night before, it had been canceled. Given this, I suspected that we (CU Boulder) would be going online soon. Earlier in the day when I met with my seminar (a class that, despite being label a seminar, had over 30 people), I told them that I thought online was coming. The entire room burst into conversation, much of it unease, some of it amusement, most of it because they knew I was barely managing our minimalist Canvas site. We had already experienced some small adaptations together. A week or two before, a student who was experiencing back spasms asked if she could lie on the floor during the class. I said yes, and she participated while lying flat on her back. Prior to our last in-person session, a student had emailed me to say that he thought he had Covid-19 and asked if he could attend via FaceTime, on a classmate’s computer. I said yes, and he participated from his screen. Using that flexibility as our foundation, we spent 30 minutes planning our online transition together. In the end, I am responsible for the decisions that were made, but I am very glad that my students and I worked through the plans together. We discussed the possibility of meeting over Zoom. While people really liked our classroom community, we had concerns about trying to have a 34-person conversation over the computer. (At this time, I had never used Zoom and did not realize that I could break the class into small groups with the push of a button.) In addition to questions about the feasibility of the Zoom platform, students were anxious about internet access, changing work schedules, and responsibility for younger siblings. So, we decided that we would have discussion boards. I asked them if they thought that it would be fair to have everyone post one initial thought and two comments on existing posts per day. We agreed, as a group, that one comment could be part of an ongoing conversation on your own post, but that the other comment had to be on someone else’s. We discussed what they wanted and needed in order to make this plan work. Deadlines. They wanted clear deadlines and they wanted me to promise that I would not move things around on them. As the semester would wear on, one by one, they would repeatedly thank me for never moving anything around. We agreed that the initial post needed to be up by the start of class time, and that they had 25 hours to post responses. I talked about what I wanted in the discussion boards: for them to try not to repeat each other, and to make sure that someone commented on almost everyone’s post. When I brought up that second concern, one student nodded. I knew she would monitor our inclusivity. I was delighted, and feel that I can take very little credit, for what happened on our discussion boards over the following weeks. I posted questions to get them going; one of which was always, “Share a quote that struck you as interesting and tell us why you were intrigued by it.” They answered. They picked quotes they liked, they picked quotes that they did not understand, they picked quotes for which they needed more context. They brought their confusion to each other. Frequently, I would log in to discover that a question posed late at night, and probably aimed at me, had been answered by a student before I woke up. But maybe more impressive than their willingness to share their vulnerability, to share their “I do not knows,” they were willing, firmly and politely, to disagree with each other. They challenged each other repeatedly. They debated interpretations of texts, but they also called each other on more charged issues, like failures to see structural racism. Each time, I was struck by the fact that they did so without pointing fingers or descending into accusation. They remained firmly in intellectual community with each other. To be clear, some of these things had been happening in the classroom all along, but most were not, or at least included only the most talkative of the class. These discussion boards were very surprising to me, and upon reflection, I think this kind of connection occurred because I let them choose a format. I did not let them chose the format because I knew that it would lead to these conversations—I did it because I have never taught online, did not know what to do, and wanted to get buy-in for my plan. Wonderfully, my students responded by taking ownership of the space. They had been asked what they wanted to do, and with that freedom they went ahead and did it.

When teaching on issues of social justice, a faculty’s posture can foster or impede the students’ ability to learn and engage fully in the process. I teach Biblical Interpretation. One of the favorite courses that I have designed and taught is “Hermeneutics for Ministry”. This is a graduate course offered to students who are preparing for full time ministry. I challenge the students in the class not only to learn about the art of interpretation, but also to wrestle with why they interpret a certain way. For example, we talk about reading locations, biases and presuppositions. We discuss how a person’s cultural background affects/colors their reading lenses. We watch the movie Arrival and discuss the dynamics of language and prejudice, and the interplay between space/boundary maintenance and reconciliation. In other words, how we use our space and maintain boundaries, who we let in, and the willingness to enter another’s space affect our ability to engage the other in constructive ways. We examine what makes Dr. Louise Banks a character that is worth emulating. We read Emmanuel Levinas’ Otherwise than Being and discuss what it means for come face to face with the other, and to take on their plight. The final project for the course asks students to write a sermon series or develop curriculum that addresses issues on immigration or racial reconciliation; or design a pastoral care plan that addresses Teenage Suicide or Aging and Dying Well. I go to great length to challenge their assumptions and encourage them to think holistically about social justice; namely, to attend to the theological, spiritual, cultural, social, emotional, and financial aspect of the issue. The goal is not only their formation, but also the formation of their congregation’s hermeneutics (the way they view) and attitude (the way they behave) toward immigrants, members of a different race, the elderly, and the memory of those who commit suicide and toward their families. In the Fall 2016, I found myself struggling to communicate with the students. Many of the issues that were central to the course had taken center stage in the political rhetoric of the election. As a Haitian, and an immigrant, I wanted to be cautious. This posture created a lack of authenticity that hindered my ability to challenge the students. Our class met at 8:55am on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The morning after the election, I went to class and started with prayers as was customary. No sooner had I said Amen, that one student asked, “What are your thoughts on last night’s election?” I replied immediately, “I am not from around here; I am not sure what to say.” I proceeded to start my presentation, when the silence that fell on the class caught my attention. I looked up from my computer and saw the students’ eyes fixed on me. It was a look that I had not seen before. They wanted to hear from me on this particular issue, and they were not willing to let me off the hook. I quickly realized that if I was going to be successful in my endeavor to challenge their own presuppositions on other social justice and civic engagement issues, I needed to be vulnerable on this one. To be vulnerable is to open oneself to the possibility of being wounded, of being harmed. It comes at a great risk. It is a risk worth taking if the telos of theological education is the transformation of the individual. We have to be willing to open up ourselves to the students, so that they can see our hearts and in order to be convinced of the lessons we want them to learn.  That November morning, I took the risk and told the students what was on my heart. Among other things, I pointed out that the popular vote suggested that we were dealing with a divided country. I urged them to be ready to shoulder the responsibility and burden of bringing healing to a nation, a society, and a church that have lost the art of dialoging with others who hold diverging opinions. Little did I know that the divide would become so entrenched. Little did I know that their burden would become so heavy. Today more than ever we need to let our guard down and teach with vulnerability. We need to empower our students by acknowledging our own shortcomings. What would it take to invite them to our space and let them see our pain, our doubts, our struggles?