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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.

In the first blog of this series (“Nobody Goes to the Cinema to Read the Screenplay"), I noted that I’ve tried to boost my multimedia literacy by becoming a student of the cinema and seeking convergences between filmmaking and homiletics for the purposes of enlivening the preached word, communicating the gospel, and impacting hearers and their/our world. One of the most delightful ways of boosting cinema literacy is by attending film festivals and their accompanying “talks.” At a recent documentary film festival, I heard about “Impact Teams,” and knew immediately that this is one of those impactful (!) convergences between filmmaking and preaching. Preaching professors guide students toward paying careful attention to their hearers and identifying what impact their preaching might have on them. Noted homiletician Thomas Long encourages preachers to identify a one-sentence “function statement” for each sermon.[1] This statement identifies what a preacher wants the sermon to do to/for the hearers in light of what the biblical text does and in light of what is known about the hearers and their lives. In other words, the preacher identifies the hoped-for impact of the sermon on individual hearers, the church, and maybe even the world. Often the first weeks of introductory preaching courses are dedicated to helping novice preachers get to a faithful function statement in order to craft a sermon that will do what the preacher (with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, of course) hopes it will accomplish (e.g., inspire, comfort, challenge, motivate, encourage, etc.). A good place to begin is to help preachers identify the impact sermons have had on them. Because this task does not come easy (surprising as that might be), getting some distance from the discipline of homiletics altogether is often a helpful starting place. A Film’s Impact on the Viewer Have you ever wondered why the majority of people have a conversation with someone about the films they see and the majority of worshippers (so it seems) rarely talk about their worship experiences with another? Somehow, we’ve been culturally formed to identify a movie’s impact on us beyond “I liked it” or “I didn’t like it.” We’ve developed a sense that movies are supposed to affect us and in this age of expanding cinematic literacy we’ve gained the capacity to articulate such effects. The preaching classroom is served by taking the discussion one step further and exploring with students what created the impact, e.g. lighting creates mood, camera angle forces point of view, the pace of dialog might create a sense of immediacy. “The filmmaker organizes shots, camera movement, editing, and music to elicit certain reactions so that viewers will respond right on cue precisely as intended.”[2] Learning the techne of filmmaking points to the intentionality of a filmmaker seeking (unapologetically!) a hoped-for impact on the viewer. A Sermon’s Impact on the Hearer Grasping the cinematic intentionality of a filmmaker aids recognition of the homiletic intentionality of the preacher. What tools do preachers have to create mood or to adopt a point of view, for example? How can preachers choose and use these tools to accomplish the sermon’s hoped-for impact? Even beyond homiletical techne, students begin to develop an appreciation for the power of preaching. In other words, with some intentionality, sermons can do things. (It’s worth noting that intentionality can be Spirit-led and, therefore, need not be equated with manipulation as some have been led to believe.) Sermon Impact Teams While many preachers learn to embrace the need to identify their sermon’s hoped-for impact, far fewer preachers embrace the encouragement to find out what impact a sermon actually has had on their hearers. Preachers can learn from filmmakers in this regard as well. Not only do filmmakers work toward a desired impact, but they often have “impact teams” to find out how films affect their viewers. It doesn’t take blockbuster budgets for preachers to adopt sermon feedback practices in order to find out how their sermons are received by their hearers. •  Consider soliciting responses to two or three written feedback questions posed on the back of the bulletin. • Designate one table at the coffee hour following worship as the sermon roundtable where members of the “sermon impact team” facilitate conversation. It is important to remember that this is not the occasion for the preacher to receive ego strokes or ego strikes. Instead, consider asking simply, “What happened to you during the sermon today?,” “What in particular made this experience happen for you?” With a bit of coaching, congregation members will soon embrace the power of the pulpit for their lives. What has been said about the screen can most certainly true about the pulpit: Movies change us. . . We can benefit, in other words, from an honest dialog with movies that probe the affairs of life, even unpleasant or disturbing events and conditions. And we become better critics with deeper self-awareness through spirited post-movie discussions that make us consider our values and refine our point of view, and even sometimes challenge us to think differently.[3] [1] Thomas G. Long, The Witness of Preaching, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2016), chapter 4. [2] William D. Romanowski, Cinematic Faith: A Christian Perspective on Movies and Meaning (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2019), 55. [3] As noted by Los Angeles film critic, Justin Chang. Romanowski, 26.

One of the most common pedagogical errors I see in course syllabi is confusing a learning activity for a learning outcome. This often becomes evident when reviewing course learning objectives. A professor will write a course objective that reads "The student will participate in class discussions." Or, "The student will write a 12-page paper on an assigned topic." Or, "The student will submit two case studies from their ministry context." Those assignments provide clear expectations of student learning activities, but they reveal little about desired learning outcomes. What is the student supposed to learn as a result of doing those activities? Or, in what ways and to what extent will those activities provide evidence of student learning? The potential miss in confusing a learning activity for a learning outcome is that a teacher will be satisfied with grading an assignment, like a research paper, but fail to assess what learning (knowledge or skill) the student has acquired. A learning activity is something you want the students to do in order to achieve a learning outcome. A learning outcome is the evidence the student provides that they have understood a concept, gained knowledge, mastered a level of competence, or changed affect (attitude, appreciation, or opinion). This can be tricky in that sometimes an assignment can be the outcome. For example, in an English composition class writing an effective essay can be an outcome. But in a theology or philosophy course, writing an essay may be a learning activity that leads to an outcome. In the former, the teacher assesses the quality of the student assignment, like form, grammar, styles, etc. In the latter, the teacher assesses the essay for evidence of critical thinking, correct application of theological concepts, logical reasoning, avoiding errors of bias, sound interpretation, responsible use of facts, comprehensiveness, etc. Well-written Learning Objectives Can Help One way to overcome the trap of mistaking one thing for another is to design well-written learning objectives. Instead of identifying what a student will do ("The student will write a case study," "The student will read the text"), which is a learning activity, identify what the student will demonstrate ("The student will demonstrate . . .") which is a learning outcome. Avoid being satisfied with vague educational terminology like, "The student will understand . . ." without providing a criterion for what constitutes understanding. Use a taxonomy of learning to define the quality, characteristic, or criterion of understanding you will look for in your learning outcome (e.g., Wiggins and McTighe's taxonomy of understanding). Rubrics Can Help Another way to reveal the learning intent of an activity is by applying a learning assessment rubric. A well-written rubric will identify the criterion and the quality of learning outcomes. Some rubrics evaluate the product of a student assignment, but fail to identify the learning that is supposed to result from the assignment. Elegant rubrics can do both, but at least try to write your rubrics for outcomes of learning and not merely for evaluating a student product (an assignment). It can help to differentiate outcomes from activities by placing them in different headings in your course syllabus. Needless to say, your learning activities should align with your published learning outcomes: (1) In what ways will the learning activity help the student achieve the learning outcome (if it doesn't, then don't assign it), or (2) In what ways will the learning activity demonstrate that the student has achieved the learning outcome? Attached is a graphic handout that can help you differentiate an activity (assignment) from an outcome. 

In 2015 my wife, Dr. Vanessa Watkins, took a trip with National Geographic to Cuba led by one of their photographers. One of the things I love about National Geographic trips is that the tour leader lectures in the hotel prior to going out to engage the culture. This leader lectured, but what blew my mind was that he never put a word on the screen. Throughout our fourteen-day trip, he always lectured with a computer, projector, screen, and images. Still images were his language of choice. He showed us what he was talking about and it was powerful. The images he shared were his images, he was a professional photographer, but that wasn’t what made the images work, it was his pedagogical decision to use the screen to project pictures. He would talk around the image; the image became the center piece of his comments and it worked amazingly well. Those images are still with me, five years later. What does this say to us as pedagogues? [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2560"] Vanessa and Ralph Watkins in Cuba 2015[/caption] We have the big screen in our classrooms, in Moodle and Canvas, but how are we using this real estate? Are we using the screen to project words, words that we are re-reading to our students? Are we using the templates designed by engineers in Power Point who have no artistic or pedagogical training? Are we using the screen to show our students what we are talking about so that they can see it? I would suggest that we think about how we might use the screen as a pedagogical tool to show the students what we are talking about, to engage the creative centers of their brains, and to embrace the old saying, “a picture is worth a thousand words.” I would rephrase that old saying, “a picture saves us from saying a thousand words.”To use photographs in the powerful way they can be used, we have to understand why a photograph works. Better yet we have to learn to read photographs. Lets go to Cuba: This is my favorite image from Cuba. Why?  This image is rich and full of information. When you read an image, you first read it from left to right. From left to right we see the juxtaposition of the old cars, a new car that is a taxi, a school bus with the backdrop of the capital. Smack dab in the middle of the image behind the newer black car is a street sweeper’s trash can. The image offers clarity, negative space (open space), and the beauty of Cuba’s sky. From the far-left bottom of the frame you see a blue car and that is put in conversation with the far-right of the frame where you see a white car. Sandwiched between these two cars is the complexity of Cuba. The capital stands as a monument under reconstruction; a symbol of Cuba’s determination to live, build, rebuild, reconstruct, and embrace its rich heritage of rugged survival. You also read an image from front to back. In the foreground we have this old blue car. The car’s headlights shine in the morning rising sun. You can vaguely make out the people in the car. The blue car greets you and it says, “Good morning Cuba!” As you move one layer back to the middle ground of the image, you see the black car, the street sweeper’s garbage can, the woman walking on the side of the school bus, the school bus, the capital, and the beautiful morning sky. The streets are clean and the streets speak of the beautiful blackness that is Cuba. This is an image that could be the opening for a lecture about my trip to Cuba. Why put words on the screen when I can put this picture on the screen? This picture takes you to Cuba. No words needed. This is an image you can talk around as you share with your students the complexity that is Cuba. When it comes to using images in our classes we need to use powerful images that tell stories and read well from left to right and from front to back. You are looking for images that speak to what you want to say, and say it in a way that brings to life the argument you are making. You have to ask what does this image say? What’s in the edges of the frame? Where does the eye go and where does it wander? What thousand words does this image say that I don’t need to say? Images speak if we look at them and listen. What are your images saying in your lectures? Here are some more pictures from my Cuba trip. I present them for your consideration to practice reading images. Start from left to right, then read the image from front to back, look at the edges of the frame and then ask, where does the eye go and what does this image say? [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="1000"] Picture #1: The City View of Havana[/caption] [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="1000"] Picture #2: The Fruit of Cuba[/caption] [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="1000"] Picture #3: Walking and Talking[/caption] [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="1000"] Picture #4: Time for Dinner[/caption]   To view all my photos from Cuba: https://www.flickr.com/photos/ralphwatkins47/albums/72157652605129753

Growing up, one of my all-time favorite TV cartoons was Quickdraw McGraw and his faithful companion, Babalooi (does that date me?). Do you remember it? Quickdraw was the noble but naive, quick-on-the-trigger sheriff who fought off wicked desperados who inevitably found their way into his small, quiet prairie town. Sheriff Quickdraw’s first attempt at stopping a criminal type was to cry out, “Cease and desist!” Of course, it never worked. What hardened criminal would desist bad behavior just because you tell them to? Which brings up the question, when learners misbehave, how do you get them to desist without disrupting the learning process? While those of us who teach graduate level courses rarely have classroom management problems as those in undergraduate and lower grades, when they do happen, they can derail the learning experience. I once had to dismiss an adjunct in a graduate course mid-semester due to her poor handling of classroom management issues, mostly due to her inexperience. Because she was not able to get her classroom under control early by providing effective interventions (desists), things just got worse, to the point that the situation became unsalvageable. Fortunately, there are effective ways for a teacher to say “Cease and desist” to stop off-task behavior and get learning back on track. A teacher who knows how to stop class disruption before it spreads not only stops the deviancy, but at the same time has a positive effect on other learners in the class. A desist is an action the teacher makes to stop off-task learner behavior. The trick of course, is to use desists which not only stop unwanted behavior but will not also distract the other learners in the class. For example, if a teacher uses angry, punitive desists, then the acting out learner may stop his or her misconduct, but the ripple effect on the other learners will cause an increase in emotional anxiety which disrupts learning, and possibly causes additional unwanted disruptive behavior. An effective teacher gives attention to the quality of desist, those characteristics of teacher behavior used to stop disruptive learner conduct. Quality of desist has three indicators: Clarity, Roughness, Task-Force, and Approval-Focus. Clarity of Desist. Clarity refers to behavior on your part that specifies who the acting-out learner is, what he or she is doing wrong, and why this is improper behavior or what the proper behavior is. Roughness of Desist. Roughness refers to the way an attempt to stop misbehavior expresses impatience and anger, or ways the teacher's facial or bodily behavior expresses anger. Task-Force Desist. The task-force desist refers to ways you direct learners to the task at hand as the desist is given. Major Deviance Desist. In this teacher behavior, the teacher selects the major disruption when two or more deviancies occur simultaneously. The rule is to focus on the major disruption and ignore the lesser. Correct Target Desist. In this behavior, the teacher desists the learner who caused the disruption, not a bystander. Approval-Focus Desist. In this student-affirming teacher action, you make a statement that implies your warmth toward and feeling for the learners. This type of desist loses its effectiveness after about the third grade. Research in classroom management indicates that: Soft reprimands are more effective in controlling disruptive behavior than loud reprimands, and that when soft reprimands are used, fewer are needed Learners who witnessed a punitive or angry desist responded with more behavior disruption than when they observed a desist without roughness Task-focused desists resulted in more favorable ripple effect on the conduct of learners than the approval-focus desists When a simple reprimand was observed, learners felt the teacher was fairest and able to maintain control. Learning effective desist techniques is one of the most valuable skills a teacher can master. A teacher who can minimize time spend on classroom and behavior management will increase the time he or she has for actual teaching and instruction. One study found that teachers trained in specific management behaviors, including the use of positive questioning techniques and soft reprimands/desists, decreased the amount of non-instructional time by 20 minutes per day! SOURCES: Becker, W.C. et al. Production and elimination of disruptive classroom behavior by systematically varying teachers’ behavior. Journal of Applied Behavior Analysis (1968) 1:35-45. Borg, W.R. et al. Teacher classroom management skills and pupil behavior. Journal of Experimental Education (1975) 44:52-58. Emmer, E.T., et al. Effective Classroom Management at the Beginning of the School Year. Elementary School Journal (1980) 80: 219-231. Kounin, J.S. Discipline and Group Management in Classrooms. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston (1970).

One of my favorite reality TV shows is Project Runway. It is a contest of fashion designers who compete by designing new garments each week. Each episode the designers receive a new design challenge. The episode ends with renowned fashion designers judging the garments made by the contestants, then eliminating the weakest design. While I know the producers control the storyline of each episode, my fascination is in watching the ways the contestants grapple with the challenges of design, of being creative, of being human, of problem solving. Watching artists create a new garment in the context of a challenge intrigues me as I think about the work of teaching and learning to bring forth the voice. A favorite episode involved a most difficult challenge. The designers were instructed to create a garment based upon some aspect of New York City – the aspect of the City was of their own choosing – the contestants were led to believe that this was the entire challenge. They were given time to sketch, then were taken to the fabric store to purchase fabrics. Once they got back to the work room a twist was added to the challenge. The designers were instructed to switch their bags of fabric with another designer. In other words, they had to create a garment using the fabric another designer had selected. This unexpected twist sent the designers reeling! The camera vividly showed the designers in shock, in panic, in fear. Emotional turmoil seized the group. The usually chatty, noisy, electric work room was still, and the mood was somber. Some designers became angry and railed and cussed. Others cried. One designer was so stymied she considered dropping out of the competition because the fabric she was given was unfamiliar to her and not to her taste. The story line of the episode showed the designers, in multiple ways, rally to the challenge; the designers struggled and found unanticipated ways to solve the problems of the challenge. They found new solutions in the repertoire of design. By the run-way show – all designers had garments to show. The judges commented that so many of the pieces looked new, fresh compared to previous week’s work. The judges praised the group of designers for solving the problem well and with a refreshing aesthetic. Design is problem solving. Cultural aesthetics are not generic nor universal. Cultural aesthetics are determined by solving problems in particular contexts and arriving at solutions which have political implications and aesthetic qualities. If we had the eye to see, we would recognize that we are surrounded by, immersed in, design. Our coffee pots and mugs are designed. Computer keyboards are designed then redesigned. Our national and international transportation systems (on the grandest scale) are designed. From the smallest detail of life to the meta-patterns of society – design choices are made by us and for us. The design of a building portrays the architect’s philosophy. Visible to the eye, as well as experienced while walking through the building, is the architect’s beliefs about the nature of humanity. The viewpoint of the architect is expressed in the use of sunlight, the means and methods of access, the places of privacy and the materials which construct the walls, floors, and door knobs. The use of line, space, color, contrast (value), form, texture and space translate his/her understanding of human bodies and the ways we work, play and live in community. Architects become known for their “look” – their style, their aesthetic opinion and viewpoints. Even as laypersons, we recognize the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, I.M. Pei and Leonardo da Vinci. The same could be said about the work of many kinds of designers. In fashion, the aesthetic of Jason Wu, Betsy Johnson, and Donna Karen are easily recognized. In dance, the choreography (design) of Alvin Ailey, Judith Jamison, Katherine Dunham and Robert Battle are revered. To push the notion of design into sports – the genius of Venus and Serena Williams as designers on the tennis court is renowned the world over. Design expresses the voice. The voice evolves, matures and refines over the lifetime of the designer. Designers find, summon and bring forth new answers to old problems over their years of work. The longer they design the more they discover, uncover, and become aware of new expressions for their own point of view. The more they express their point of view, the more their opinion sharpens and hones. Designers interpret and reinterpret their truths searching for ways to say to the world what they are thinking, feeling, knowing, becoming and believing. Victor Wooten, Grammy Award winning jazz musician says it like this, “…an instrument laid on the ground makes no sound. It is the musician who must bring Music forth, or not.” What if, just as the philosophy of the architect is revealed in the blue prints and in the building, the voice of the teacher is revealed in the syllabus and classroom experience? What if, as teachers, we think of ourselves as designers? What if, in creating our syllabi and planning our teaching lessons we considered the line, space, color, contrast, form, texture and space of the course and classroom dynamics – not as whimsy, folly, but with the intent of expressing our genuine voice as critically reflective teachers? Since design is problem solving, we cannot trivialize this work by saying our students are the problem; that would be like a painter saying the easel and canvas are the problem. Nor can we say the topic at hand is the problem. Teacher/designers, like all designers, know that the problem to be solved is one of expressing the authentic voice of the teacher and inspiring the authentic voice of the student. In the words of Professor Nel Morton, our task is to “hear each other into speech.” The metric of good teaching is not figuring out a formula for the classroom then inflicting that formula upon students for an entire teaching career. Designers are after something more than the routine or the generic. Design sensibilities invite teachers to avoid teaching that is tantamount to fast food meals or paint-by-number kits. They challenge teachers to avoid teaching which is sterile, tasteless and steers learners “down a narrow road toward a destination not of their own.” (Wooten) Designers and artists invite new thinking and learning experiences to make the learning sticky, lasting, participatory and beautiful. Suppose you were to take out a large, ample sampling of your syllabi, then arrange them chronologically. Spread them out on the floor (or the computer screen). Look for the ways your teaching voice has matured, evolved, shifted and become more refined. What does your voice taste like, sound like, look like, feel like, smell like in the classroom? What is the line, space, color, contrast (value), form, texture and space of your teaching? If you cannot answer these questions – ask your students – they know. No one is born able to articulate their authentic selves. No one is born knowing their voice or design aesthetic. No one comes into the world knowing how to teach. It takes years to craft and refine your authentic voice – it evolves through work, rehearsal, practice, mistakes, and achievements. Recognizing our individual and collective power to get another person to express themselves freely is the insight toward freedom for both teacher and learner.

When I met with our first-year students during on-campus orientation five weeks into their program, a student complained to me about an assignment in my online class. I didn’t recognize what the student was describing, and after a few minutes I realized that it wasn’t from our class at all. He had been working from the to-do list on the main page of our learning management system (LMS), receiving assignments from all of his classes in an undifferentiated list, ordered only by due date. He found it difficult to mentally sort which assignments went with which class, and he felt frustrated and ready to quit. On the one hand, this student was an extreme example. With online orientation, most students understand how to “move” into individual courses to see assignments in context of the full site for the class. On the other hand, because distinct classrooms, different classmates, meeting times, and the visual presence of the instructor are often muted in online learning, this scenario of being adrift in a sea of deadlines and assignments is not all that unusual for online students. Whenever they “go” to different classes they do so sitting alone looking at the same screen, which can blend experiences from multiple classes in their mind. Increasingly students are using smaller phone screens and the combined to-do list of all courses as their guide through their education. Learning becomes a never-ending stream of calendrical tasks to squeeze in between work hours and caring for family members and the many other demands of working adult students. They are doggedly getting what they need to get done finished, but the bigger story of each class gets lost in the shuffle, making the scaffolding necessary for learning and retention more difficult to build. Since that conversation, I have been more aware of how students engage the LMS. I try to imagine what it is like to encounter the individual assignments and tasks of my class in isolation from one another as they pop up in a mixed to-do list generated by the system. Do they come across as a communal learning space or just another damn thing to get done? Can they even figure out which class the task has come from? I now work harder to communicate the connective tissue that holds together the task-oriented skeleton of the class in what appears on the to-do list. What often gets lost are the transitions between topics, where we have been and where we are going, the overall narrative arc of the class. Of course, this also easily happens in a residential class that meets once or twice a week, interrupted by six other days of busy life and other interactions. Without careful design and communication by instructors, the story of the class can be obscure to novices encountering it for the first time, whatever the setting. In my last blog, I talked about the importance of using short faculty videos to help create a sense of the social presence of the instructor in an online class. These videos are also a great way to create connective tissue from assignment to assignment, marking the developments in learning that the instructor has seen in the class, and naming where the class has been and where they are heading. If they are placed on the same page as the task, they help the student associate which instructor and which class the assignment comes from. This connective tissue can also be generated in textual narrative. Where I once would have an assignment that simply listed the readings and the discussion prompt for the day, now I will have several paragraphs reminding students of where we are in the course, why this topic for this day, and introducing the readings. A written mini-lecture might contextualize the moment in history that we are engaging, or why I think that this material is important, or what I hope they will learn from engaging it, or how it builds on what we have learned so far. One of the difficulties of providing this connective tissue in asynchronous classes is that often I am creating these pieces two weeks ahead of where the majority of the class is working. I can’t always draw on what happened in the last class session, like I would in a residential class. But I do my best to keep the whole story arc of the class in mind, and to clue students into our current moment, not unlike the recap of a season of television that happens before the first episode of the next series. This practice also keeps me honest about knowing the “why” for each task I set in the class so I can help students stay oriented in the midst of the continuous flow of tasks set for their learning.

Concepts are some of the most powerful components of learning and content mastery. In fact, concepts attainment is necessary for deep understanding. If your students don't grasp the concept, they don't really understand what you are trying to teach. This is a challenge in teaching in part because most students do not recognize a concept when they see it (and novice teachers often don't either). Further, concepts are abstract and therefore hard to grasp. And yet, the most important things we try to teach, what is referred to as "enduring understandings," is comprised of abstract concepts. What is a concept? Concepts consist of a category (sometimes called a class or a set) and the attributes by which to tell whether or not an object belongs in the category. Concepts, then, require the ability to build taxonomies. Students must discern likeness and difference, identify qualities, and name or create categories. No small feat for any learner, yet we've all been doing this cognitive feat since we were young children, and it remains a fundamental way we learn all through life. The Procedure for Teaching a Concept The best procedure to follow when teaching a concept is: Name the concept Define the concept Explicate the concept Provide an example of the concept Provide a non-example of the concept Identify criterial attributes of the concept Test for comprehension. It's quite amazing, but, if we follow this procedure learners are better able to acquire an understanding of a concept than if we try it any other way. Often it is in step three, that we fall into the trap of teaching misunderstandings. For example, using metaphors as explanation (rather than illustration). The genius of this powerful procedure is that you can apply it in five minutes, or, design an entire period or unit around it. You can use the procedure to introduce the concept for your lesson during the first five minutes of your class. Or, you can use the procedure as a scaffold for an entire unit of study, with each step as a student learning activity. Other common misunderstandings involve offering anthropomorphic ("The Bible says . . . " "History tells us . . ."), ontological (a failure to differentiate cause from end), or normative ("Because that's the rule . . . ," "God said it, I believe it, that settles it" or appealing to uncritical self-evident norms) explications when teaching concepts. Avoiding teaching misunderstanding requires we do the hard work of developing an accurate understanding of what we are trying to teach. Steps 4, 5, and 6 are the ones that help facilitate the process of acquiring an accurate understanding (going from the known to the unknown, building taxonomies, sharpening identification of occurrence, etc.). Here is a simple test: before trying to teach a concept try explaining it to someone else (1) simply, and (2) accurately. Preferably, you should have a young child around to experiment on. With complex concepts students will need more process time to gain a deep, nuanced, and accurate understanding. Complex concepts may require multiple facets of exploration, practice, and application. Step seven is critical. Learners are notorious for being able to explain a concept without fully understanding it. Students get adept at mimicking teacher explications or learning to give back what you, the teacher, said while bypassing all of the necessary processes that result in actually understanding. Unfortunately much of what consists of testing for understanding in schooling is assessing whether or not the student can explain it like the teacher did, rather than assessing understanding. Meaning, your students can get 100% "correct" on a test and still not have learned anything. When you teach a concept follow the correct procedure outlined and you will help your students acquire a deeper understanding of the concept while avoiding misunderstanding.

Teaching theology in the seminary is challenging. Many students, burning with zeal to do the “real work” of ordained ministry, pastoral care, often cannot immediately perceive theology’s role in that endeavor. Its utility for building community, performing diaconal service, celebrating liturgies, or providing spiritual formation is often not as apparent to them as it is to us. I have found that one way to defuse students’ skepticism toward theology is by early, direct, and repeated emphasis on the relationship between theological imagination and the embodied practice of faith. Once students catch a glimpse of how theological symbols function (thank you, Elizabeth Johnson!) and, conversely, how practices shape theological symbols, they more readily apprehend how preaching, teaching, and living good theology are essential to providing the pastoral care they expect seminary will train them to give. Last July, I participated in the Wabash Center’s Teaching with Digital Media workshop for the express purpose of developing more tools to help students connect the study of theology to the practice of ministry. As part of an exercise during the workshop, I reconceived a paper assignment at the end of the first term of a two-semester introduction to theology sequence I teach annually. I turned it into an outward-facing digital theology project. Having students dip their toes into doing a bit of public theology as the culminating task of a semester of study designed to demonstrate the link between conceptual and practical theologies seemed like it would further my pedagogical goals. The assignment I gave them was to imagine themselves the director of adult formation at a church and to create an original meme (a still image or a GIF) for the formation-program Facebook page of the church. The meme was to communicate the importance of preserving a robust concept of sin in Christian theology and practice. Students had to share the meme as broadly as possible and solicit feedback on it. They then needed to write a brief paper that would (1) explain, in conversation with the relevant course texts, the theological choices made in creating the meme, and (2) report and reflect on how the meme was received and what the student learned from this as a theologian. The results were remarkable. [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="511"] Used courtesy of Nora Boerner, CDSP M.Div. student[/caption] Students created memes that were sometimes provocative, sometimes humorous, sometimes both. The richest and most sophisticated of them, not surprisingly, were produced by the students whose theological rationales were the most nuanced. What was gratifying about this was that they themselves realized this connection. They were able to grasp how easy it is to communicate theology sloppily and saw that providing a message consonant with the Good News requires a deep understanding of what that central communication is. If one is going to distill the Gospel into capsule form, such as a meme, with as little distortion as possible, solid theology is required. In cases in which viewers received a message different from the intent, students benefitted from a first-hand education in how easy it is to be misunderstood when concepts are not handled with sufficient care, and they could appreciate that this can have unintended negative effects on one’s audience and thus impair the pastoral relationship. [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="451"] Used courtesy of Sunshine Dulnuan, CDSP MTS student[/caption] Some students were made anxious by the assignment because of lack of familiarity with meme culture or trepidation over engaging in public theological commentary. Confronting both of these anxieties is important for church leaders in training. Effective public communication in the visual and syntactical languages various publics use is crucial for those charged with mission, discipleship, and evangelism (the three foci of Church Divinity School of the Pacific’s program of formation). This may mean learning idioms quite different from one’s default mode of communication, and needing to translate theology well from one into the other. The anxiety this assignment provoked was, to my mind, the one commonly experienced when confronting a developmental challenge, and so it was, in the end, a productive anxiety. [caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="405"] Used courtesy of Joanna Benskin, CDSP M.Div. student[/caption] This media-based assignment contributed nicely to my overall pedagogical objectives. Students were required to produce and disseminate a micro-theology expressive of their developing theological imaginations. They communicated a formational message with a theological foundation they could articulate and justify. They were thus given an opportunity to enter intellectually and affectively (and also tentatively and gently) into the arena of public theological exchange and to grasp how challenging, indispensable, and even, yes, pastoral, the discipline of theology can—and, in the context of these students’ particular vocations, must—be.

One of the most unfortunate practices in instruction is a teacher trying to get “right answers” from students. This is not to say that getting your students to get it right is a bad thing–in fact, it’s very desirable. Usually what happens, however, is that the teacher is engaged in teaching a concept and then pauses to “test” to see if students are getting it. The teacher asks a question intended to solicit a right answer, then is satisfied when one or two students answer correctly. The trap is that in the mind of the teacher a right answer indicates that learning has taken place and the student understands the concept. The truth is that a “right answer” may merely indicate that the learner has learned to mimic the teacher’s explanation—or maybe the learner made a lucky guess! When I was in grade school, I was chosen to be the spokesperson for an exhibit at the annual science fair. My job was to stand in front of a large container of water upon which were two small model boats. One model was intact and floated on the surface, but the other model had a hole in it. When I placed the second model boat on the surface of the water it would soon take on water and sink. I remember that my job was to explain to people why a boat with a hole in its hull sinks. I was chosen for the job because apparently I gave the "right" explanation well. But I have to confess that I was well aware that I didn’t really understand what it was that I was explaining! Even as I was giving the explanation to enraptured groups of students and teachers, I was keenly aware that I didn’t comprehend what I was talking about. I’d learned to mimic my science teacher’s explanation, but I didn’t understand it. Even when a learner gives a right answer, the skilled teacher will use the opportunity to follow up on how the learner arrived at the correct answer. Effective teachers assess understanding of the concepts being learned, not just test for “right answers.” In other words, effective teachers do not just focus on what a student says in an answer, but also assesses how a student arrived at the answer. One way to help learners acquire deeper understanding is to be more intentional in your response to student answers. When responding to a learner’s correct answer, don’t just say, “Right!” or “That’s correct!” Respond in a way that will both enforce the correct answer and help teach the group about why an answer is correct and how to arrive at the right answer. Teacher responses that include information about why the learner’s answer is correct, such as rephrasing the response to emphasize factors that make the answer correct, or the steps or methods used to get the correct answer, are helpful to other learners who are in the process of learning the reasoning behind why something is so, or who are trying to figure out the steps for arriving at an accurate answer to the question being posed. You can help students move beyond mimicking a right answer and toward comprehension by: - Amplifying the student’s response - Restating, modifying, or rephrasing the learner’s response and redirect for further discussion - Asking the student to explain how he or she arrived at the answer - Asking the student to provide an example or a corollary - Probing for further discussion. By the way, can you explain why a boat sinks?