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NOTE: As I write this last blog from Pasadena, CA, several months after my last segment, I recognize that many are only beginning to face the long road to recovery in the aftermath of the LA Firestorms, ICE raids, and loss of federal funding, while others are navigating a whole host of concerns that result from these events. This is on top of the social and political dynamics we have faced this year, both personally and communally. In many ways life is already messy, and many are trying to find ways to sustain themselves, teach, lead, and care for others in the midst of their own mess and ours. I wanted to write this note to say: I see you. You are not alone. Friends, we have reached the end of our journey with Miss Frizzle! And though we may be sad to see her leave us (for now), I think we’ve saved the best lesson for last. For those of you who are true fans of the series, you know that this last part often changes, depending on the circumstances that Miss Frizzle and the kids are in. But the “get messy!” aspect is always present, and for that, we dive deep into the mess to see what we can learn. First, let’s talk about getting messy. Now, I won’t speak for everyone else, but I can say that personally, I don’t like it. Getting messy is inconvenient, gross, and often requires that I do things I don’t like to do. I only do it as a means to an end. I thought I meant this only physically (doing dirty dishes, washing floors, and all the other “messes” you are thinking of right now), but several years ago, I realized I also thought this way spiritually. Allow me to explain. As a young adult, I had several spiritual teachers who taught a neat spirituality. They advocated for a kind of spiritual life that didn’t include the messiness of our lives, or if they did, we didn’t talk about it. Besides, any mess we have or would encounter was already handled in the person of Jesus. Jesus died (in ways we will not describe) so that we wouldn’t have to handle our mess. This always bothered me, mostly because (like most young adults) my life was very messy, and I didn’t have the tools to handle it or sweep it under the spiritual rug. While they attempted to teach me to “give my mess over to god” by ignoring it, I became drawn to it. I realized that messiness did not scare me. It became a catalyst for my art making, and a starting point for the kind of spirituality that led me to get a PhD.  Teaching From the MessNow I know I’ve said mess a lot, but I have not defined it. What exactly do I mean by mess? One definition that I love is “a situation or state of affairs that is confused and full of difficulties.” That sounds about right. Mess is often confusing and difficult, and if no one wants to be either of those things, why does Miss Frizzle encourage it? Because everything begins once we accept the mess. If we can accept that things are confusing and difficult, we can begin the process of moving toward new possibilities, both of which require taking chances and making mistakes. This is of the utmost importance for theological educators. Everything that we teach begins with mess. Part of the problem, in my humble opinion, is that we approach the mess with a rigidity and sterility that requires us to replace the messiness of our lives and theologies with systems and ideas that seek to eradicate and ignore and not engage. We cannot create rigid classrooms that seek to engage mess. We have to get messy.How do we do that? Well, I’m glad you asked. Let’s go back to our first lesson: bending, keeping, and breaking rules. That lesson asks us to get to the root of what the rule is doing for us. Our pedagogy doesn’t just become rigid; it is often the result of trying to create consistency, ritual, or repetition in our classes. As we are sorting through things that are confusing and difficult, we often seek to create safety by bringing in the opposites of what we are facing. If something is confusing, we offer clarity. If it’s difficult, we try to break it down to be more palatable. We create a routine so our students can have continued practice. None of this is bad or wrong. But the rigidity comes in when we don’t follow the second rule, making mistakes. Often, we use a pedagogical tool over and over again in the name of consistency, not realizing that it no longer works. Making mistakes is about first realizing the mistake. How do you know you’ve moved from consistency to rigidity? Ask your students! Engage ways of continued feedback (beyond surveys) that show that your students are getting what they need. Switch up your assignments to think through how students are showing improvement and integration. Do the work to create a pedagogical toolbox that gives you multiple ways to teach and engage content. I Don’t Know! One part of my toolbox that I have used most often consists of three powerful words: “I don’t know.” Starting out, I was afraid to admit this to anyone. Saying I don’t know is like admitting you are an imposter. But pretending to know everything (when I obviously didn’t) hindered my teaching. And of course my students could always tell. The reason I was afraid was because I adhered to the idea that, as the professor, I was supposed to know everything about what I was teaching. That there was no question I shouldn’t be able to answer. I hope you hear how ridiculous that sounds. It wasn’t until a student asked some off-the-wall question that I had no clue how to answer that I just said, “I don’t know.” And the world did not implode. I did not die from embarrassment. The PhD police did not come and take my degree away. I wasn’t fired. I admitted my mistake. Then I took a chance. I said, “But I know someone who does.” The next class period, I brought in a friend who just so happened to be an expert on the topic of the question asked. In fifteen minutes, he was able to do what I could not, and the class was blown away. How cool was it to have an expert on the topic of a random question you had just show up in your class? The students felt seen and heard, my friend was praised for their brilliance, and I looked cool. Win-win-win!  Learning to Adapt“I don’t know” is now one of my favorite things to say in a classroom. It allows me to lean into everything Miss Frizzle has taught me. Make the mistake. Take a chance. Enter the mess. Because of this, I have brought countless friends into the classroom to answer what I could not. It has taught me that one of the best tools we have in our pedagogical toolbox is adaptation. Even though our syllabi, readings, and assignments may stay the same, our students do not. Our contexts in the world do not. We do not. And, as the world would have it, most change is messy. I hope that Miss Frizzle’s lessons encourage you to do something different. Go back to that radical pedagogy that understands the root but is never tied to one branch. Allow your “I don’t know” to become a portal into a network of brilliance you bring into the classroom. Be consistent without being rigid. Take chances. Make mistakes. Get Messy! Till next time friends!

How are you doing with taking chances? Are you engaging the wonder in your students, or are you still grading participation posts? If you read part one then you know what I’m talking about. For today’s episode of what Miss Frizzle teaches us about teaching, we learn about making mistakes. Not learning how to make them per se (because let’s face it, we all have plenty of experience) but what to do when we make them.Mistakes are inevitable. They will happen. Part of the reason we fear them so much is because we are still recovering from the trauma of unrealistic expectations from our graduate programs, or from our education in general (I’m looking at you formerly “gifted and talented” students). It may seem redundant then to be told to do the thing that you have already done and will certainly do in the future. But the advice to make mistakes isn’t about intention, it's about adaptation (cough…taking chances…cough).  In a world where failure and risk are old friends…If I had to choose one thing that scientists and entrepreneurs have in common, I'd say it's that both understand that failure is information. Scientists have revolutionized their fields by using information gained from failed experiments. Think of the countless medicines that didn’t work for the illness they were intended for, only to produce an outcome that changed the medical field. In the same way, entrepreneurs are learning about trends, marketing, supply, demand, and a whole host of other things when they start something that doesn’t work out. If you are going to be a person to take risks (go ahead honey, take a chance!) then you will have to embrace making mistakes. But wait, you say, a failure and a mistake are not the same thing! A failure is when you do something and it doesn’t work out, while a mistake is doing something wrong. And you’d be correct. A failure focuses on the outcome, while a mistake focuses on behavior. This is why you can make mistakes but you cannot be a failure (go ahead and read that again). And while mistakes made along the way can aid to the result of a failed outcome, several other factors, many beyond your knowledge and control, makeup that failed attempt.  Let’s play a game… Where it's all made up and the points don’t matter.So, how and why would you be intentional about making a mistake? Remember, the lesson isn’t about intentionality per se, it's about adaptation. Being intentional about making mistakes means being intentional about taking chances and risks. One of the best and easiest ways to do that is through the act of play. Playing a game is about creativity and knowing which of the rules you want to keep, bend, or break (every UNO player understands this). You are willing to push the boundaries or cross them to meet the games’ goals creatively, or to make a better play experience. One of the best examples of this is improv. Improv thrives on making mistakes. Nothing is wasted, and the space feels limitless. You can say the wrong word, or get caught off guard by another’s response, or even fall off the stage, and there will be someone there, not necessarily to catch you, but to use your “mistake” to continue the time of play. This communal act of play creates a kind of generativity that encourages you to make mistakes. So, what does this have to do with Theological Education? Much of our objectives in theological education feel daunting. We want our students to say something meaningful about the divine, or about implications on our world. We train them to lead others in matters of the heart, mind, and spirit. We do deeply meaningful work. This is the kind of work where mistakes matter. Where we are held accountable for the implications of our theology. Our theological intentions land somewhere, usually in the lives of other people. I recognize that asking someone to make a mistake in this context is no small thing. But that is exactly why we need to encourage it in our classrooms. I approach all of my classrooms as part of a grand experiment. Students are encouraged to “say the weird thing” (IYKYK) then work-out what that means in community. If I didn’t encourage my students to make mistakes, then how am I preparing them to lead? Preach? Teach? How can I teach them to adapt if I attempt to create a space with no obstacles for them to adapt to? If students say or bring up concepts about God that cause tension, we work through it. I help them understand the implications of their theological actions. And yes, they make “mistakes.” So do I. But because we do not forsake play in the classroom we learn to adapt. Taking chances means making mistakes. And like scientists we learn from the outcomes. We discover the ways theology can help us change the world, especially in ways we didn’t originally intend. We do this because we’ve learned that mistakes do not automatically end in failure. They create a possibility to open up a new pathway we didn’t originally plan. They generate new lessons we didn’t know we needed to learn. And for that, they will always be worth making.

“Take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!” – Miss Frizzle Now, I know what you may be thinking, “Miss Frizzle?!?! The teacher from the Magic School Bus? Really?” Or, better yet, I’ve just aged myself and what you’re actually thinking is, “Who the hell is Miss Frizzle?” Either way, extend a bit of grace and just bear with me for a bit. Miss Frizzle is the main character and teacher in the famed Magic School Bus books and cartoon. In the series, Miss Frizzle takes her third-grade class on some unique adventures, immersing them into the worlds that represent their lessons. Want to learn about the solar system? Let’s take a trip into space! Curious about the way food moves through the body? Well, if we make ourselves small enough, we can take the journey ourselves. With a bit of magic, anything is possible. While I personally don’t have a magic school bus, as a kid I was always fascinated to go on crazy adventures with Arnold, Keesha, and the rest of the class. Now that I am older and an educator myself, I recognize that the lessons still abound! There is still much to learn from Miss Frizzle, and these days I find that her pedagogical genius is often overlooked. The gap between teaching elementary-aged children foundational lessons and teaching adult seminary students may seem stark, but the best lessons Miss Frizzle offers us is culminated in her signature saying, “Take chances, make mistakes, and get messy!” So, for this series we will explore each of these lessons in detail. Taking chances: There are a lot of rules when it comes to teaching. Rubrics, curriculum, and syllabi all help us to remain accountable to the metrics created to determine whether or not we are where we should be. So much of our time is spent trying to prove these metrics, creating objectives and curating expectations for both our students and our deans. But what does it mean to be creative in what feels like such a restrictive space? How are we to understand our possibilities when we are inundated with obligations to our limitations? Miss Frizzle understands this. You wouldn’t know it by the way she conducts her classes, but she understands this dynamic so well that she is able to get to the heart of the matter by breaking and bending the right rules. Her class objective is to get students to learn in a way so that they are not only excited about the material, but they are able to integrate it into their real lives and utilize the knowledge in impromptu situations. These are our objectives as well. Theological education isn’t just learning facts about God, the church, and the history of theology. Theological education is about shaping leaders who are excited about God and spirituality, who can integrate these lessons and excitement into their lives, and who can walk with others as they do the same. What to keep, break, and bend: When it comes to rules, we often believe we must choose between two extremes – we either uphold them, or we break them. But here’s a secret I think everyone should know: all rules are made up. Rules (hopefully created in community) help us to hold one another accountable to do what we set out to do. They can protect us, and can help create lines of clear communication and boundaries. But they only work when they help a community thrive. When they don’t, they become restrictive and oppressive. I’m reminded of this when I think about online participation posts. I hate participation posts, both as a student and as a professor. Ideally, these assignments help us measure how students participate in class by tracking their offered insights on reading and responses to other students. This intent isn’t a bad thing, but it often creates a forced conversation that trades its organic freedom for obligation. It may track the fact that students participate, but it may also diminish the conversation in the process. What do you do when you have a rule that feels too important to break (we need to track participation in online classes), but feels too restrictive to uphold (no one likes participation posts)? This is where bending the rules becomes key. This is where Miss Frizzle asks us to take a chance. What are some of the ways you bend the rule of participation that doesn’t restrict excitement and the flow of engagement? In my courses, I ask students to participate in a section I call MOOD, which basically captures the mood or essence of the course. Divided into four sections (Listen, Watch, Read, and Visit) I start by including resources that expand the conversation and encourage students to add to the ever-growing list. I even include a playlist for students to collaborate on. I often get posts from students like, “I was visiting this museum and it made me think about the reading from last week,” or “This movie really allowed me to think more about our conversation!” By inviting participation in a different way, students are not only engaging each other and the course, but they are encountering elements of the class in their own contexts. What is wisdom without wonder? The question at the heart of taking chances is one I often ask myself and my students: what is wisdom without wonder? So much of our education is about proving knowledge. Even in theology, our metrics track what one can prove about God, or at the very least how we have mastered the history of this quest. Even as we seek to measure the tools our students learn that can directly (and indirectly) translate into their professions and vocations, we are often left with a knowledge that lacks nimbleness, a proficiency without play. What would it look like to track the wonder in our students? How many of your assignments require a thesis that explores the crevices of a question as opposed to proving a point? Miss Frizzle’s adventures were less about proving points and more about practicing possibilities. I wonder what theological education would look like if we did the same?