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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.

As the Covid-19 pandemic unfolded, I was wrestling with how to teach a rather unpopular class on “just war theory.” For so many of my students, who have lived through unending conflicts, the reasons to go into battle are unclear. A good number of them reject the distinction between justifiable and unjustifiable wars; for them, all wars are unjust. Many believe that political grandstanding and neo-colonial campaigns have been the cause of military interventions, and that peaceful negotiations could have resolved international conflicts. In the classroom, with its dynamic back-and-forth of questions and answers, discussion of just war theory was engaging. Tension could be thick at times, and the lack of any clear resolution problematic for some, but that is the energy of active learning! The pivot to online asynchronous teaching and learning has made engagement more of a challenge. Yet the pandemic provides a context on which to build a rich discussion of this ancient concept. The “War” Against the Coronavirus Political and health leaders throughout the world have used the metaphor of “war” to describe the global village’s fight against the novel coronavirus. It seemed appropriate then to ask students to consider how the criteria of just war theory illuminate the reality in which we find ourselves. Jus in Bellum The architects of the just war theory imagined that both sides would engage in reasonable behavior and proposed standards for activity in war. For its part, the virus does not abide by any standards. This reality, however, should not preclude us from acting justly. To get at this, students examined two jus in bellum criteria: “distinction” and “proportionality.”   Distinction involves a clear focus on the enemy combatant. In this case, as students noted, all efforts should target the virus. The war on the novel coronavirus was not a time for playing politics among civic or religious leaders, or promoting personal or party agendas. Distinction obligates citizens to play their part and stay at home, wear protective personal equipment when necessary, and abide by social distancing rules. The principle of proportionality focuses on ensuring that combatants are respectful of the other side’s citizens and their property. No unwarranted destruction should accompany military action. Students observed that the virus violates this principle, but that should not preclude the human community’s commitment. Some questioned whether the economic shutdown, closing of nation-state borders, migration of schools to remote learning, and enforced lockdowns were evidence of a violation of this principle. These defensive measures have resulted in a rate of unemployment not seen since the Great Depression, disproportionate impact on vulnerable populations, particularly communities of color, the hoarding of an array of products, and increased incidences of mental health issues and domestic abuse, to name a few. I was struck that a handful of students also pointed to price gouging and rise in the number of scams associated with Covid-19. They saw these criminal actions as evidence of “internally” violating proportionality. Jus Post Bellum In their assessment of jus post bellum, students considered measures that would need to be implemented as we moved out of “shelter in place.” As I imagined, students’ responses were filled with frustration about how long they would have to be on lockdown in their homes. For graduating students, anxiety about their futures was palpable. According to jus post bellum, legitimate authorities must be the ones to set the conditions of peace. Students recognized the legitimate power of authority to safeguard its citizenry, but also realized the frustration of waiting. Out of abundant caution, political leadership had to exercise “just cause for the termination” of this campaign against the virus. As they see the number of infections decrease, a plan can be put in place to open gradually. “Proportionality” must also inform during this post-war period. While there exists impatience to learn the origins of this virus and whether persons bear responsibility, the dictates of just war theory hold that there can be no revenge. Efforts post-war should be concerned with reconstruction, remediation, and reparations. This aspect of jus post bello did not sit well with my exasperated and exhausted students. Answers and accountability were fine, I let them know, but retribution was not. In the past, most of my students would dismiss my teaching on just war theory as irrelevant. But, making a link to our present-day war on Covid-19 helped them understand and appreciate the theory.

Teaching that prioritizes inclusion and equity is an essential task for instructors. However, teaching remotely due to the Covid-19 pandemic presents unique questions that faculty should address to support their students’ emotional and cognitive well-being. Below, I present six tips to promote an inclusive and equitable remote learning space for this moment. Acknowledge your own and students’ emotions Given the current moment, many students are experiencing stress and trauma. A trauma-informed pedagogy asks instructors to acknowledge and reflect on their own emotions as they prepare to enter this new learning space. Similarly, provide a space for students to process their own emotions as well. This can be done through individual reflection prompts, asynchronous discussion boards, or a guided discussion in a synchronous space. Consider if you can give students agency in the course Since we know students may be experiencing additional burdens and stress, consider ways that you may be able to provide students flexibility in the remainder of the course. A first step is to allow students to help shape the learning environment, including considerations for engagement and their expectations for themselves and others in the course. Additionally, it may be beneficial to give students choice in the types of assignments or tasks remaining in the course. Giving students some agency will allow them to feel some sense of control in a time of great uncertainty. Understand students’ unequal access to technology in determining how to run your course A recent post from PhysPort, a blog about teaching in physics provides considerations for what faculty should consider when thinking about students ability to access the course: Recognize that not all your students will be able to attend synchronous online classes due to internet access, connectivity, scheduling, health, and family situations. Some platforms allow participants to call in via phone, which allow them to hear and participate in audio conversations, but not see slides, screenshare, or video. Find ways for students who can't connect in real time to still participate (e.g. by making recordings available after class), or consider not running synchronous classes at all: asynchronous learning can be much more equitable for students with different levels of access, health and privilege. These are also good things to keep in mind when you are teaching in-person classes. Consider available grading options This may be difficult for some faculty in professional schools and in some undergraduate programs, but I encourage instructors to be open to new ideas for grading. For example, some have suggested that you tell students that they cannot receive a grade lower than what they currently have in the class. Such an approach will help deescalate student stress levels and acknowledge that not all students will have equal opportunities or access to complete the rest of the work for the course. Ensure your materials and technology are accessible As you integrate new ways to engage students and access materials for your course, ensure that these new platforms and methods are accessible. You should consider how students who use assistive technologies can engage the course as well as best ways to students with accommodations. Do what you can to promote your own self-care We recognize that this is a difficult time for you as instructors as well. For some, this new reality may mean balancing professional and personal responsibilities in unique ways. For others, this can heighten feelings of loneliness and isolation. Regardless, of your situation, it is important to do what you need to do to take care of yourself. It is though caring for our own well-being that we can best support our students. These six steps are only a beginning for how to foster inclusion and equity in your remote course. I recognize that this moment presents many challenges. I also recognize that others may have ideas to promote an inclusive and equitable course environment. If you have additional ideas, feel free to leave them in the comments for others to read. Additional Resources “As Human as Possible” by Colleen Flaherty, Inside Higher Ed “Hope Matters” by Mays Imad, Inside Higher Ed “Inclusion, Equity, and Access While Teaching Remotely” from Rice University Center for Teaching Excellence “Maintaining Equity and Inclusion in Virtual Learning Environments” from san Diego State University “Please Do a Bad Job of Putting Your Courses Online” by Rebecca Barrett-Fox

Over the last two months, my partner and I have had many discussions about how Covid-19 has affected our relationship with our students. My partner teaches a generally underserved population of students at a CUNY school in the Bronx, Lehman College, whereas my students are mostly well-off undergraduates and graduate students at a small, religiously-affiliated institution. Nonetheless, the pandemic has taught us similar lessons about how we ought to be thinking about our students, and what they need from us and our institutions—not just during a time of crisis, but all of the time. What follows are the main lessons that I hope to carry forward from this challenging time. None of the insights I’ve had into my students are new to me, and they may not be to you either, but the pandemic has brought their importance home to me much more clearly. Students face mental and physical health challenges. Since we transitioned to online learning, students have let me know that they would have to miss class because of flu, coronavirus, insomnia, and OCD flareups. They have also told me that they may need to stand up and stretch during class, and that they are fine but experiencing stress because of ongoing health concerns that would make the virus more dangerous to them if they caught it. While some of these factors are situational, others are part of the students’ ongoing physical and mental lives, and I wonder if they would feel as comfortable sharing their challenges with me at a time when they had less expectation of support. What can we do under normal circumstances to make clear to students that we do not see them as a (neurotypical) brain in a vat, and that their education can accommodate care for their health? Can we be more thoughtful about language on the syllabus, more empathic in how we treat deadlines and absences? Students find grades stressful. My students took midterms shortly before my school’s transition to Zoom. As I was working on grading them, the school announced that all courses for the semester would be default pass/fail unless the student explicitly requested a letter grade. Realizing that thinking about grades could be an unnecessary additional source of stress, I gave my students three options: they could get feedback with a grade; they could get feedback with no grade; or I could just tell them whether or not they passed. I had takers for all three choices. What would it look like to come up with evaluation and feedback systems that keep students apprised of how they are doing in the course, while accounting for the fact that grades can carry unhelpful emotional weight and even detract from their’ ability to take in feedback? Can we grant students more agency in how and when they receive feedback from us? Students get the most out of active learning. I am teaching two classes this semester. One is a seminar with 18 students, and the other is a course built around hevruta, a Jewish practice of reading and discussing texts aloud in pairs. Of the two, the hevruta course has been vastly more successful over Zoom. The students were already spending more than 50% of in-class time in paired group work, and when they transitioned to doing so online, they remained engaged and active. What would it be like post-pandemic to consider what keeps students engaged during class time, whether it is happening online or not? My institution, like most others, does not yet know what classes will look like in September.  As I begin to think about my fall courses, my intention is that my increased awareness of student needs will continue to inform my pedagogy—regardless of whether I will be teaching virtually or in a physical classroom.

After a lecture in my introductory European course about a year ago, a student who had fallen asleep in the back row remained behind. I had come to notice him: a young man who came to class early, always sat in the back row, was always prepared with the reading, and almost always fell asleep. I asked him about his torpor, which seemed incongruous with the rest of his habits as a learner. He apologized, explaining that before class he worked a night shift at his full-time job as an aide in an elder care facility.   As an educator, my hope and expectation had been for students to view my class as a top priority, imagining that my passion for history should be universal. When they don’t, I often feel offended and humbled. Exposure to the lived experience of this student, and many of his peers, has cultivated an empathy towards those students with schedules and attentions divided between their curricular duties and other aspects of their lives. The ongoing public health crisis, and the shift to online learning, has pushed me even further on this. It leads me to think differently about how we can accomodate in the classroom not only around skill level, but also around the room a student has for school in their lives. My partner and I teach in very different institutions. Lately we’ve tried to identify commonalities and differences in what we’ve learned about how best to serve our respective students. Sarah’s focus has been on providing an emotionally responsive environment and one that embraces neurodiversity. I continue to examine how to make classrooms that enable part-time students to grow in their skills and knowledge, while minimizing the conflict between their academics and their priorities as wage earners and caretakers. We agree that these different areas of focus are a product of the very different populations that we teach. Of the fourteen-thousand undergraduates at Lehman College, 48% are part-time students. Many part-time students have scheduling and attentional conflicts that include full-time work, childcare, and running a household. Covid-19 has increased these demands and forced educators to reimagine their classrooms so they can better meet students where they are. This challenge presents an opportunity to improve our abilities to differentiate by career stage. Asynchronous learning allows our less traditional students to complete assignments and access material around their own schedule. Imagine modular history curricula in which student-led activities, done with teacher facilitation, bring students into contact with content that would otherwise be communicated via lecture, build skills necessary to be a strong undergraduate history student, and interact with her teacher and her peers around the major tensions and themes of the period. Take, for example, a module on 19th-century German society. I imagine our student, sitting at home, accessing a short lecture designed to orient her and then directing her to short textbook readings to glean basic information about the period. Following this, our student accesses four or five important chapters or articles on the period, curated—and if necessary scaffolded—by the professor to ensure she is exposed to multiple arguments about the period. To end the module, students prepare a short formative assessment that they bring to a single class meeting where the instructor leads a conversation about the nature of the 19th-century German middle class. Such a blended synchronous/asynchronous module would accomplish the same learning goals as a series of lectures in an introductory class and allow our student to learn on her own schedule.   In this model, the professor serves as a facilitator of learning as opposed to the source of information. But, the more independence students have, the more responsibility educators have to build skills that allow them to work independently. Schedule setting, advance preparation, and attentiveness to one’s own work habits can be taught, and they translate beyond the history classroom. Right now, circumstance forces us to consign ourselves to distance learning and asynchronicity. But asynchronous and blended models are well suited for a community of part-time learners. I hope that we can take lessons learned during this crisis to help all of our students, no matter their status.

In remote teaching we all wrestle with how to effectively translate our typical assessments of student learning, and possibly, how to create new assessments.  This requires (re)determining what we most want our students to achieve and thinking creatively about how they can best demonstrate their learning in an online environment.  While there are tips to discourage cheating online, many instructors are concerned about academic integrity in online high-stakes, closed-book exams. Because students are more likely to learn from (and less likely to cheat on) assessments that provide authentic experiences or reflection on learning, it is valuable to think broadly about how best to assess our students learning in creative ways online. The principles of inclusivity and sustainability can guide our development of online assessments from the beginning to the end of the course. Sustainable assessments are those that help students develop skills necessary to direct and monitor their future learning.  Shifting students’ expectations from all feedback originating from the instructor to using self and peer assessment will help them reflect on their learning processes, and identify gaps in their skills and understanding. Making this shift will allow students to begin to assess and monitor their own learning, making it sustainable a skill that students can use after leaving your course. Inclusive assessments are those designed to measure students equitably, and in ways that are sensitive to cultural, economic and social differences. Transparency and clear communication regarding expectations for successful completion of work is key so that students understand its purpose, the necessary tasks to successfully complete the work, and upon what specific criteria they will be evaluated. This approach levels the playing field for diverse students while facilitating learning for all students. To apply these principles in your online course: Begin by seeking input from your students At the beginning of a course, surveys can be used to discover students’ incoming knowledge and skills as well as something about them as a person.  Rather than focusing on knowledge ‘deficits’ that the curriculum must fill, this kind of preassessment will allow you to discover students’ interests, lived experiences and motivations.  Equitable assessments should be accessible and responsive to students whose abilities, access to computational tools and reliable high-speed internet, access to quiet work spaces, and extent of flexibility in setting their study schedules may vary. Therefore, it will be important for you to know about your students for your course planning. Ask students to share what they are most excited about in the class, unique skills they are proud of, past educational experiences, and their own perceptions of their current knowledge and skills.  Use students’ input to help them build connections between the course content and their interests. To help them take ownership in creating spaces that welcome all members of the class, invite students to contribute to ground rules for class interactions. Where possible, provide opportunities for students to make choices about an assessment topic or format that leverages their skills and interests to help them feel more empowered and engaged in the course.  Use frequent low-stakes assessment to guide students’ learning throughout the course As your course progresses, assessments are a learning tool that can develop the students’ sense of belonging in the course community, as well as a shared responsibility for and awareness of their learning. There are many ways to accomplish this. Here are a few: Include a variety of low-stakes activities and assignments early and frequently such as short quizzes, reflective writing prompts, group projects, and synchronous or asynchronous discussions. This allows students to calibrate your expectations, get feedback they can incorporate, and understand their individual progress. Use online discussions to build opportunities for interaction that develop students’ sense of belonging, and motivate them to learn from each other in their responses and question of each other.  In both asynchronous discussions and synchronous sessions, guide opportunities for effective peer feedback by modeling it yourself, highlighting examples of productive exchanges, prompting them to ask each other guiding questions and asking them to use rubrics / clear criteria to guide and assess their responses. Before students hand in work, ask them to self-evaluate according to the grading criteria and to identify areas where they would most benefit from your feedback. Culminate the course with authentic applications of course knowledge and skills with integrative assessments Students can demonstrate their achievement of the course goals by applying disciplinary tools to real-world situations, analyzing authentic data or exploring solutions to so called “wicked problems.”  These are problems that have changing parameters, are resistant to solutions, involve incomplete data, or are difficult to recognize (Hanstedt 2018).   Creative projects with formative feedback will support students in developing the sustainable assessment skills necessary for lifelong learning. Consider To synthesize key ideas or reflect on what they’ve taken away, have students write research reports or papers. These can provide opportunities to practice disciplinary language and styles of communication.   To creatively demonstrate learning, have students create artifacts such as maps, figures, photo essays, journals, videos, blogs, podcasts, or portfolios. Structure checkpoints and opportunities for formative feedback to support students in successfully completing these projects.  To learn to self-assess the quality of their work, have students use use rubrics, peer-feedback, and/or compare it to exemplary examples.  Whatever forms of assessment you choose, clear communication is critical to their success.  Consider starting each unit with a brief overview of how all the course components fit together and alerting them to upcoming deadlines.  Make sure to inform students how each assessment will be useful for their learning, make expectations as transparent as possible, and be clear about where students can find answers to questions as they arise.  Learn More The Art & Science of Successful Online Discussions (Faculty Focus) Five Discussion Ground Rules for the Online Classroom (Colorado State University Online Blog) Professors Share Ideas for Building Online Community (Inside Higher Ed) Alternative to Exams for Remote Teaching (Teaching@Tufts) Creating Epic Finales or Limping Across the Finish Line (Teaching@Tufts) Curricula for Wicked Problems (Wicked Problems Project) Transparency in Learning and Teaching (TILT Higher Ed) Inclusive Assessment: Equal or Equitable? (Teaching@Tufts) Selected References Dewsbury, Bryan, and Cynthia J. Brame. “Inclusive Teaching.” CBE—Life Sciences Education 18, no. 2 (April 26, 2019): fe2. https://doi.org/10.1187/cbe.19-01-0021. Gikandi, J. W., D. Morrow, and N. E. Davis. “Online Formative Assessment in Higher Education: A Review of the Literature.” Computers & Education 57, no. 4 (December 1, 2011): 2333–51. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.compedu.2011.06.004. Hanstedt, P. (2018). Creating wicked students: Designing courses for a complex world. Stylus Publishing, LLC.   Kelly, D., J. S. Baxter, and A. Anderson. “Engaging First-Year Students through Online Collaborative Assessments.” Journal of Computer Assisted Learning 26, no. 6 (2010): 535–48. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2729.2010.00361.x.

Is the study of theology worth it? That’s a question you and I might pose to our students at the beginning of every semester. At times, we may have to answer this query for ourselves. At the beginning of each semester, I presume this is a question that students have, particularly because at my university students are required to take three theology courses. The first day of theology classes, then, I offer a value proposition. (Now, mind you, I generally teach moral theology classes primarily to business and pharmacy students.) I tell my students that this course may not position them for their ideal job in a corporation or biomedicine, but that a theology course can help students think, write, and speak with a depth and breadth they before had not known. The subsequent question every term is, “but how will that help me advance in my career?” These developed skills, I tell them, will aid them in living out the challenging and, perhaps, painful realities of life. That has never been truer than in these days of Covid-19. One of the first topics I teach is “narrative.” I invite my students to consider what the foundational stories for different religions are. Conversations extend from the metanarratives that undergird traditional monotheistic religions to Rastafarianism, Wicca, and Mormonism. These class days tend to be lively ones as we move into discussions of the Branch Davidians and the Westboro Baptist Church. Good narratives mature over time as profound experiences impact and challenge them. My parents’ generation had Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the Second Vatican Council, the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and the rise of Fidel Castro’s Cuba. Honestly, it made me jealous. I wanted stories to add to my collection, but could not imagine having any of such historical impact as they had. How young and naïve I was! GenXers and I have experienced stories that have forced us too to reevaluate the foundational narratives in which we were grounded. The students in front of me, now on my computer screen, were curious about my generation’s stories. Mind you, when I first started teaching, as I suspect all of us are/were, we are/were our students’ older sibling. Now, I could be their parents and for that reason, they are curious. When asked, I speak of how marginalized groups and their allies consistently have fought for equality, particularly LGBTQIA+ citizens, communities of color, and immigrants; seemingly endless wars in Viet Nam, the Gulf, Afghanistan, and Iraq; governments, including the United States, having a wide range political scandals; 9/11; and, of course, the information technology revolution. For some reason or another, they are fascinated, and I suspect hungry like I was when I was younger to have their own stories. While some have alluded to the global digital transformation in their lives, there has never been a clear consensus as to what might unite GenZers in a common narrative. Now, there is. They get it. Students recognize that they must understand the profound effect this global health crisis has had on them, and on their narrative. For those who have been grounded in an understanding of who and what God is for them, they will have additional work that may take them places about they least expected to go. What will be required is what the study of theology provides:  some deep thinking, critical writing, and clarity in speaking.