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This past summer, Beyoncé was on tour again. Her Cowboy Carter shows were filling stadiums, winning awards, and generating the kind of buzz only Queen B can. And every time I saw a headline about her latest performance, I was reminded of the time I found myself in a packed stadium, earplugs in place, swept up in the ecstatic roar of 80,000 fans – all because my students told me to go.Sometimes co-learning means trusting your students. Sometimes it means doing the homework they assign – even if that homework is attending a Beyoncé concert. From Early Polyphony to Pop IconsYears before, I’d taken a different class to hear the world-class ensemble New York Polyphony perform Renaissance Marian music. The students were mesmerized. Five unaccompanied voices wove harmonies so rich and unexpected that one student turned to me, stunned, and said, “I didn’t know the human voice could sound like that.”The texts were sacred, the music deeply devotional, and yet what struck the students most wasn’t the sixteenth-century solemnity but the encore: a playful barbershop version of Rosie the Riveter. Somehow, that moment – a bridge between sacred history and cultural familiarity – made the entire evening resonate. The music stopped feeling like an artifact and became a living conversation between past and present.That night stayed with me, a reminder that context matters. And a few years later, when I wrapped up a course on religion and popular culture, I asked my students a question I have always asked since:“What should I explore to better understand the worlds you inhabit?”Their response came quickly: “Go to an arena concert. And not just any concert – Beyoncé, Drake, or Kanye.” Enter the BeyhiveSo, in the summer of 2018, I booked a ticket, crossed the border from Canada, and joined 80,000 members of the Beyhive in Ohio Stadium for the On the Run II tour with Beyoncé and Jay-Z.From the first moment – when the Carters descended from above, dressed in white, declaring their enduring love – it was clear this was not just entertainment. This was ritual.The show unfolded as a narrative arc of love, betrayal, repentance, and redemption. Paradise gave way to heartbreak, scenes of confession and prayer played out in a candlelit chapel, and a climactic celebration of forgiveness transformed the stadium into something resembling a cathedral.And the crowd? They weren’t passive observers. They sang every lyric, moved in unison, and cried openly. It felt like full, conscious, active participation – the kind of embodied engagement we often hope for in sacred spaces but rarely see. When Beyoncé Became an Icon – LiterallyWhat stayed with me most was the imagery. Midway through the concert, Beyoncé appeared in shimmering purple and gold, styled unmistakably as an Orthodox Pantocrator – an icon of Christ enthroned. She even raised two fingers, echoing the gesture indicating divine and human natures.In that moment, the conversation between Christianity and contemporary culture could not have been clearer. Here was a global superstar, embodying centuries-old sacred iconography in a performance consumed by millions. Fashion, music, and religious symbolism were colliding to create something profoundly resonant, and my students had sent me there to see it for myself. Shifting My PerspectiveI returned to the classroom that Fall with fresh eyes. Co-learning had always been central to my pedagogy, but stepping fully into my students’ cultural world shifted something.I began paying closer attention to themes of celebrity, cultural authority, and the theological undercurrents embedded in popular culture. I started inviting students to share more of their own frameworks and interpretations, realizing that they weren’t just consumers of culture but skilled analysts of its meanings.The experience also expanded my understanding of how religion permeates the spaces we often call “secular.” The concert was not just a performance; it was a pilgrimage – complete with shared anticipation, communal solidarity, and a sense of collective transformation. And, like pilgrimage traditions past, it was also monetized: tickets, merchandise, exclusivity all wrapped into a deeply spiritual-yet-commercial exchange. The Power of Reciprocal LearningToday, when I teach courses on religion and culture – or on pilgrimage, as I did this past academic year – I think about that night in the stadium. The walk toward the venue with thousands of others felt uncannily like the approach to a sacred site. The sense of communitas – a shared, egalitarian solidarity – buzzed in the air, reminding me that cultural experiences can be as spiritually charged as traditional rituals.Students directing the narrative of their own engagement, I’ve realized, is the real power of co-learning. I don’t hand them neat interpretations of the world; instead, we create frames together. Their insights push me to reimagine my own assumptions, and in return, they see their cultural knowledge valued as part of the academic conversation.For me, that Beyoncé concert wasn’t just a field trip. It was a lesson in humility, curiosity, and the unexpected ways learning happens when we let students lead.And as I watched news of Cowboy Carter lighting up stadiums this summer, I was reminded to keep asking my students: “What should I see next?” Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the richest pedagogical journeys often begin when we’re willing to follow.

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!

Several years ago, I decided to create a bucket list as a way to examine who I am and identify significant things I would like to explore and experience during the remainder of my life. One of the items on my list is to visit all 107 Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCU). This is my way to celebrate the Black College Experience and its impact on the lives HBCU’s have shaped. During the past three Spring Breaks and summers I have visited HBCUs and engaged with students, faculty, and staff. I’ve even purchased campus paraphernalia to remember my visits – hoodies, T-shirts, and refrigerator magnets. To date, I have visited thirty-two campuses in ten states. Historically Black Colleges and Universities have existed since 1837, when Cheyney State University was established. Prior to the Civil War the education of Blacks was forbidden in most Southern states and dissuaded in Northern states. The majority of HBCUs were founded between 1865–1900 by free Blacks, philanthropists, religious organizations, or the federal government.The purpose of the HBCU in the United States is to provide undergraduate and graduate-level educational opportunities to people of African descent. At an HBCU, you will find African Diasporic Cultural Identity, rich history, and rigorous academic programs. Key trends for HBCUs in 2025 include record breaking applications, increased new student enrollment, growing selectivity, and affirming environments. Given the political climate and polarization within the United States, Black students are migrating to these institutions of higher learning to experience a culturally relevant academic experience, affordability, and higher graduation rates. In other words, Black students want to succeed.One of the HBCUs I’ve visited is LeMoyne Owen College in Memphis, Tennessee. Upon entering the campus I saw a sign saying “A Source of Black Excellence.” What is Black Excellence? It has been defined as a high level of achievement, success, or ability demonstrated by an individual Black person or Black people. It is also used to refer to an aspiration or goal to be achieved. #blackexcellence.Reflecting on my thirty-two HBCU visits I was inspired to create my own definition of black excellence. Black excellence is victory, achievement, and greatness exemplified by Black people individually and collectively. It is a perspective that originates in the mind and is embodied through fortitude and flourishing. Black excellence is the manifestation of our ancestors’ dreams and prayers.HBCUs produce some of the greatest scholars, doctors, lawyers, educators, and entertainers in the United States while receiving less funding than predominately white colleges and universities. HBCUs promote living and learning environments that encourage student leadership, support, and research that is second to none. However, HBCUs are committed to teaching more than academics – they form students in character. William R. Harvey, who served as an administrative leader at Fisk and Tuskegee University and forty-four years as the President of Hampton University, shares twelve principles of success that will assist any educator who desires to help their students obtain success.Harvey’s Principles (paraphrased) include: Never compromise honesty, integrity, respect, trust, and responsible personal behavior. There is no substitute for hard work. Be of service to others. Have a moral compass. Set your goals high and don’t dream small dreams. Never give up. Say NO to distractions. Make positive things happen in your life. You can’t finish a race if you don’t start it. Don’t allow anyone to steal your joy. Be significant in everything you undertake. Believe in yourself.During my visits to the various HBCUs I witnessed Black Excellence. However, the traditional coursework and assignments were not the only strategies for supporting student growth and achievement. I also witnessed across all thirty-two campuses a commitment to producing thriving humans by teaching character development, positive values, perseverance, and strategies for success in their classrooms and in life. This wholistic approach to education – not just focusing on external achievement but on the whole person flourishing from the inside out – is what Black Excellence in education is all about.