Lasting Lessons

Jubilee, in the Bible, was a celebration and a way to promote social justice. Every few decades, all the slaves were set free, all the debts were erased, everyone stopped working to rest, and all land ownership reverted to the original families (each had been assigned equal portions of property). It prevented anyone from holding too much power over anyone else, and provided a built-in time for everyone to celebrate God’s goodness together.

Jubilee, the conference in Pittsburgh, is what I attended last weekend with a number of international Christian friends. Like the original Jubilee, it was focused on restoring what’s broken in the world, pursuing justice, and cultivating beauty and joy where they’re scarce. One thing I really valued about this conference is its emphasis on excellence: good intentions need to be accompanied by diligence and sharp thinking. A focal point of the conference was its giant book sale, where Christian thinkers took on issues of sustainable resources, academics, poverty, technology, and more. Speakers similarly addressed special issues, many career-related; I soaked up several seminars on education while my friends considered everything from gender issues to music to engineering.

This conference made me dust off dreams: that my students would grow to love what is right and hate what is wrong, that I would give them assurance of their intrinsic worth as human beings, and that my actions (as a teacher and otherwise) would shape their lives and shape society. It lifted my eyes from my “first-year teacher survival” mentality and made me consider questions of my long-term and even eternal influence on others’ lives. It was overwhelming and yet exciting and beautiful. Keenly aware of my inexperience and short-sighted perspective, I prayed that I would be able to accomplish this in some small way.

Thursday, I had my clearest chance to date for doing so. The past week or two, some of my students had been very vocal about an “inside joke” regarding someone’s daily “anniversaries.” But Thursday in class, the anniversaries ended. I learned that they had been counting how many times someone wore the same sweatshirt; that day, when he wore something different, he found out that he’d been the butt of the jokes. He avoided all eye contact and seemed to be fighting to maintain composure when he walked into class. I was furious and e-mailed each student involved that night. I expressed my dismay, urged them to consider the impacts of their actions and told them they were better than that. But my words felt so insufficient, and I pleaded with God to use me in helping these thoughtless 15-year-old guys become men of integrity.

That’s what I’m still asking, and the three e-mail responses I’ve gotten back have given me hope that this might be a lesson that sticks. But it’s not over yet: I’m still looking for ways to nurture good character in my students, to show them I genuinely care, and fight for the ones who need an advocate. I don’t know yet what that looks like, but I want to be ready for the opportunities that come.