Sir Gawain and 10th Grade Boys

 "Never forget that you're teaching the students, not the subject."

I'd heard teachers say this my whole life and mentally assented, but now, after several years in the classroom, I get it in a whole different way. 

In my current job, I teach three rounds of the exact same lesson plan each day. As much as I may love my material (and I do love a lot of it), even I can admit that it could get boring fast, especially the third time around. 

But it doesn't, because even though the material is familiar to me, it's always new to my students. And I can never know for sure how they will respond. Sure, I can predict and prepare and attempt to lead them to a particular response to the subject. I can generally predict which students will make profound comments, connections that I might not even have thought of. But when it all comes down to it, I don't know what any of my students will say when they raise their hand and I call on them. Sometimes we will be in the middle of a great and (I think) captivating discussion. I'll call on an astute student who's had his hand up, and instead of making an insightful comment, he'll ask to go to the bathroom. Other times, the students who usually spout banalities will actually have something really interesting to contribute. I truly never know what to expect - and that's what keeps this interesting. 

In 10th grade Medieval Literature, we started the semester off with Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which is such a fun book to teach. It includes elements of the eerie and supernatural (one of the first scenes is a giant green knight getting beheaded, picking his head up off the floor, issuing a challenge to his assailant, and galloping from the scene on a green horse). But it also includes a lot of questions about reputation vs. character, best intentions vs. actions, obvious temptation that we avoid and insidious temptation that hamstrings us before we know what's happened. 

The central episode of the book involves Sir Gawain, our hero, visiting a castle and being accosted early in the morning on three successive days by the wife of his host. She is ravishingly beautiful, skimpily dressed, and very obviously throwing herself at Gawain, who has to walk a fine line between maintaining his virtue and not offending his host and hostess in a very remote location. 

This is a fun lesson to teach. 

I usually start off by sitting on some poor 10th grade boy's desk and getting a little too close for his comfort - just close enough to make him uncomfortable and to make his classmates laugh, but nothing inappropriate. I then remind them that this discomfort is NOTHING compared to what Gawain is facing, in his bed in his skivvies early in the morning with his ravishingly beautiful married hostess almost literally pinning him down so he can't just run. 

Then I ask them what they would do if they were Sir Gawain. 

"Remind her politely that she's already married." (He tried that and it didn't work.)

"Politely ask her to leave, and if she doesn't, firmly assist her from the room." (That would be great, but he's not decently attired, which makes this a complicated endeavor.)

"Wrap the sheet around himself and run!" (Like Joseph with Potiphar's wife. Oh wait, five of my students don't know this story. We can't have that. Brief segue to recap the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife.)

In my third class of the day, with my supervisor in the room for my formal observation, one of the students I enjoy the most for his confidence and engagement and complete unpredictability, stands up, shrugs his shoulders, grins (I know it's impish, even beneath the mask), and says "I mean...well..."

I prompt him to use his words please. 

"Well...I mean..." he shrugs again, "I'd probably just go with the flow." 

"Go with the flow how? Like Gawain did? Walking the line between courteousness and virtue and somehow pulling it off?"

He shrugs and grins again. "I mean...well...it's consent..."

Split second of silence, and then I hear a short burst of laughter from my supervisor. Bless her - she's taught high schoolers for years and raised three of them - nothing takes her by surprise. Then the class is metaphorically in an uproar. Laughing, incredulous, sheepishly agreeing, attacking the spokesperson, who can totally handle it. 

I'm laughing too, rolling my eyes, and thanking the Lord for the opportunity to engage with these crazy, dear, thoughtful teenagers. This is my kind of conversation. 

"Ok...well, by our culture's standards, unfortunately, that's all that's required to make this acceptable. But what's wrong with this?"

Classmates chime in.

"She's married!"

So?

"It's against the code of chivalry!"

"It could hurt Gawain on his quest!"

"Rumors could spread and ruin his reputation!"

I nod, affirm the answers, and ask, "What else?"

Crickets. 

"Y'all. Chivalry is a cultural code that we left behind hundreds of years ago. If this were just about violating the code of chivalry, then if Gawain lived today, it would be totally acceptable for him to "go with the flow." After all, in our culture, consenting adults basically get to do whatever they want. But culture doesn't determine morality. God does. And God says over and over again throughout the Bible that adultery is wrong. Period. That's what's so dangerous about this situation. The Lady isn't just tempting him to violate a cultural code; she's tempting him to violate the law of God."

They have quieted down now, and they're listening. But I can see that they still think this is just about Gawain and a lady in some long-ago, far away castle. 

So I tell them, "Y'all. This is about us. You might never have thought about this, but I'll tell you straight: many of the people I respect most in the world have been 'propositioned' at some point in their lives. And they had to decide how to respond. Were they going to slip into that sin and excuse it, or were they going to stay committed to their morals? We're all going to face times like this, and it might not be nearly as obvious as the Lady was."

Now I have their complete attention. I can see them processing. Thinking. This was an unexpected turn. So I let it sink in, and then I move on to the next part of the lesson. 

I don't teach the subject. I teach the students. I truly never know what my students will say, or what avenue of conversation will open up on any given day. 

In the world of literature, we talk often about the idea of cultivating a moral imagination. It's the idea that moral formation is about so much more than a list of do's and don'ts. It's about helping students imagine what it would be like to be in morally complicated situations, and then giving them the opportunities to see how protagonists respond to those situations. Sometimes the protagonists do the right thing; sometimes they don't. Either way, it gives the students a safe space to think through the ramifications of different responses to different kinds of situations. Then, hopefully, that will cultivate their ability and desire to act rightly in their own lives. Will any of my students be accosted in a castle by a ravishingly beautiful medieval woman? Nope. But might they face situations at college parties or later in life that are equally morally compromising? Yep. And my hope is that this conversation will stick for some of my students, and that when they end up in those situations, they will remember not only the biblical commandments about sexual purity, but also the example of people like Sir Gawain, who remained steadfast in a very sticky situation.

But the beautiful thing about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is that while it's about moral fortitude, it also deals with moral failure. Gawain stays faithful when up against the Lady's temptation, but he falls in another way later in the book. He is crushed. But rather than staying crushed, he humbles himself, admits his mistake, and vows to always wear a memento of his sin to keep him humble. Gawain went on to accomplish many daring feats and adventures, but rather than getting puffed up by pride, he remembered his human frailty and depended on the character of his Savior rather than his own gleaming reputation. That, too, is something I hope my students will remember when they fail. I hope they will confess, repent, remember, and move forward to do great things in the grace of God. 

rational and loving conversations: an approach to disagreement

{Painting from Glimpse Art}

"There have been other things you have posted over the last few years that I took violent exception to but I didn't say anything about. And I probably won't again." 

When I read this Instagram DM from a dear longtime friend, my first emotion was sadness. Not exactly sadness that we disagree - sadness for missed opportunities to gain a new perspective and challenge my own thinking. 

These came in the middle of a long and somewhat heated exchange about something I'd reposted. The specifics aren't important for the purposes of this post. Suffice it to say that my friend challenged the logic and presuppositions of what I'd posted and pointed out implications that I hadn't thought about. I'm so grateful for her willingness to engage with me. 

While the broad brushstrokes of my opinion haven't changed, as a result of our conversation, I have more questions that I want to pursue answers to, a more nuanced understanding of the complexity of the issue, and a healthy, concrete example of my own fallibility in inadvertently communicating things that I didn't mean to. 

If you know me well, you probably know that I tend to live in a world of big ideas, literature, and philosophical ideas. Current events? Not my thing. At all. Too emotional. Too divisive. And, frankly, way too time-consuming and overwhelming for me to keep up with. Plus, in my mind, current events are things of the moment, while my beloved books help me tap into conversations that have been ongoing for centuries.

But I'd have to be a special kind of ostrich to have kept my head in the sand during the Year of Our Lord 2020.  

As I've begun to educate myself on a lot of issues and begun to develop my understanding of them, I initially limited conversations to close friends and immediate family members who I could expect to have a moderately similar perspective to my own. It was a safe space to process, and the kinds of issues that I've been processing can be highly emotional and divisive, so I wanted to play it safe. 

But then I was convicted. As I've watched the polarization of media and politics spiral out of control, I and many of my friends and colleagues have bemoaned the lack of healthy civil discourse in our country. Why can't we have rational and loving conversations about divisive issues and seek at a minimum to understand the other side, even if we can't reach an agreement?

Then I realized that if I want things to change, I have to start seeking out those kinds of conversations. 

I realized that my effort to avoid these sorts of conversations is, in many cases, much more telling of my failures than the failures of those who disagree with me. When I imagined opening conversations with specific people, my gut reactions were "I know what they have to say is going to make me so angry" and "I don't know nearly enough about this to defend my opinions to someone who disagrees with me." Guess what? Both of those things are my problem: I need to work through not feeling personally affronted when my ideas are challenged, and I need to have the wherewithal to put in the legwork to actually know what I'm talking about. I also need to be ok to admit when I don't have an answer and need to revisit the conversation later, after I've done more research.

So, slowly, I've started engaging in conversations with people who I value highly and also disagree with on some pretty key issues. Sometimes I initiate the conversation. Other times, a conversation lands in my lap (or, rather, an email lands in my inbox), and I have to formulate a response to an issue that I didn't really intend to address. 

My primary goal in these conversations is not to win the other person over to my opinion (though of course it would make me happy if that eventually happens). Rather, it is to learn to understand their perspective and, hopefully, give them a gracious and well-articulated defense of my ideas so that they can also understand my perspective. Sometimes one (or both) of us end up with a slightly different perspective than we started with. Always, I want them to walk away knowing how much I love them, and that however big a disagreement might seem, it's small potatoes compared to how much I value the relationship.

I'm new at this. I've made mistakes. And that's scary, because I really like to be right. But more than that, I really like my relationships to be in a comfortable place, and these conversations are not comfortable. But they are ultimately much more productive than just skating around uncomfortable issues. 

This summer, Bri McKoy was talking about her own learning process in starting to speak up about some things she thinks are important but that can be divisive. She admitted that she felt like a beginner and that that's intimidating, because beginners make mistakes. She's a recipe blogger and cookbook author, and she compared the experience to her early forays into cooking. She forgot to salt her chicken SO MANY TIMES that when she finally remembered to salt her chicken, she felt like a huge success and posted the recipe on her blog. Now, she says, she would never recommend that recipe. But then, for baby cook Bri, it was a really big deal. And she could not have become the excellent cook she is today without being a beginner in the kitchen and making all sorts of beginner mistakes like not salting your meat. 

The moral of her story was that if we want to learn something challenging, the ONLY way to get there is by going through the beginner phase. There is no way to skip this phase. It's part of the learning process. Essentially, she was reminding me to give myself permission to flop. As long as I picked myself up, dusted myself off, made the necessary apologies and kept trying afterward. 

I took a couple of days to respond to my friend's Instagram DMs. I know that people tend to bemoan the effects of communicating digitally rather than via face-to-face, but I found myself grateful that we were having this conversation online rather than in person. It gave both of us space to reflect and consider before responding. I know I needed that; my friend wasn't attacking me, but I felt attacked. I don't know how the conversation would have gone if we had been face-to-face, but I don't think I would have been happy with my response. I would have been defensive, and probably focused on the details of disagreements rather than operating from what I know is our common ground: a love of Jesus and a desire to love his people well in a crazy complicated world. 

If I know my friends disagree with me on important issues and just ignore it and avoid those subjects, that does not necessarily contribute to Christian unity. In fact, if I don't give the people I love the opportunity to share their opinions with me, then it's easy to forget that the people "out there" who have those opinions are often thoughtful, nuanced, complex people with perspectives that I can learn from. Now, there are times to agree to disagree and move on. Sometimes that's the healthy course of action. But not always; avoiding a subject is not the same thing as living in unity with one another. 

And can we talk about unity for a moment? It's a catchword right now, and a word that shows up often with regard to Christian community. Psalm 133 starts "Behold, how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity." It's a beautiful and biblical idea, but often I think our understanding of unity is impoverished. I was listening to Dr. Lucretia Berry recently, and she pointed out that often we interpret "unity" to mean "uniformity" - complete agreement and an identical approach to issues. This is the understanding of unity that leads to silencing conversation on complex issues, because we fear that lack of uniformity in an approach to something means disunity. 

But what if that's not what unity means? Dr. Berry pointed out that the New Living Translation, among others, translates that verse, "How wonderful and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in harmony!"

Harmony only happens when there are different voices singing different melodies. Same goal - pursuing Christ's kingdom - different approaches. Differing voices - differing opinions - don't have to be the clamor of discord. They can come together into the richness and beauty of harmony. 

I've recently started following Sharon McMahon on Instagram. She's a government teacher on a campaign to start a gracious, fact-based conversation about all things current events (and whales). She's an invaluable resource, and I've really appreciated her perspective on how to approach disagreement. One thing that she says over and over and over again is that "we cannot work for the opposition's destruction." In our current political climate, it's easy for Republicans to think that life would be so much easier if the Democrats disappeared, and for Democrats to think the same about Republicans. But here's the thing: communities that eliminate the opposition turn dictatorial very fast. Healthy democracies - and healthy communities - learn how to listen to one another, understand the other side, and work together in the face of strong disagreement. 

What if, instead of being afraid of tension and disagreement, we entered into it with the hope of harmony? Especially among believers, we know that our goal is Christ and his kingdom. Christians have been disagreeing since Jesus called the first disciples - but what if instead of avoiding that disagreement, we entered into it with the desire to learn from one another and grow together?