by Patrick Macy
Ever wonder what is normal? In our culture today, students
participating in the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom during
the school day would not be considered normal. Students reading
aloud pre-20th century poetry while having high tea in formal attire
would not be considered normal. Students learning about the
ancient origins of falconry from a man holding a hawk would not
be considered normal. Even students camping outside in a national
park for four days during the school year amidst God’s creation
would not be considered normal. Indeed, in a culture where
innovation is the accepted norm, participating in experiences that
tap into the cultural memory and continuity of the past just doesn’t
seem normal. It isn’t––and that’s why we do it.
Throughout the school year we provide our students with living
experiences––experiences that are soul-forming and life-engaging,
that are real and recognize the value of the past, that draw the child
a little closer to their Creator. We do this because they help them to
take part in life outside the norm of our current culture. Set apart
from the influence of gimmicky educational technologies and the
latest fads in curriculum and instructional theory, our students get a
hands-on experience of things that are tangible and possess a
measure of permanence.
“Let us now lay aside all earthly cares.” To listen to a children’s
choir singing the Cherubic Hymn during the Divine Liturgy is a
delight that can draw one beyond the cares of this world and a little
closer to the joy we should all know as children of the Heavenly
Father. So also to watch them recite a poem from Robert Louis
Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses or admiring the beauty of
the outspread tail feathers of a Harris hawk or gazing upon the
magnificence of a giant sequoia reminds us adults that there is a
world beyond the busy-ness, distractions, and cares we accept as
“normal life”, something that can be a blessing to parents and
teachers alike. Living experiences are for all of us.
One such living experience that was a lesson to both adults and
students occurred during our annual nature camp expedition with
our 4th–8th grade students, which this year took place in Sequoia
National Park. The adventure began shortly after our arrival at our
campsite. As is common during late summer in the Sierras, a
thunderstorm can come up out of nowhere, and is suddenly upon
you––even before you get your tents all the way up! As the storm
approaches, there’s a tension that builds in your mind with the
electricity in the air. You know there’s not a moment to spare, as
the wind begins to grow in force and the tall pines all around you
begin to bend. The darkening thunderheads are mounting in the
distance, but every time you look up, they are much bigger––and
much closer. You see students, teachers, and chaperones hurriedly
putting up tents, hoping to get them anchored down with the
students’ belongings before the tents blow away and the
belongings get soaked. The first big drops fall. Lightning begins to
flash and the loud peels of thunder signal that the storm is getting
closer, much closer, and will soon be upon you, your twenty-two
students, and a handful of very concerned adults. Of course, you
can’t hurry kids who do not put up tents on a regular basis. Putting
up tents is usually a valuable learning experience for the students,
but this year’s lesson was becoming a bit more advanced than
anticipated! The rain is now growing steadily heavier. You throw
on a rain jacket, but you know the rest of your clothing will be
soaked through before it is all over. When trees begin to break and
crash to the earth not far up the hillside near the campsite, that is
when you begin to wonder if you should start packing up the tents
instead of putting them up. The kids press on. The adults cast you
beseeching looks that say, “What should we do?” And that’s when
you realize that you are all in the hands of God in the middle of the
wilderness––and that your students are getting to experience a
moment of adventure that will remain in their memories for many
years to come. And then, as quickly as it came, the storm passes
and blue sky appears above the treetops. You find yourself
standing across from a student whose clothes are soaked through
and whose face is smeared with mud. Below her tangle of wet hair,
you see her eyes wide with excitement and a smile that says it all:
“That was awesome.” Once again, you are reminded of why you
came. Such living experiences are priceless––for your students and
for you.
Still, the child grows up. Will the child remember this world of
wonder? Or will the veil of modern life be drawn between his soul
and this world, forever obscuring his memory of it? We once knew
this world––the world of innocence and wonder, the world of the
unencumbered child. Living experiences help the child remain
alive to this other world, and his soul open to the presence of God.
We must remember and make available the experiences that have
long mattered, those that still possess much value in our efforts
toward forming the souls of our children despite the messaging of
the innovation trend. Sometimes going backward is going forward.
Sometimes the old is new. And sometimes a sip of tea can awaken
a child to the world beyond the norm.
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