The Calling of an Educator

Good morning. And a warm welcome to the 2019-2020 academic year. A former colleague described August as a “month of Sundays.” He did not mean that in a theological sense, but a psychological one — the way in which each August day is accompanied by “the sense of an ending” — a sense that one season of our lives is going to a close, as we turn expectantly to the work ahead and the renewal of the responsibilities entrusted to us as educators.

But what a blessing these summer months are. I truly hope your time away from school has been restful and restorative, filled with the pleasures of travel, time with family and friends, and new intellectual discoveries. The longer I am an educator the more I appreciate the gift of these beautiful summer months — the wonderful sense of completion we feel at the end of the school year and the sense of renewal and possibility that always attends the beginning of the new school year, being back to the noble and meaningful work that makes teaching one of life’s most sacred callings. One of my former mentors used to say that “There is no rhythm more soothing than that of a school at its work; there is no more restorative place to be than among school children.” Even as we will all struggle a bit as the alarm clock goes off at 5 am and we leave behind the more leisurely pace of our summer routines, I hope you still feel — as I do now 15 years into my career as an educator — the profound sense of joy and purpose at the beginning of a new school year.

Over the course of the summer, after a complicated year in which administrative and legal matters required a great deal of my attention, I spent some time thinking about the arc of my own journey as a student and teacher. As many of you know, I will be returning to the classroom this year, teaching an interdisciplinary course on ethics, political philosophy, and constitutional law. One summer evening in June — a Sunday if I recall — I was walking up to school to pick up some papers from my office. It happened to be the day when SPS students were arriving on campus; and as I approached the main reception area, 5 rising seniors came bounding out of Lane Johnston like eager and endearing Labrador Retriever puppies, shouting: "Mr. Robinson, Mr. Robinson, we just found out we are going to be in your class next fall!" We've all grown accustomed to how intellectually curious our boys are. But many of the brightest students I have taught at other schools often wear their intellectualism with some self-consciousness. How blessed we are to work in a school where boys express such unreserved joy in the life of the mind -- how much they yearn for our respect and affection. And how blessed I felt to be lifted up into their embrace on that Sunday evening. This is God's answer to Job, I thought to myself. The world can be inscrutable and confusing at times; but it is also a world abounding with such moments of grace.

Over the course of the summer, I also received a note from a rising senior at Georgetown University — a young woman, an English major, who is interested in a career as an educator. She reached out to me because she is the daughter of one of my college professors — one of the finest teachers I ever had who first awakened my passion for ideas, my love of learning, and my desire to devote my life to education. He was the kind of teacher who taught American Government by having us read Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and Aristotle’s Ethics. Who believed the novel, Tom Sawyer, and the film, Casablanca, had more to teach us about American identity than a government textbook or a civics procedural lesson on How a Bill Becomes A Law. I remember him sitting down with me when I was around 21 years old, a bit lost and not sure what I wanted to do with my life, to encourage me to consider a career as a college professor. He gave me a book that I still have on my shelf that had been important in his own intellectual development. It meant everything to me as a young 21 year old trying to find his way in the world. And then, 27 years later, there I was last week talking with his daughter, hoping to share something that would be helpful to her as she thinks about devoting her life to education. It is difficult not to feel sentimental about this profession when thinking about such moments -- and the way this profession connects us across generations in such a poignant way -- to the great minds and mentors who came before us and the way we try to honor their wisdom, love, and example by leaving something of their influence and inspiration in the lives of the students we are privileged to teach. I think this is what Henry Adams meant when he famously said: "Teachers affect eternity. They never can tell where their influence stops."

I spoke often during the past year about my belief that teaching is a calling. The notion of a calling is a spiritual one — the conviction that we do not entirely choose what we do with our life — instead, in some profound and mysterious way, the work of our lives chooses us. One of the great gifts of being at St. Albans is that, as a church school, we can freely give expression to this spiritual dimension of work. The sense of a deeper purpose that we bring to our teaching – the feeling that something sacred occurs when we earn the trust of a young boy and help him discover parts of himself he could not see on his own – the way this space, The Little Sanctuary, and our connection to the National Cathedral ennobles and elevates our lives – we are able to express our sense that something of spiritual depth and transcendent importance is present in our work, without embarrassment or clumsiness. It seems to me that this is part of what we are gesturing towards when we describe St. Albans as a “special place” — and we speak of the “soul” of our community. We believe our work unfolds within a larger narrative of meaning. We see a spiritual understanding of life and teaching not as an impediment to education but as the essential core of what makes us a moral and intellectual community.

The past year was filled with unexpected challenges — even some dark nights of the soul — for me as the new Headmaster of this school. I questioned, I doubted myself, I struggled to discern God’s purpose for me and for this school in the midst of great unrest in the larger culture and a difficult reckoning with some painful chapters from our school’s past. But throughout the trials and adversity, I grew in my faith and understanding. I saw moments of beauty and transcendence at St. Albans unlike anything I have experienced in my career as an educator. I came to see what so many of you have seen before: that there is something in the spiritual alchemy of this school that draws us into a communion with something deep and profound and luminous. In a world of fragmentation and confusion, we are reminded each day of the grace that is ever-present in our work. In our Old Testament Reading for today, Jacob awakens from his sleep after a dream in which he encounters the presence of God and declares “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I was not aware of it. How awesome is this place. This is none other than the house of God, the gate of Heaven.” There is something about this school that opens us to hearing this spirit — that invites its presence into our midst — that reminds us of its redemptive, transformative power — that connects us to one another — that turns us and our work towards the transcendent.

There’s an unforgettable passage on Book 6 of Plato’s Republic where Socrates describes teaching as the “swiveling of the soul” in the direction of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful. The powerful idea at work in this passage is that our gaze — and that of our students — is too often turned in the wrong direction, distracted by fall idols and seductions and the many forces competing for our attention and allegiance. As Jesus says in the Gospel reading for today, “Do not store for yourselves treasures on earth.”

What we do here is at St. Albans — in the sacred spaces and rituals of Chapel, the Refectory, and our classrooms — is begin turning the souls of our boys in the direction of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful – so that the object of their deepest longing is not a treasure on earth but a treasure of lasting importance. We get them thinking about questions of ultimate meaning and purpose. We teach them that this quest is the essence of a meaningful life. Through this quest, they learn the fundamental mystery and complexity of human experience — a mystery deeper than ideology and dogma — one that compels us to live in humility — to honor the dignity of others as equal participants in a community of continual searching and self-examination in an often confusing world — but a world that contains the promise of a redemptive, transforming truth, if only we have the courage to seek it and the openness to receive it into our hearts.

The opportunity to be part of this journey — to inhabit a community committed to living in this grace - is a rare and special privilege. My year was bookended by two images I will never forget, both fittingly in the National Cathedral, the symbol of our common spiritual life. The first image is of the seniors and the C Formers holding hands on the opening day of school last September — the second image is that of our graduating class embracing one another after receiving their diplomas last June. In an age of cynicism, artifice, ironic detachment, and irreverence, what a gift it is to see young men believe so freely and so unreservedly in one another — to feel such deep pride in and reverence for what they experienced here— to use words like love and privilege and gratitude with such depth and sincerity.

Last June, at the end of a long and complicated year, I had the privilege of attending a farewell tribute to an individual who had devoted over 40 years of his life to serving the Cathedral community. He read the following words, which he aptly described as a “love letter” to the institutions we are privileged to serve here on the Cathedral Close:

As I begin my second year at St. Albans, I too am filled with a deep love for this place and for all of you – for the privilege of travelling this journey together – for the honor of belonging to a community that is an essential source of light and hope in a broken world – but a world that we steadfastly insist is full of God’s promise.