I was sweeping the patio when Susan came out with the telephone receiver in her hand, “It’s a student.”

“Why would a student call me on a Saturday afternoon?” I whispered.

She shrugged her shoulders as I put the receiver to my ear. I wasn’t ready for what I was about to hear.

“Dr. Schmier, do you remember me? It’s Meko (not her real name)”

I hadn’t heard or seen her in about two years. “Meko,” I exclaimed.

I couldn’t get the next word in. “I am in New York now. I live in Astoria in Queens….I wanted to come to you before I left Valdosta and say thank you, but I never did….When I came to New York, I didn’t know anyone here. It is hard here. I am all alone…..I couldn’t get work on Wall Street….I was soon wondering to myself why I did not stay in Valdosta where I have friends or go back to my family in Japan. I was very depressed and sitting around and crying, but then I thought of you and your belief in me. I never told you how important you are to me.”

As she talked, I put the broom down and went over to sit on the steps of the deck. I have to admit that my hands were clammy and my feet had a tinge of numbness. “You were so patient with me when I first came. You helped me with my English. Remember? you had me tell my class mates to be patient with me and to ask for help. I said I was scared. You said I was very brave. They did help me and I made some strong friends. We are still friends today….You always encouraged me. You never let me say that I can’t….I remember that you always tell me that if I say I cannot do something, I would be right and would not do it; and if I always tell me that if I say to myself that I can do it, I would be right and I would do it. I remembered you told me that I will be the choices I make. I want you to know that always when I had to make a choice, I thought of you. I cried because I forgot you. When I thought of you, I started to believe again, got up, and found a job, and am getting ready to go to graduate business school next year. I wanted to call you and tell you, ‘Thank you.'”

I guess the best way to describe my reaction is stunned, speechless, and deeply humble. At first, all I could say was a whispered, “Thank you. Do don’t know what your words mean to me.”

“I wanted to tell you that your class was like a Japanese garden. It was living art. It was a path into myself and let me see my spirit. You believe every one is important….You don’t just say it, you feel it and you do it. You never forget to reach out to touch each student. You are always there. You are never afraid to appreciate and honor the beauty of life. You do everything in your power to create miracles. Sometimes I did not understand. I do now. You are always in the present moment. You are truly alive. Everything you do or touch is a miracle. Like me. It was a reflection of your spirit of your reverence for each of us. I just wanted you to tell you.”

I stammered, “You’re so kind. Thank you again.”

I recovered my composure. We talked for a long while, especially about her courage to venture out into New York. With each word, I could feel something warm and serene enveloping me. I told her that there was a soft shoulder and a listening ear down here anytime she needed one. When Meko hung up, I got up and turned around, went over to the fishpond, just sat silently staring at the graceful sweeps of the koi and listening to the mesmerizing and soothing sounds of the waterfalls, feeling what Meko had said.

“….reflection of your spirit of your reverence for each of us.” That phrase has been echoing inside me. It sounds almost like Albert Schweitzer’s universal ethic: “Reverence for life.” Reverence.

There’s something extreme about reverence. Everything about it feels radical. There’s an “inseparableness” about it. It has an selfless “otherness” about it. It’s so unconditional. It’s so enveloping. It’s so welcoming. It’s so embracing. In the classroom, it’s message is to honor each and every student. There is no second class; there is no “don’t belong;” there is no unimportant; there is no insignificant; there is no weed; there is no valueless; there is no superior or inferior. Everyone is unique. Everyone is sacred. Everyone is priceless. Reverence. That’s a good word for MY DICTIONARY OF GOOD TEACHING.

Now, some of you may think this word belongs anywhere but on an academic campus. I believe it belongs everywhere, especially on an academic campus. How am I defining reverence? It’s simple. Well, it’s not really. I’m certainly not confining reverence to something ecclesiastical, liturgical, or prayerful. It’s one of those nurturing spring wells of thinking and feeling from which flows all the saying and doing. It’s an attitude filled with riches. It’s a deep feeling of deep respect. It’s an appreciation. It’s patience. It’s dignified attention. It’s wholehearted welcome. It’s accorded dignity. It’s care with and for everyone entrusted to you. It’s awareness of what Thich Nhat Hanh calls the “inner are” in ourselves and others. It’s being in the presence of the sacred. It’s significance. It’s love. It’s being in the present moment. It’s the path that leads us to the threshold of surprise. It’s a feeling colored by amazement, awe, and wonder.

I firmly believe that when we appreciate and honor the beauty in each student, when we are aware of each student’s pains, frustrations, fears, pressures, struggles, we can’t help but be compassionate and understanding, and will do everything in our power to find ways to nurture each of them.

Reverential thinking and acting is essential in a teacher. If you’re reverent, you can’t be indifferent. You can’t be distant. You can’t be disengaged. You can’t be cold and clinical. You can’t be self-centered. To the contrary, you must be involved. You must live beyond yourself. You must serve. You must be intently mindful. Everyone in that classroom is just too precious to be otherwise. Now that is not as easy as it sounds. You have to devote yourself to any person who needs your help. In self-forgetting concentration, you have to concentrate. You have to focus. You have to size up the person so that you could adjust yourself to that person’s level of comprehension and extent of need. This is a task that demands great mental effort and carries with it a fear with which to deal. A fear of hurting someone’s feelings, afraid of misunderstanding a person, of unwittingly causing harm; afraid of not being able to help, of not fulfilling a responsibility; afraid of not living up to expectations; afraid of failing a student. That fear, nevertheless, banishes the cavalier; it prevents routine; it heightens your awareness and sensitivity. It forces you to reflect and gauge and adapt.

Trust me, it’s worth it. When you’re reverent, every day overflows with undreamed treasures; every moment is a golden opportunity. And, you’ll discover that what’s in the best interest of each student is even better for you. When you see beauty, you become beautiful; when you see riches, you will become enriched. It all will flood into every nook and cranny within you and will flow out from you to surround and envelop you and others. Simply put, you can’t snarl while you’re smiling; you can’t dismiss while you embrace; you can’t be cold when you’re warm; you can’t disdain while you love; you can’t be artificial while you are authentic; you can’t be careless or care-free while you deeply care.

We do need reverence in academe. We do need to practice the art of reverence in the classroom and everywhere on campus. My good, can you imagine the magnificence that can emerge from merging the spirituality of reverence with the intellectual? Now, some of you may say that’s “warm and fuzzy” stuff. Well, it is warm, but for me there’s nothing fuzzy about it. It’s clear as a bell. Meko has told me that.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Last Thursday, during our “what do you want to know about me” question session in class when students ask me any questions about me, a student asked, “Where do you get all your energy?”

Without thinking, I heard myself say, “I’m faith in action. This class is a ‘faith based class!'”

Some of the students looked at me as if I was a closet, right-wing, Christian fundamentalist who was going to hold morning prayer meetings to start class. After I assured them that I wasn’t going to ignore either St. Augustine’s ‘give unto’s’ or the First Amendment, I told them that faith-based education, as I see it, has nothing to do with religion in the classroom and everything to do with my attitude toward and perception of and my work with each and every person in the classroom.

“Faith is not what I have,” I told them, “It is what I do. It’s not about me alone; it’s about how the class runs. It’s how I relate to you and me, think about you and me, speak to you, treat you, help you. It’s about how truthful you and I are with ourselves and each other. It’s what I strive to help each of you help yourself do. Have faith in your ability, seek it out, cultivate it, and to put it into action. That kind of faith is a mountain moving force. It’s what moves me to move those mountains.

I went on to tell them that kind of faith will provide a sacred power to break out of a bunch of restricting, if not imprisoning, what I’ve heard are called “thought traps.” that fence them in, that limit their ideas about who they each are and what they each are capable of, and, therefore, restrict their performance. “There isn’t one person in this classroom who doesn’t belong and isn’t capable. You’ve just got to have the faith in yourself that I have in you. It’s not easy, but if you trust me,” I assured them, “if you trust yourself, you’ll be stunned at what you can do with that kind of faith.”

Then, I went on to answer someone’s question about my painted right pinky nail.

That moment that answer to that question, was the first time I have described myself, my beliefs, and my methods in that way. By coincidence, this weekend I’ve been reading some writings by George Lakoff. He’s a cognitive psychologist at Berkley. As I understand him, the gist of what he says is that we live in conceptual structures and stereotyping frameworks and institutionalizing metaphors. And, when the facts don’t work in our favor, when they don’t fit into our frameworks and structure, we fight as hard as we can to keep the frameworks and structures, and deny or ignore the facts with as such assertions as I’ve experienced: “in my humble opinion” or “I believe” or “I’m not comfortable with….” or “I’m….” or “I’m not….” or “I can’t….” or “….but.” Thought traps that so many of us academics and students are caught in, that erode us, that atrophy us, that burn us out.

My faith in the ability and unique potential of myself and each student is not a clich� or a slogan. It is a very real “trap buster.” I surround myself with that faith in each student as a filter so that whatever may come my way, it must first pass through that filter. That is not to deny or ignore “reality” of imperfection and mistake; it’s a matter of choosing how to experience and respond to that reality. My faith makes sure that I react with wonder, awe, enthusiasm, and positive expectations rather than with an attitude tinted by defeat, resignation, anger, and resentment.

My faith is a little, positive “it is” idea that grows and grabs me as it makes that long, ever-deepening journey from my eyes and ears to my head to my heart. When I don’t heed that faith, when I don’t live it, I’m trapped; I don’t filter out the clogging dirt; I screw up; I shirk away; I weaken; I droop like a drought-ridden flower; I get worn down; and, I get deflated with a bunch of exhaling self-pitying sighs. But, each time I believe, each time I listen, each time I see, I stand tall and straight like a satiated flower basking in the nourishing sun; I take myself into a magnificent world beyond myself where nothing is impossible. It is what makes me; it is what makes me ask the questions I ask; ; it is what allows me to take the risks I take; it is what makes me perceive what I perceive; it is what makes me do what I do.

Like Alice, every time I set foot on campus I pass through a looking glass into the spiritual realm of that faith. Everything begins to change, turn upside down, turn inside out, gets revalued. I have become convinced that such a faithful, positive vision reveals the true sacred nature of reality of the “unique” and “individual” person. At the same time, that faith uncovers the profanity and illusory nature of a depersonalized, often dehumanized, denigrated if not desacrilized, and stereotyped “student.”

In this faithful world, constantly reinforced by reading the students’ journals and small talking with them, I don’t see any bureaucratic bean-counter’s impersonal “unit.” I don’t see standardizing labels. I don’t see nameless generalizations. I don’t see lifeless statistics. I don’t see faceless members of a herd-like “student body,” or even of “faculty,” “staff,” and “administration” for that matter. I don’t see a spiritless ID number. I don’t see a mere budgetary resource to be retained. I don’t see an abstraction fit into a strategic plan. No pigeonholes for me. No stereotypes for me. In a room, as well as throughout the campus, I see a gathering based on human values, not institutional rules and regulations and organization charts. I see a unique, precious, and sacred gathering of unrepeatable ones. I see a rich, too often hidden and ignored cache of abilities, talents, contributions, and potentialities.

My faith based approach rests on an assumption as does probably everything we believe and do. It is a decision I’ve made that imposes an unconditional commitment that, in turn, becomes a driving force which supplies an endless and boundless energy. My faith is that each student is like each day: a beautiful, priceless gift never to be matched, never to be ignored, never to be cast away, never to be wasted, filled with unique and wonderful possibilities. The beauty and positive possibilities are always there even during the storms. Let me let you in on a secret: the more faith you have in each student, the more peaceful your spirit becomes; and, the more peaceful your spirit becomes, the more fully you will be aware of, know, and experience that beauty both in yourself and in others.

My faith is a choice, then. I choose to believe that each ordinary student is extraordinary, and I act on my choice. For me, each student is a unique, and worthy human being to be accepted, respected, and appreciated. Each is too sacred to be left behind or pushed aside or cast out. If we take the time to build their confidence, patiently allow them to fill their hearts with their own faith, notice and savor their accomplishments and thoughts, if we expressed pride, approval, accomplishment, virtues rather than demeaning, criticizing and finding fault, each student, each day, can be a celebration that dwarfs that of any holiday.

My faith in each student twists and turns the meaning of words like power and authority. To live in the powerful, existential, spiritual world of faith is, as I told the students, to have mountain moving strength, to make visible the invisible, to make actual the potential, to discover the hidden abilities, to move the latent talents, to unwrap the wrapped gifts. Faith is the fuel source of my imaginative and creative energies. It is the endless replenishment of my “get-up-and-go” stamina that is as vital for me as a proper diet, sufficient sleep, meditation, and lots of physical exercise. It is vision, purpose, meaning, conviction, commitment, power, authority, encouragement, support, and experience.

Faith, I once said, is one of what I call “my four little big words.” For me, faith is a “can do” word an “it’s possible” word; it’s a word that fuels my inner fires; it’s a word of hope for, belief in, and love of; it’s a confidence word. It is a map showing the topography of each person, the classroom, the campus, my profession that helps me to understand the direction in which I must travel to fulfill the sacred promise of my work: to become a wholesome person, and to help others help themselves become likewise; to be that person who is there to help others help themselves become what they are capable of becoming.

Yeah, I’m faith in action and the classes are faith-based.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

I went out this morning, darting between the drops of a quiet rain. My walk this morning was a more intense “just to…” meditative time than usual. My brother’s funeral last week and the getting the juices flowing in readiness for the beginning of the semester Monday have placed me in a particularly pensive mood. It’s at these moments I set aside distracting outside noise and confusion for a little while to focus intently inside. I relax my mind, relax my body, and energize my spirit. It’s in these moments that I let go of my concerns for a bit and simply experience the depth and wonder of being alive. It’s in these moments that I get myself ready for the challenges the day invariably will throw at me, and prepare to sow and reap the abundant uniqueness that is already within me.

I was thinking this damp morning that through reflective questions I can learn so much about me from my dreams and desires; that if I struggle to understand sincerely the reasons and the purposes behind those dreams, I will have a better understanding of who I am; that the more I struggle to know about myself and about what drives me, the more effective every effort and every moment will become. So, this morning, I searched out for what I think I know about my dreams, drives, and me. This is some of what I came up with.

I know:

that as a teacher, my lasting leadership doesn’t really rest in any official position or derive from any particular authority or is rooted in my information base or emanates from any scholarly resume, but comes from my sincere and noble desire to change the world around me despite the risks of failure, criticism, or even retaliation;

that I can only accomplish much if I am a daring and visionary adventurer rather than a safe and comfortable “status-guo-er” or a faltering hesitant who wants certainty and guarantee;

that no matter how loudly the challenges in the classroom may shout, I won’t let them silence the beauty and uniquely positive possibilities that are always there in each person;

that each day is a beautiful, priceless, and matchless gift filled with unique and wonderful possibilities to be experienced if I want to and know how to seek them out;

that I’m a dance card waiting to be filled, that I’m a proverbial work in progress, that the Ph.D. after my name isn’t Latin for “having made it” nor is the Dr. before my name mean “I’ve got it;”

that there is a gap between actuality and potential, between who I believe I am and who I truly am and who I am capable of becoming;

that the important thing is to make each day purposeful and meaningful;

that no student gets up in the morning and says, “I’m going to school to try and screw things up;”

that no teacher gets up in the morning and says, “I’m going to school to try and screw the students;”

that the things I accomplish in the classroom are the ones I know I must accomplish and truly want to accomplish and will do whatever it takes to accomplish, whether they are easy or tough, simple or complicated, immediate or over the long run;

that when I say I must intently listen and see, I don’t mean merely being more attentive or waiting for my turn to speak. I mean generously listening and seeing with my ears and eyes something that I didn’t see before. I mean seeing and listening for the opportunity to change and transform;

that I must design a classroom that allows each person to see who he or she is and who he or see is capable of becoming and to demonstrate his or her latent talents and to grow and to transform;

that compassion and love belong in the classroom because compassion and love are human matters and I’m in the people business;

that each day is a composite of choices I make and that each day is a time of opportunity or missed opportunity;

that being miserable is a choice and when I make that choice, I will sort out all sorts of things to insure that my choice is vindicated and reinforced;

that being positive, joyful and uplifted is a better choice than being miserable and when I make that choice, I will sort out all sorts of things to insure that my choice is vindicated and reinforced;

that I must never be satisfied, but that doesn’t mean I am in a continual state of dissatisfaction;

that I don’t have to ignore or deny the difficulties of teaching in order to be excited. I only have to decide that I won’t let them get to me. hold me back, and get me down;

that I must not define success and achievement in terms of salary or publications or position or tenure or title or resume, but see that my wealth is in my attitude and in my approach to living each moment and seeing the sacredness all around me;

that I must ask myself what I want to see more of and less of in my own attitudes and behaviors;

that the joy of taking a chance and succeeding is a much more powerful motivator and inspirer than is the fear of failing or making a mistake;

that it’s easier to talk the proverbial talk than walk the proverbial walk, that the true test of my values and character is my willingness to take a stand or stand up when the cost may be more than I’m willing to pay;

that, as Carl Rogers acknowledges, I can’t control anyone, I can’t really teach anyone, motivate anyone, or even inspirer anyone except myself;

that attitudes are contagious;

that kindness can change lives, mine, and those of others;

that the sweet taste of the classroom is seasoned by selfless and unselfish service to each student;

that every single moment is a golden opportunity. But if I’m focused on my own narrow concerns, I’ll miss the best opportunities;

that when my interest in teaching is beyond myself, is in the best interest of each student, teaching is truly magnificent;

that real and lasting achievement comes from being significant in someone’s life;

that the beauty in each student may not be obvious at first if we let problems demand our attention;

that I am as happy at being in the classroom as I wish to be;

that the path to success, fulfillment, and happiness in the classroom is to be a good person;

that achievement, happiness, and fulfillment are children of purpose and vision;

that I must connect what I would like to do and what I would like to accomplish with why I would like to do and accomplish, for behind every desire is a reason and behind every reason is a purpose and behind every purpose is a vision;

that my classroom career is counted by the number of heart throbbing deeds, by the number of people I touch, not by the number of years;

that the value of having been is the extent to which I will be missed;

that whatever is said about me in epitaphs and eulogies will be built on what I did with my talents and resources and how I touched lives;

that Disraeli is right: life is too short to be small;

that my precious personhood, the things that are most admirable and lovable about me, are found in my character and my values, not in my image or my authority or renown or publications;

that I have to take good care of myself, my body and spirit, my mind and heart, if I want to take good care of others;

that having a strong sense of service is the best way to have a long, fulfilling, and significant teaching career;

that I have to adjust to changing times with changing methods and changing attitudes, but with unchanging values and purpose;

that I teach the way I do is not because of who and what comes my way, but because of how I respond to it all;

that if I respond with love to those who might otherwise annoy me, I won’t be annoyed;

that if I look each day for the blessings in each person, I’ll surely find them;

that if I look each for the short-comings in each person, I’ll surely find them;

that I still get that buzz in the classroom because there’s still more, there’s so much more to come, the best is still ahead of me–and it’s still awful exciting and a whole lot of fun.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

“Emotion, especially love, does not belong in the intellectual setting of the classroom. Spirituality in academe? We’re not in church, you know!” a professor proclaimed in an e-mail this morning. I couldn’t let his declared admonishment go unanswered, for hers was not a lone voice. However I respect her position, and perhaps understand it, I certainly don’t agree with it. This is what I replied:

“Plastic flowers are not fragrant and silk flowers, however seemingly real, don’t bloom. I know of no professor or student who surrenders his or her humanity when he or she steps foot on a campus or who checks his or her humanity at the classroom door. We misuse our intellect to balkanize ourselves and others. We make such foolish divisions in those and among those whom love sees as a whole. For me, it’s a question of teaching–and living–grammatically correct. Separating the inseparably interlocked is like living an incomplete sentence.

“When we feel frustrated, disappointed, tired, dissatisfied, unenthused, heavy, unfulfilled, unaccomplished, burnt out, the problem may not rest in society or the administration or the students or in our genes. The problem may be that we are out of touch with our very substance and are distant from the subtleties of the human experiences and the myriad of human struggles around us. What we need in the classroom is a more humanizing understanding and deeper vision of what it means to be a teacher and a student.”

“So I ask you. Why is that we’re members of a profession–assuming you believe collegiate teaching is a profession–that so often wants to treat both students and professors as if they are emotionally sterilized? Why do so many of us want students to be as tranquil as corpses? Why do we feel far more comfortable dealing with only the intellect and are so quick on the draw to denigrate emotion as, to use your words, ‘touchy-feely stuff?’ Why do so many academics want to address only a part of a person rather than the whole of the person? What is so wrong with acknowledging the fascinating marriage between emotion and intellect between what people feel, think, and do?”

“What is so wrong with specifically acknowledging the importance of love in the classroom? To do otherwise, seals us off from our depths and heights as well as from those of others.”

“Spirituality isn’t the preserve of a church or synagogue or mosque. It means waking up to and being aware of both the humanity in each of us and to the connecting oneness among people. It’s called community. That connect isn’t severed when we step onto a campus or into a classroom as so many assert. If spirituality is making connections, then love is the stuff of those connections. One of the major elements of love is empathy, the ability to put yourself in other people’s feelings. Let’s call it lavished attention. It’s a deeper dialogue than ordinary discussion. Let’s call it genuine openness. Let’s call it deliberate concern. Let’s call it intent presence. Let’s call it habitual focusing. Let’s call it conscious willing of the will. What matters is not so much the construct of your lecture or the organization of a class as the condition of your heart and soul. I maintain that we can only find our meaning and purpose as a teacher in the emotional connective tissue of awareness of, understanding of, and sensitivity to each student, all of which create and hold together a classroom community that both supports and encourages each member of that community, and that includes the teacher. Every time you choose to have love in the classroom, you’ll feel it’s gravitational pull. You can’t help but close the distance, warm up the chill, feel the glow, feel fresh, be user friendly, be at ease, be aware, be sweet, find yourself in others, put others ahead of yourself, and disarm fear. And, then, your world will grow larger and larger and larger. And, then, you’ll have the reason for a genuine experience and satisfying smile.”

“All this makes sense only when you use your feelings and senses to notice and listen and see, when you invest your consciousness in others, when you offer your heart to hearten others. I have no hesitation to call it the Zen of an education, or the spirituality of an education, or the essence of an education or the power of an education because it is the most potent and greatest single effective teaching tool you can devise.”

“You say that the classroom is not a church. Well, maybe that’s one of the problems of academe. Where our attention is, there is where our heart and mind are. For me, the classroom is a reverent place. It is a place where we should hope to find and uplift sparks of inner light, even where it seems hardest; where we should do all the work that is needed to help each student discover the sacredness in him/herself. Maybe we should ask more how we can become a more loving human being and less how we can assesses or increase our scholarly reputation. Far too many of us dive deep into our heads and disciplines and swim in the shallows when it comes to our hearts and the students. I hear a lot of “I love _______ (discipline)” or “I have to be dedicated to my discipline.” I so seldom hear, “I love each student.”

“Pronouncements to the contrary, academe generally doesn’t treat the teaching classroom with the same sacredness, solemnity, respect, and stature as the research laboratory or archive. Let me paraphrase a Sufi saying: If you put method and information and intellect ahead of and between you and a student, the method and information and intellect become disrespectful spiritual and educational mirrors, opaque screens, obstacles, even fearful opponents, and still even corrosive substances; if, however, you sincerely–I repeat, sincerely–put a student ahead of method and information and intellect, if you use method and information to remember, to be aware of, to be sensitive to, to notice, to care about, to love, to elevate, and to serve the student, then, method and information and intellect become respectful spiritual and educational windows, even loving allies, and still even transforming substances.”

“If we heeded these word, if nothing else, we might become less ‘fussy’ in demanding the perfect class in which each student displays an obedient, robotic calmness. And, we might devote ourselves more to the refinement of individuals rather than to the mechanical parts of an educational machine.”

Make it a good day.

–Louis–