I knew in my bones, that those letters could not show the whole picture. I couldn’t sum up that one of my students went from barely being able to put a sentence together to being able to write a five-paragraph essay. I couldn’t adequately mark the hours of hard work and imagination and collaboration that went into the work. How could you melt that all down into a grade? Making report cards felt like putting all the color, and discourse, and life of my classroom through a meat grinder, and watching it come out the other side as a letter. A letter that could be condemning or freeing. Often, my hands were tied as to which letter I had to give out. I couldn’t give extra grace to someone who was still learning English. Or someone whose parents had just gotten a divorce. Or someone who was more concerned about having enough to eat and staying warm in the winter than doing their homework.
So, I found one small way to “rebel” against this system. It was something I looked forward to every grading period. I found a way to use report cards to encourage my students no matter what letter I had to give them. The system my former school used had comment codes. You couldn’t write your own comments on the report cards. But you could choose from a prepared selection of comments. It was like sending students a messenger robot. Just click the right button and the robot would show up on their doorstep and intone, “has potential,” or “more effort needed.” Most of these seemed silly, and again, not enough to share what I really thought about a student and the time we’d spent learning together. There was one, though, that I thought any student would like to get. And one that I could genuinely say that I believed about each small person that entered my door. “A pleasure to have in class.” To me, those six words said, “My teachers approves of me. My teacher likes me. My teacher appreciates me for who I am.”
Before I entered the comment, I thought about each kid. Because I wanted to be genuine; I didn’t want to say something that I didn’t mean. So, I held up the phrase “a pleasure to have in class,” to each student. Could I say that about the one that argued with me? The one that blatantly ignored my commands? The one that, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t seem to meet classroom expectations? Could I feel that way about the know-it-alls, and the know-not-much-at-alls? The students that did all their homework and the ones that had every assignment I’d ever given them crumpled in the bottom of their backpack. The ones that smelled, and the ones that twirled their hair? The kid that talked about me behind my back and the kid that drew a penis on the desk and the kid that swallowed one of my manipulatives and the kid that hid his phone behind her book during silent reading. As I thought through my attendance list I believed that I could. I honestly enjoyed and delighted in each one—if not every moment—at least most of the time. So, I scrolled through the list of comment, chose that option and boldly clicked “apply to all.”
I did this secretly. Hoping that my students wouldn’t realize that they all got the same comment and then feel less special. Knowing that if my colleagues saw it some would surely disapprove. Some would believe that not every student earned that praise. Some would say that this comment means less because everyone is getting it. To some, it would be no more than a digital participation medal. (Which apparently is right up there with avocado toast as one of the reasons my generation is ruining the world). To me, though, that one small action reminds me of Jesus and the way that he feels about each of his kids. I think that he would be able to call each of us a “pleasure.” I believe that he takes joy in each of us. That he delights in us. That he sings happy songs about us.
You might call me a heretic, but think that everyone from Mother Theresa to Hitler would get a “Pleasure to have in class,” from Jesus. I’m not saying that he condones evil behavior. The bible shows us that God takes sin pretty seriously. I know that God is about justice and making wrongs right. I just don’t think that God operates on a merit system. I think he goes out handing out compliments like a kid throwing candy from a parade float.
You don’t have to earn God’s love. In fact, we couldn’t even if we tried. The bible says that each one has fallen short of the glory of God. If God were giving us report cards, we’d probably each earn an “F.” The law (laid out in the old testament of the bible) shows us God’s “rubric if you will.” It shows us that every person is failing in a lot of those categories. Not because we’re bad, necessarily, but because God is so good. He is perfect. He is holy; set a part; sacred; different from anyone else on the planet. Compared to the good that he’s done, even our list of best good deed looks like a used maxi pad (that may sounds gross, but it's in the bible: Isaiah 64:6). The good news is, that even our most epic failures have been taken care of. That’s what the cross was all about. The cross is the intersection of justice and mercy. A god that cares about ending oppression, took all the world’s pain and suffering upon himself so that, we, the very root of wrongdoing, could be free. It’s like Jesus earned an “A,” and then somehow swapped out his report card with ours. He took our failure and let us stand on his merit. I don’t know anyone else that good. God just loves us because he is loving.
I loved those kids because they were mine. They were in my class. I could find value in each of them. Some students were so fun to talk to. They told me clever jokes and interesting stories. Some were insanely smart. They could memorize facts like nobody’s business, read faster than me, come up with compelling arguments. Others were artists. They made beautiful drawings in their spare time. A few were just great friends. You know, the ones that made seating charts impossible because they are comfortable talking to anyone. I had students that were great athletes. That struggled in school but excelled with a ball in their hand or at their feet. I had competitors that were not talented but were very passionate. Kids that had the gall to believe they could be in the NBA someday. There was something so pure about that brand of bold naivety. Every one of my students had something so amazing about them. Every one of them had worth. The comment “a pleasure to have in class,” was just one small way of saying that to them. One subtle way of telling them “I see you, and I love you." (Because if you were to literally say that to a thirteen-year-old it would probably creep them out).
Similarly, God loves us because we are his. We are his kids. He has placed beauty and value in each person. We are all different—mixed bags of good, and bad, and history, and struggle, and talents, and gifts, and bits of God’s nature tucked inside for those who seek it to find. He has poured out his love on each of us. If one of us is in trouble (and if we’re honest we all are) he will leave ninety-nine others to come and pursue us. Even when that trouble is of our own making! I’ve always thought of that saying, “Everything happens for a reason,” “Sure, but sometimes the reason is because you’re stupid and you make bad decisions.” God knows that some trouble is brought on by other people’s mistakes or comes about just because we live in a broken world, but that sometimes we inadvertently cause our own problems. Or cause problems for others. Yet he doesn’t give up on us. He offers us love, guidance, provision, companionship.
This is not my vendetta against grades. I know that feedback—and even feedback that is expressed on a number or letter scale—can be useful. As much as I am hesitant to give out grades, I’m not necessarily calling for educational reform. Whether or not you agree with this particular step that I took, I am calling for those, in any profession (or in no profession at all) to find ways to pass out unconditional love. To look at a room full of people and say, “You all belong here.” “There is a place for you at my table.” Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself. One time someone asked Jesus who his neighbor was (which humorously makes me think he was looking for a loophole). Jesus thought of the group of people that this particular person least respected: Samaritans. Jesus told a story about how a man was beaten up and robbed and left for dead. Lots of seemingly “good” people passed him by. But one person, stopped to take care of the downtrodden man. The Samaritan (the person that this guy would have had a hard time loving) was the hero in this story.
Notice and love people. Those down on their luck, and those that rub you the wrong way, those who are different from you, and those you were taught to think were stupid or immoral or wrong. Find small ways daily to tell people, regardless of their performance, “You are a delight.” It’s what Jesus would do.
*Disclaimer: Like many of the teaching practices that I put in place, I stole this idea, shamelessly, from a colleague. In this case, her name is Mrs. Lybbert and she is one of the most extraordinary educators that I have ever had the privilege of working with. My teaching career (and life) is forever marked by her compassion, authenticity, and openness to learning and trying new things. *
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