December 28th, 2022—Winter is the season of light, the in-shining of mystery and the out-shining of transformation, hope, and promise. This is true for many Spiritual-traditions; Diwali, Hanukah, Winter Solstice, Christmas, and Kwanzaa all speak to the interplay of light and dark, the pull toward or away from inner-light in the human experience. The celebrations revolve around ritual, candles, oil-lamps, fire, colored electric bulbs, and fireworks. The central message is the various ways that light can overcome darkness and diminishment.
In the natural world this interplay is most prominent during the winter solstice. The journey of the sun towards its lowest angle and least amount of warmth ends. The next day, December 22nd, is a little longer and a little brighter. In the January and February depths of winter, I find hope and reassurance in the sun’s rising and glowing with greater intensity. Spring and summer are ahead and already preparing the ground for renewal and growth. This is true and dependable. These forces of change and transformation operate independent of human influence.
It seems that the promise of increased light after darkness is a good message for educators as well. I know that this repeated pattern in my teaching is true and comforting. When I upset a student with an awkward comment or unthoughtful response on a paper, I know that if I’m patient and seek understanding, that the light of learning for the student will return. I know that the rejection of an academic article, although painful to my ego, often comes with good suggestions from reviewers that point toward improvements. If I can sit with the disappointment until the natural turning of my emotions, then like the winter solstice, my darkness will lift. I will again find the light of passion and clarity needed to rewrite.
Another important learning for me as a teacher is that for the pattern to continue darkness must reappear. This is a relationship, not a competition to see who will win or conquer the other. Imagine, if you would, the difficulty of living in a world of all light or all darkness. For me, the dynamic interplay is what makes teaching exciting with plenty of unexpected moments of the turning from one to the other. I admit that it is hard to accept that darkness will follow light, that not all my lessons will go smoothly, that not all my attempts at humor will result in laughter, or that the reforms I suggest, and commit my heart to, will be embraced by administrators. And yet, I find comfort in knowing that even the deepest levels of despair, disappointment, and disenfranchisement from self and others will be transformed by the light yet to break through, heal, and restore.
As I reflect on the nature of light in my teaching, I’m aware of several important elements. Light takes on various hues and intensities. Not all forms of light are good when fostering understanding in the classroom. And not all forms of darkness are inappropriate when considering learning. John Phillip Newell, in his discussion of the love of light for Celts, notes the distinction between sunlight and moonlight consciousness. Sunlight can be harsh, glaring, and at times it can obscure the vision. Moonlight is more often soft, indirect, and reveals hidden elements. As an educator, I find Newell’s observation invites me to consider when the classroom ethos requires moonlight vision, a sense of mystery and uncertainty, instead of the blinding strength of sunlight vision. When is a text best understood with gentleness, grace, and a sense of the unexpected? And when it is best witnessed with the more direct and penetrating light of reason? John Dewey points to the physical features of the classroom as important elements of the learning experience. I know this to be true regarding light in the room. I’m a better teacher when natural light enters the learning space, compared to a windowless room lit only with fluorescent lights.
For the Spiritual traditions I mentioned earlier, celebration and ritual are central to the interplay of light and darkness. Candles, fireworks, fire, and colored lights are physical representations of the invitation to inner change and transformation. The invitation for each person is that their inner darkness is not permanent, light offers hope, promise, and the path toward transformation. As an educator, I strive to create spaces in the classroom and in my mentoring where the darkness of misunderstanding, misinformation, or disillusionment can be lifted with the liberation of inner-light and knowing. I work for those moments when a learner’s calling, their unique gifts, can break through and shine.
What I don’t do a good job of is formally marking these moments of transformation. I wonder what that might look like? What rituals should I consider? Fireworks might be exciting but unrealistic in the closed space of a classroom. Perhaps, in the past, grades or graduation were meant as formal markers of accomplishment, an intellectual lightening of the mind and spirit. But it seems to me, that more and more these rituals have become transactional and commodity focused. For instance, when students directly and indirectly imply that tuition is a form of commercial agreement guaranteeing they pass a course or earn a degree. I wonder how I might take a more direct stance in the classroom when I witness the interplay between light and dark that is grounded in liberation and transformation. How might I invite everyone present into a moment of celebration worthy of the individual and communal change?
In this season where light and dark are dancing together, changing who leads in the dance rhythms of the natural world, I invite you to consider the ways that a playful relationship with light and dark might enhance your teaching.