March 23rd, 2022—Despite what I would prefer, loss and rebirth is a normal aspect of life in the classroom. The elements of loss are perhaps easier to grasp; students leave at the end of the year, a lesson doesn’t go well and collapses, test scores come back lower than expected, or a trusted colleague leaves the school. It seems that loss is such a regular part of the school experience that perhaps its gifts are not fully appreciated or attended to. Rebirth is equally present in schools, but perhaps not as noticeable; a student who was struggling blossoms and grows, every year a new class of students is welcomed, a teacher reads an inspirational text that reignites their passion for teaching, or a new colleague brings fresh ideas on teaching and learning to the school. This essay explores the dimensions of loss and rebirth that frame the cycles of learning in schools.
The paradox of loss and rebirth emerged recently when I was preparing a teacher professional development session. I was reflecting on my emotions over the past several weeks and wondering to what extent they were unique to me or if there were any universal themes applicable to other educators. As I thought about my current feelings, I sensed the presence of some general themes that seemed worth exploring. With respect to loss, this is the end of the academic quarter and the level of stress around assignments and grading is rising for students and faculty. I regular hear about loss of sleep. COVID continues to reign, and considering the number of deaths and level of infection, many students and faculty have experienced loss first-hand. The war in Ukraine. The continued dehumanization of Black, brown and Indigenous peoples in America. The big and small experiences of loss leave many brokenhearted and looking for moments of hope.
And in the presence of these losses, the natural world is experiencing March 20th and the spring equinox. Where I live, Denver is experiencing equal amounts of sun and moon light. The earth is responding with early signs of spring and rebirth. Birds are singing their courting songs. The crocus and tulips are pushing tender leaves up through the softened soil. Buds are beginning to green as new leaves are ready for emergence. In courses students are synthesizing ideas and concepts in new ways. Their expanding knowledge foreshadows renewed commitments to change and social justice in schools. Other students are expressing increased confidence in their graduate student identity. Some students are uncovering a deep sense of self that has remained dormant for many years. Across the academic landscape new beginnings and rebirth seem ready to burst forth from the winter of uncertainty, searching and disorientation that mark the path of learning.
The evidence suggested that the cycle of loss and rebirth is a universal theme to organize a professional development conversation around. I looked through my poetry file, searching for a poem to frame the conversation. Wendell Berry’s Sabbath 1998, VI spoke to the themes I was interested in surfacing for faculty and staff. In the opening stanza Berry notes that change is the norm despite all of his strategies to secure a predictable future. Nature and human living are inherently in flux, ever changing. A few stanzas later he admits that there are gifts in loss. Struggle and death often contain the seed source for wisdom and growth. This certainly rings true with my experience of teaching. The more I try to constrain and control learning with my instructional choices or defined curriculum the more likely I am to encounter hesitancy or resistance in students. As much as I lean toward structure and control when teaching, learning leans toward the organic and unpredictable. Where true learning is concerned the impulse is toward freedom and change.
The most poignant reference to loss in the Berry poem is his description of his “good workhorse Nick” who is dying. Nick is looking to Berry for help at the end of his life. Berry regrettably notes, “I had no help to give”. To the staff and faculty in the professional development session, Berry’s sense of powerlessness in the face of death raised questions about the ways we navigate loss in the classroom. Do we try to fix things? How do we handle disappointment when what seemed right and good in our teaching seems to wither, unfulfilled? What does it mean when our gift of teaching is inadequate for the needs of students? Who are we if we fail to foster learning, healing or a deeper understanding of what it means to be human? Loss, despite our best intentions, seems like a normal element of teaching. The deeper the care for students and the more intentional the learning moments, the deeper the sense of loss when understanding never comes to fruition.
Berry doesn’t end with the death of Nick and his deepening sense of inadequacy as a caring person in Nick’s life. Berry turns the corner into the theme of rebirth. Just as the moon cycles from waning to waxing, so too can the sense of loss gradually transform into the light of a full moon. The invitation is to name the loss, to honor the pain and suffering, and to also know that dying is a necessary element of rebirth. As Berry notes, “Nothing / is given that is not / taken, and nothing taken / that was not first a gift”. As a group of faculty and staff we added to Berry’s affirmation that some forms of death are unexpected or traumatic. There is no gift in loss that is tragic and centered in dehumanizing experiences.
As an educator I can relate to the presence of a gift emerging out of loss. I’m thinking of the ways that students offer feedback that is painful to hear, even as it is right, and the ways it facilitates instructional growth that would likely not have occurred without the struggle. Berry notes that even in times of complete loss, “the light breaks in, / heaven seizing its moments”. Again I’m thinking of students and the times we experience intellectual or interpersonal struggle, our relationship feels tentative, and then something mysterious happens, a new understanding emerges our relationship shifts. Light breaks in and we experience a sort of rebirth and renewal of the relationship.
Loss and rebirth are a natural process in teaching and learning. One follows the other in an endless cycle of gifts given and gifts taken away. The big lesson for me is to live fully into the role of teacher but to hold lightly to my expectations of what the fruit of teaching should yield. To know that loss will foster rebirth in its own time and place. What is your relationship with loss and rebirth? Do you tend to isolate one from the other? Have you found ways to integrate them into a living whole that energizes your teaching?