What We're Reading - December

Happy December and Blessed Advent!

Sunday marked the first day of a new Church year, and the beginning of the Season of Advent. Advent wreaths around the school are helping mark the time we wait to celebrate the birth of Christ at Christmas, and our waiting for the final coming of our Jesus, who will bring us into His kingdom.

We are beyond thankful for all the ways our Immanuel community participated in our ILS Month of Service throughout the month of November. Your generosity abounded in supporting our Thanksgiving Meal kits and food collection for Christ House. Families generously shared their time in participating in our Salute to Veterans program, along with serving as recess volunteers, classroom readers. And of course the ILS teachers and staff were incredibly blessed by the incredible Thanksgiving lunch shared by so many families before the Thanksgiving holiday.

At Immanuel, we truly believe that parents have the primary role in the education of their children. This is why we fundamentally believe that the relationship between home and school is so vital in the education and nurturing of children. It is a joy and a privilege to work so closely together with our families as we share in this important endeavor. Together with you we engage in the work of shaping our culture at school and at home. Each month, we compile a "What we're reading..." blog post with a small selection of articles that our faculty and staff have found recently to be inspiring, intriguing, encouraging, or thought-provoking. We always love to hear your thoughts on these or other things you’ve been reading as well.

Thank you for your continued partnership, and for engaging with us! Please feel free to share a link in the comments to email us any time!

“As a child, I absolutely feared cemeteries, especially around Halloween or All Hallows Eve. The cold, damp air, the constant thoughts of being watched, the absolute darkness – it caused my heart to race, my breathing to become shallow and rapid, and my mind to succumb to paranoia.

What is the paranoia that causes fear within your life? What wraps you into bondage? Is it the lack of power and control? Is it the thought people are watching you or the belief they are out to get you? Is it a present darkness that no one knows besides you, darkness that seizes your heart and won’t let go?

Our fear is what gives birth to sin and the things that continue to haunt us throughout this life.

Martin Luther was also haunted as you; he would be driven by the torments of this world to confession for hours at a time. The voice of Satan would whisper into Luther’s ears seeds of doubt – are you genuinely sorry enough for your sin, have you enumerated every sin, have you stopped sinning?

All this is enough to enslave a man in their sin and drive them mad.

But, where all this madness eventually drove Luther was to read the Holy Scriptures all the more, to pray feverishly, and to confess what is true and right.As we have entered the season of Advent, we have entered a time when the Church’s posture is naturally turned toward prayer.

Throughout the Advent season, the darkness of night constantly progresses and increases as we all await our Savior’s arrival – His return.

The world likewise resides in this darkness we now experience. It is the darkness of sin, rebellion, and unbelief.

And yet, Isaiah wrote,

The people who walked in darkness
Have seen a great light;
Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,
Upon them a light has shined.

We who walk in darkness desire to see this light and have it shine upon us.

For this reason, we gather in prayer for the light to not only be upon us but upon those residing in the darkness of life with us.

You see, the darkness affects us all and is uniquely crafted for each of us – our unique struggles, temptations, and needs. The darkness is our restlessness, our rebellion toward God, our need for control, our sin.

But, the light is outside of us. We cannot bring ourselves out of the darkness, but rather, we must be led by the light into day.

And so, we must look to whom Isaiah foretells as he writes,

For unto us a Child is born,
Unto us a Son is given;
And the government will be upon His shoulder.
And His name will be called
Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

What has been placed upon the shoulders of this child and only begotten Son of the Father is the cross and the sin of the world. In turn, what He now gives to us is His peace – His forgiveness.”
— Pastor Rogness, "Meditation for Prayer Vigil at the SCOTUS"
“During Advent, we hear several mentions of light, as the people of old were promised a light to overcome the darkness of death—prophecies ultimately fulfilled in Christ. Isaiah 9:2 says, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” Matthew 4 tells us that these words are fulfilled in Christ. In case we had any doubts, Jesus tells us frankly, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows Me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

In the days leading up to our Christmas celebration, we join God’s people of old in waiting for the light to come. We are also the ones who dwell in the land of deep darkness, a land of death. The season of Advent begins in the darkest days of the year as we approach winter. The cold and the dark serve to remind us viscerally of our sinful state and our need for salvation. We await both the remembrance of a coming in Jesus’ birth at Bethlehem and the fulfillment of the promise of Christ’s second coming on the Last Day. We eagerly await the coming of the light both theologically and in nature and look forward to the life it brings.

As we wait, we look to humbler sources of light to remind us of who we are waiting for. We light the candles on our Advent wreath and notice how even the tiny flames hold the darkness at bay. We notice the stars in the night sky at earlier and earlier times each night. We put up our Christmas trees, decking them in tiny electric lights. Humans need the light, and as it disappears for increasingly longer stretches of time in late fall and winter, we seek as many sources of it as we can find. These small sources of light encourage us while we dwell in the darkness and point to our need for the day to dawn again. We eagerly await the sunrise with confident hope. So, too, we await Christ’s coming with confident hope.”
— Marie Greenway, "Waiting for the Light of the World"
“Isn’t that the way it is with so many things in life? We don’t mind the weight of a thing so long as it has a purpose. But if we don’t see the point of it, we don’t want the burden.

“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. For when the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps” (Matt. 25:1-4).

The wise virgins were the ones who took oil along with their lamps. Why, oh why, would five have forgotten the fuel? The answer is already there for the taking: They were foolish. They might have thought the Bridegroom was just around the corner. They might have thought that carrying an extra flask of oil would be a bit too heavy for their liking. They didn’t see the point of it, so they didn’t want the burden.

Picturesque manger scene aside, Christ’s coming as a baby was an event weighty with meaning and purpose. He came to earth with all its misery. He came to die. That’s heavy stuff that the rest of the world would prefer not to drag around. So they toss it aside in favor of shopping and decor, family time and merriment — and question the burden that Christians choose so joyfully to carry.”
— Rosie Adle, "Advent is Not a Drag"
“Most contemporary children’s books and movies—rooted as they are in the spirit of modernity which is suspicious of all authority or tradition and deeply individualistic—reflexively encourage children to “follow your heart” or “be yourself,” long before they even have a developed sense of “self,” much less any moral center to guide them in their “being”. By contrast, The Handsome Little Cygnet shows what can happen when children are left to wander on their own, without the wise guidance of loving authorities or proper moral formation. We end up chasing things that seem attractive but are in fact ugly, creating messes that we cannot fix ourselves. Only through “staying close” to those who love us and will our good, the book suggests to us, can we hope to develop sufficient moral imagination and maturity to navigate the ugliness of a fallen world with integrity and prudence.

Taken together, these books provide a crucial start toward a regaining of a proper appreciation by orthodox Christians and cultural conservatives of the formative effects of cultural artifacts on the moral imagination of children. Arguments matter, to be sure, but the logical-rational part of the mind must be prepared and reinforced by the imaginative and the habitual if the arguments are to be received and, more importantly, applied. And, while the adage “politics is downstream of culture” has real limitations, it is certainly the case that those who wish to preserve Western culture and orthodox Christianity cannot afford to neglect the culture if they wish to succeed in their task.

Culture (from the Latin cultus, meaning “civilization, refinement, care, worship, training, education”, et al.) begins in the home, and with the very young. With these books, Mehan and Folley have given us, the parents of young children in need of cultivation in the great traditions of Christianity and the West, some useful—and beautiful—tools with which to do our work.”
— John Folley, " Mr. Mehan’s Virtuous Little Animals"
“A robust classical education demands the formation of courage. As such, we ought to attend more fully and intently to the development of courage in the classroom. Without courage, classical education is a shadow of its former self, desiring virtue but remaining unable to attain it. Of course, classical education aims for Good, but it also acknowledges that students will regularly experience the ugly reality of everyday life. They will come face-to-face with the monsters of a post-Eden world. Courage, therefore, is not only necessary or helpful but urgent. Ultimately, a classical education can, indeed, be considered a failure if it fails to produce courageous students.

But, how? Arguably, courage is formed best through experience: a quick and harsh school. However, one can have a kind-of second-hand encounter with courage in literature, and while not literally dangerous, these instances provide “practice” in the courageous arts. These paper-encounters with virtue “at its testing point” can set resolve in the student’s heart —for, courage is, as J.R.R. Tolkien wrote in The Fellowship of the Ring, “found in unlikely places.”

The Great Books provide training in courage, but it must be acknowledged, elevated, and adorned with praise. Too often in schools courage goes unmentioned, despite its appearance in numerous classic literature. In An Experiment on Criticism, C. S. Lewis considered literature’s impact on his person and life. He concludes, “in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself.” Reading-well, notes Lewis, trains up the spirit and the person through the numerous lives of literature’s great and small people. Adding depth to his first statement, Lewis continues, “Those of us who have been true readers all our life seldom fully realise the enormous extension of our being which we owe to authors.” Literature provides praiseworthy virtue, lament, sorrow, and a whole host of experiences to the reader with all the trappings of personal experience. They offer an extension of being that develops age in youth and wisdom during childhood. ”
— Travis Copeland, "A Courage-Building Classical Education"
“Thankfully, giving Advent our full attention is just the place to start to avoid Christmas burnout. Derived from the Latin word for “coming into,” Advent methodically prepares us to observe one of the most holy events in the history of the world. It isn’t a stodgy stick-in-the-mud season of no-nos. Rather, it is a thoughtful, penitential time of reflecting upon the steadfast promises of God. We hear from prophets of old foretelling the savior, including Jeremiah, who prophesied five hundred years before the birth of Christ: “Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch,” (23:5). In the face of King Ahaz’s weak faith, Isaiah assured Israel (writing even before Jeremiah) that God always remains true to his word: “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel” (7:14). Over years, decades, and centuries, God repeatedly reminded his people of his promise to deliver them. So we also, during the four weeks of Advent, cherish and anticipate the hope of God’s people with John the Baptist, who exhorts wondering crowds to confess their sins and prepare for incarnate God to come (Mark 1:1-8). We, too, hear how our long-expected savior will cover our sins and forgive us (Matt. 26:28).

One of the best things about Advent, I think, is how simple it is. We wait with listening ears in the quiet stillness as we meet together in Christ’s church. Advent wreaths composed of a bit of greenery and four candles help mark the season in our sanctuaries and homes. As our days become darker and colder, we turn our faces toward the flickering candlelight and hear of the light of the World (John 8:12). We fast, pray and contemplate, not because such actions merit us any righteousness, but because they discipline us to accept with patience and building joy what Christmas brings us. Advent, this wonderful, preparatory season, brings us not an artificial panorama of commercial allure but God’s incarnate promise of eternal life. Though we can’t fully escape the secular trappings around us, we can focus our eyes on the one thing needful and strive to remember and pray the age-old words that God still answers: O come, o come, Emmanuel. ”
— Emily Olson, "Embrace - Don't Skip- Advent"
“If we are fully to attain our destiny, so far as earthly development will permit this, if we are to become truly unbroken living units, we must feel and know ourselves to be one, not only with God and humanity, but also with nature. Consequently, parents and family should regard contact with nature as one of the chief moving forces of the life of the child, and should make it as full and rich as possible. And the best means is play, for at first play is the child’s natural life. The human being, especially in childhood, should become closely acquainted with nature – not merely with its details and forms, but with the divine spirit that is contained within it. This the child needs and feels deeply. Where this sense of nature is still unspoiled, nothing unites teacher and pupil so closely.… Teachers should regularly take their classes out of doors – not driving them out like a flock of sheep or leading them like a company of soldiers, but walking with them as a father with his sons or a brother with his brothers and making them more familiar with whatever the season offers.”
— Friedrich Froebel, "Why Children Need Nature"
“What helped me make sense of the world and my place in it was the social and intellectual initiation provided by the university’s famed Core Curriculum. At the time, I couldn’t have suspected that I would go on to become a professor at Columbia and direct the Core from 2008 to 2018.

Sometimes described as a Great Books program, the Core Curriculum is a required set of courses in literary and philosophical classics—as well as art, music and science—in which all students study and discuss a prescribed list of works that begins in antiquity and moves chronologically to the present. Authors like Plato, Dante, Shakespeare and Woolf are semi-permanent fixtures. Legendary for its rigor, the Core is a kind of intellectual baptism that goes back more than a century, to a time when an introduction to the Western tradition of learning was recognized as a self-evident good.

Today, Columbia’s Core Curriculum stands as a kind of relic, with no other major university requiring a common course of study in what used to be called “the classics.” Liberal education has always been a hard sell, and with higher education increasingly seen in transactional terms—with students paying exorbitant amounts of money to gain a leg up in a fiercely competitive job environment—it is easy to see how liberal education might be regarded as a waste of time.

In particular, many people today, even academics, take the study of the classics to be elitist and exclusive. Of course, a curriculum weighted toward the past and therefore toward “dead white males” invites questions about diversity and inclusion. Such questions are integral to liberal education, not a distraction from it; they are, as computer programmers say, a feature, not a bug.”
— Roosevelt Montas, "Finding Dignity and Excellence in the Great Books"
“One of Velázquez’s most enigmatic religious paintings, dating from his early Seville period, is also a bodegón, a secular representation of everyday life: the so-called Christ in the House of Mary and Martha (1618, London, National Gallery), wherein a foreground kitchen scene is fused—both formally and iconographically—with a background Biblical subject from which the work derives its title and meaning.[1]

In the foreground, an old woman gently admonishes a young servant girl who is clearly unhappy about her kitchen duties as she sullenly prepares a meal.[2] The convincing naturalism of this bodegón combined with the formal, almost liturgical, arrangement of the prominent still-life recalls the artist’s other masterpiece from that same year: The Old Woman Frying Eggs (1618, Edinburgh, National Gallery of Scotland).

In each canvas the vivid description of the different surfaces and textures—the copper mortar, the peeled garlic, the fish, eggs, and earthenware jug—both solemnize and celebrate the tactile values of ordinary objects. The young servant, shown in the act of grinding garlic, recalls Velázquez’s Servant Girl (c. 1620, Dublin, National Gallery of Ireland, Beit Collection).”
— Charles Scribner III, "Velázquez and Teresa of Ávila: The Lord Among Pots and Pans"
“If you put a pull-up bar in the gym, students—more boys than girls—will line up to try it. Many of them will fail, and many will not be able to do very many or as many as the boy who did the most. Some may not even be able to reach the bar but will have to jump for it to have even a chance. Nevertheless, they will try – and try repeatedly.

Many academic settings deny boys this experience. The “pull-up bar” in the reading classroom is put very low so boys can do it easily and so that the differences in ability and effort go unnoticed. Despite the way boys respond to challenge, teachers dare not put the bar high so as to challenge the boys, allow them to struggle or fail on the first try, or demonstrate how they are different from each other.

Education has to be a balance, and in our day, we need more of the pull-up bar experience in the classroom.”
— Christopher Stevens, "Setting the Bar"