From the ACA Board

Dear Augustine Classical Academy Friends and Supporters,

In the latest issue of "The Classical Difference," a publication of the Association of Classical Christian Schools, is a beautiful and powerful article by an American teacher who traveled to Rwanda.  There to share some classical teaching methods and understand her hosts' passion for this distinct approach to education, she asked her hosts this fundamental question:

Why, we ask, does [this pastor] -- already a prolific evangelist and church planter -- consider academics a crucial part of his mission?  Why not stick to spreading the gospel?  His answer, framed by the backdrop of blood-spattered killing walls and shelves of fractured skulls, takes my breath away.  Moral education would have prevented the genocide.  Education that is Christian and thoughtful, cut along the grain of God's own nature and the nature God gave to man, is an antidote to the genocidal theologies and "the key to a better future for Rwanda."

That's big, heavy stuff -- and true.  Classical, Christian education is not just a benefit to our kids.  It's a gift to our communities and our culture because it equips students with a whole understanding of God's story, as it's expressed in all of life (even, yes, geometry and grammar); it nurtures a love of truth that seems shockingly absent from much public discourse today; and it cultivates nimble minds, who can follow an argument to its logical end and propose fresh ideas rooted in substance.

Augustine Classical Academy is proud to be this type of school, and we're writing to ask you to support our important mission, for the sake of our students and the Denver community at large.

At the beginning of this academic year, we launched The Augustine Campaign, a three-year fundraising effort to raise $600,000 for operating expenses (teacher salaries and rent), financial assistance, and classroom supplies.  We have $85,000 left to raise to meet our year-one goal.

Here's how you can help:

Skip a Starbucks: By giving $5 or $10 a month, you can help equip our classrooms with necessary materials.  Sign up for automatic giving at augustineclassical.org/giving.

Invest in Enrollment: The best way for ACA to continue to thrive is to build enrollment.  We've seen growth each of our last six years, and we are only at about 35% capacity in our current facility.  Help us reach more families with a $100 gift toward our marketing efforts.

Sponsor a Scholarship: We will award $66,000 in financial assistance in the 2016-17 academic year. Making a gift designated for scholarships relieves stress on our operating budget and allows us to continue serving families with high financial need.

Introduce Us: Think about who would be excited by ACA's distinct model and mission.  Would your church sponsor a scholarship?  Does your company have a grant-making arm that supports local non-profits?  Who do you know who would love to give their children this type of education? To expand our reach and build our school, we need the help of all members of our community.

You can make a one-time or recurring gift online at augustineclassical.org/giving or by mailing a check, made out to Augustine Classical Academy, to:

480 S. Kipling St. | Lakewood, CO 80226

Thanks for your continued partnership in this exciting work of equipping students to know, love, and practice what is true, good, and beautiful, for the good of all people and the glory of God.

Yours sincerely, The Augustine Classical Academy Board of Directors.

Wishing Peter Pan Could Do Something About It

One of the pitfalls of modern education is that it comes down to the student's level and gets stuck. Students are "reached," not educated, and much of the curriculum is student-driven. On the other hand, a pitfall of traditional education (often seen in Dickens' novels) was that it whacked students over the head with a standard and demanded conformity. The modern method tailors ever-changing standards to kids' "needs," with all the backbone of Jabba the Hutt, while the older method often didn't see kids at all -- just objects to beat and lecture to.  And where past teachers could be defined as those who always wore wigs and never wore smiles, the modern teacher (and better yet, the youth minister) can be defined as he who sits on chairs backwards eating pizza, hoping to be cool and relevant with the kids.

Generalization granted.  But there's still got to be a better way to educate children than the typical pendulum swings to the far opposite corners of whatever the last generation did.  And, by golly, it just so happens that Love and Rigor can sometimes be friends.

Call it loving students up to the standard.  We get down to their level so that we can bring them up again with us, and we are committed to bringing them up again with us because we know that foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child (Prov. 22:15), and that there is a specific way in which children should be brought up (Prov. 22:6). Childhood is a glorious, God-given phase, but it is not a phase marked by its wisdom and understanding.

So what happens if we have too romantic a view of childhood? We cuddle and coddle and cater to our kids, worrying about how dangerous the world is (mostly with germs) and wishing Peter Pan could do something about it. We can't bear the thought of disciplining them, or of making them do something they don't like, and when they throw fits, let's give them what they want and make them happy, poor dears. We want them to love Jesus, but we also want them to follow their hearts, and one day we wonder why our daughter Lizzie has grown up and cut her hair funny and calls herself Larry and thinks Jesus and Buddha are basically the same person.

Or on the flip side, what about a narrow view of childhood? We correct and we spank, but always with frowns and lectures, and if our children cannot finish their homework, it's their own fault for not having paid enough attention in class. Smiles are reserved for Friday nights only. Movies are always a waste of time, and any students with Facebook are likely not Christians, and if you don't agree with me, son, I'm your father, and you will go to your room immediately until you learn respect. And while you're at it, you can memorize scripture and forget bowling tonight with your friends.

In both cases, like clockwork, the kids go off to college, do a full 180, and the parents are somehow just dumbfounded.

Love them up to the standard.  Teach them how to live by showing them how to live. Work with them. Help them. Talk with them. Sacrifice for them. Expect much from them. Allow no compromises or excuses from them because you do not make excuses or compromise yourself. Teach them diligence by being diligent yourself. Make them widely interested children by being widely interested yourself. Teach them service by serving, love by loving, and devotion to Christ by being devoted to Christ.

Reformations are messy, but so is the gospel.  And for our kids, the gospel starts at the kitchen table and on the living room floor.

Letting Them Play in the River

Once upon a time, there were two children from different families, and their names were Boris and Natasha.  They were happy children and obedient.  They always ate their veggies, went to bed before nine, and never skipped church.

While young, Boris and Natasha loved to play together, which was convenient, since they lived next door.  But as the years went on, they drifted apart, much like two sticks in a limpid stream drift apart.  And though this may seem like a very poor analogy, it isn't, because that is precisely what was happening to Boris and Natasha: they were each floating down separate currents.  They were destined never to be friends again.

You see, despite appearances, their parents had very different standards for them.  Whereas Boris was encouraged to practice reading via Christian comic books (where the sun always shines and the landscapes are made of cotton candy), Natasha was given fairy tales, Greek myths, and biographies. While Boris was corrected for scuffing up his shoes, Natasha was allowed to play in the river.  Boris's parents read bits of the Bible every night, particularly the verses that show up with baskets of puppies, and Natasha's parents read her the Bible all the way through, including the gnarly parts.  Boris got A's in all his high school classes, even though his parents had to try six different schools before they found one that "suited" him, while Natasha got mostly B's, and an occasional A or C, in her honors and AP courses.  And when they were older with families of their own, Boris, generally apathetic about most issues, would always say that his education was worthless, because he'd never really "used" it.  But Natasha was interested in everything.

The Different Faces of Diligence

Here's one of my favorite sayings:

"Seest thou a man diligent in his business?  He shall stand before kings" (Prov. 22:29).

Short and sweet.  (Or as the fellow once said, "Hebrew literature: adage without padage.")  In any case, diligence is a good idea, and one of its rewards is influence in high places.

But for our kids, it isn't so romantic.  For them, there are two kinds of diligence, and one of them never seems to work.

Before we get into that, though, let's remember what it's like for our kids in school.  They are going somewhere (academically) they have never been before, and they don't know what the end of their road looks like.  (Neither do you.)  They're being made to sit still, focus with their ears, and think strange new thoughts, none of which they signed up for. The homework-jobs are hard, they often just don't see the point, and in short, on any given day they'd probably rather be headed down a different highway.  Maybe the one to recess, or the ski slopes.

Enter diligence.  Diligence is like the car that helps your kids reach that unknown and elusive destination. It muscles through distraction, dislike, and stress. Diligence is grinding gears, revved engines, and plenty of exhaust(ion). It has torque and gets you places.

But diligence also dresses up as something else, not a car at all.  Often, diligence is an old slow geezer with a cane who talks more than he walks. So much for getting you places.

Diligence is both the car and the geezer -- and your kids can't pick and choose which they get.  They place an order for it, and it's anyone's guess which kind will show up.  Sometimes, their diligence produces quick results, measurable and satisfying.  They buckle down, block out all distractions, forego the party with friends, and hammer their math facts.  With great fanfare they get an A+ on their test -- a real break-through.  But other times, they buckle down, block out all distractions, forego the party with friends, and hammer their math facts -- and get a C-.  Again.

These are the two kinds of diligence.  One gets immediate, measurable results.  The other just won't.  But (here's the key) they are both essential and unavoidable parts of the learning process.  Sometimes diligence struts its stuff and lights up report cards.  Very good.  But much more often, it bides its time and offers little hope.  This kind of diligence takes faith, but it teaches powerful lessons.  It is a slow burn with deep roots.

Growth and education are funny things.  They are unpredictable and defy all parental expectation.  But over time, in the video (not the snapshot) of our children's lives, full of countless insignificant acts of diligence and faith and no day-to-day assurance of a shining future, God raises up young men and women for his glory.

2014-15 Annual Report

From our Board of Directors:

Dear ACA Families, Friends, and Supporters,

On behalf of the Board, I’m pleased to share with you Augustine Classical Academy’s first-ever annual report, which gives program highlights and a financial overview of ACA’s 2014-15 academic year.

You’ll see here what it takes financially to keep ACA running, which is significant, though still less per-pupil than the per-pupil expenditures at area public school districts. You’ll also see how carefully we steward our dollars and that they primarily—and appropriately—go to staff salaries and benefits.

While the data herein are important, the true highlights of ACA’s life aren’t captured in this report. They are the light-bulb moments when a preschooler finally gets that elusive “qu” phonogram; the thrills of spotting butterflies during a second-grade nature walk and wondering, What must our God be like, that He creates butterflies?; the wonder of building an aqueduct modeled after the ancient Romans’ innovation; and the adventures offered by such classics as The Hobbit and Treasure Island.

These moments—and the millions like them that define our children’s days at ACA—aren’t run-of-the-mill. ACA is, without a doubt, a remarkable and rare place, and we thank God for the richness of this experience for our community of families.

As we look to 2016 and beyond, the Board will continue its focus on marketing, fundraising, and careful stewardship of the resources we have. We invite you to join us in any of these endeavors if you feel so called. (You can email board@augustineclassical.org to reach us at any time, or come to the public session of our Board meetings the first Tuesday of every month at 7 PM.)

Thanks for your part in building this small but mighty place. My prayer is always that God would help us grow in enrollment and influence, and that God would use ACA to help an ever-growing group of students to know, love, and practice what is true, good, and beautiful.

Sincerely, Hilary Oswald Chair, ACA Board of Directors

Drills and Drama

For parents and teachers, there is an inconvenient truth about children:

They don't come with a USB port.

Try as we might, we always get an error message when we attempt to upload information onto their hard drives. ("Here is a slice of pure, clean knowledge.  Please file it somewhere neatly in your brain.") They are what has been termed human and tend to reject all formalized learning categorically.  This fact has created perhaps the single most debated question in all the Educational World (an unwieldy and corpulent world), which is this:

"How do we get kids to love and accept what we're trying to teach them?"

Or:

"How do we get kids to actually be diligent and attentive?"

Two basic schools of thought exist.  The first says the solution is to drill, baby, drill.  This is an old and traditional method with exclusive emphasis on repetition, chants, drills, routines, discipline, and consequences.  The second school of thought says the solution is to show the students a real good time.  Are they interested in horses?  Let them skip math class and ride one!  Or more reasonably, a math teacher's paramount role is to make math fun.

Both are wrong by themselves.  Both are right (except for the part about skipping math class) when combined.

As we teach our children both in the classroom and at home, our goal should be a heady combination of both rigor and love.  Put a different way, students of all levels need a dynamic combination of distasteful drills and rousing drama -- that is, the dramatic adventure inherent in learning.  Without the first, there is no structure or standard for knowledge, and so a child never receives meaningful content.  Without the second, the masses of rich content the child does receive are packaged in bitterness and resentment: there is no love of learning.

In the classroom, ACA teachers regularly ask themselves: "Given the importance of both rigor and adventure (or love), what should I emphasize in this particular subject given what I know of this particular set of students?"  We should ask the same question as parents.  The specific answer is always different, ever developing, but it always seeks the ideal marriage of discipline and love.

Says Who?

Last month, you may have noticed a quote from our ACA Twitter feed:

"Never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was legal." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

This a sobering truth, no mistaken idea, and it is one that we must always teach our children.  Apart from a universal standard for truth, finite man's laws are basically arbitrary.  Without that standard, might makes right, and laws are based on the whims, bad or good, of the ruling government.  Perhaps they are "good" laws, but we have no universal means by which to verify their goodness.  Perhaps they are "evil," but we have no ability to condemn them.  There is no moral Law-Giver, and therefore no moral law, by which to distinguish good from evil.

During the formative years, our children must never assume that "rights" and "wrong" are moral absolutes of themselves, as though they are terms with intrinsic authority. Conversely, we must never let them think "right" and "wrong" are ideas without any moral content whatsoever; that right and wrong are relative to opinion.  We must teach them that the only way to condemn evil -- whether Hitler, racism, Planned Parenthood, or whacking lil sis on the head with a toy truck -- and the only way to praise what is good, is to appeal to an absolute, changeless, and loving standard of truth.  That truth can only rationally and satisfyingly be the gospel, the Story of the God-Man whose name is Truth, and who loves us infinitely and personally.

Developing Independent Reading Skills

One of the essentials of a classical education is its emphasis on quality reading skills.  Commonly in the past, boys and girls were taught to listen, but they were rarely taught to read.  In certain old cultures such as Greece and Rome, this was not a deficiency: those cultures were largely agrarian or militaristic, and what little academic knowledge might be taught came in the form of poetry and music, handed down orally by minstrels, musicians, poets, and playwrights.  Nothing else was needed.  Desk-work and "quiet" reading were rare, and they were often thought strange.

Today, our modern technological culture is far different.  College and graduate degrees are increasingly indispensable for even the most moderate of careers and incomes, and those degrees require wide-ranging study, high proficiency in reading, and (most importantly) independent learning.  The sea of knowledge in the 21st-century is vast, and the need for quick, thoughtful self-learners has never been higher.  And the gateway to self-learning has always been rigorous and inflexible: high-quality independent reading ability.

What is an independent reader?  It is a student who can take a book -- whether in Kindergarten or college -- and grapple with its content on his own.  An independent reader is not someone who is being read to.

When a student reads independently, a few unique developmental processes are triggered in the brain.  First, independent reading requires visual focus, which in turn develops concentration skills.  The reader cannot let his eyes wander as he can when simply listening to a story.  Second, independent reading triggers and develops problem-solving skills.  In younger readers, this comes in the form of decoding new words and connecting them conceptually with the real world.  More advanced readers begin recognizing syntax, the structure of style, and the anatomy of a written argument, all of which subconsciously enrich the reader's own writing voice.  Third, independent reading develops a love of words as words, as well as the knowledge that words fitly chosen are "like apples of gold in a setting of silver" (Prov. 25:11).  And last, independent readers become better speakers.  Not only do they develop a knowledge of beautiful writing through personal engagement with texts, but that knowledge of good writing naturally translates into a basic knowledge of good speech.

So continue to read to your children (of all ages) regularly.  Read-alouds from parents are a wonderful (and necessary) way to strengthen relationships, develop listening skills, and build imaginations.  Read-alouds are also key for a child to learn pronunciation, the rich textures of elocution, and the music of words.  But let's also remember that reading aloud is no substitute for the crucial skill of independent reading.  A child learns rich stories and develops good listening skills when he is read to, but he is not actively learning how to read independently.  He is not becoming a more advanced independent reader.  Regular listening produces focused listeners, but only regular independent reading produces good readers.  Give your children both, but do not rob them of one.

Distinctions (and The Lost Tools of Learning)

In the older days of social media, I remember being amused whenever I would come across Facebook or Myspace profiles that listed favorite music as "I LIKE ALL KINDS OF MUSIC!!11!!xoxox!!!"  (Today, they might also list Jesus as their "bae.")

This of course only meant they liked no music at all.  Somewhat endearingly, they failed to realize that there is a difference between consuming something and truly enjoying it.  Or as the saying goes, "When everything is beautiful, nothing is."  Without standards, there are (oddly) no standards.

With Dorothy Sayers in her essay "The Lost Tools of Learning," we heartily affirm, "Distinguo!"  Distinguish.  Differentiate.  Discriminate.  With King Solomon in his prayer for wisdom, we want to "discern between good and evil" (1 Kings 3:9), between truth and falsehood.  When everything is true, nothing is.

And yet with Robert Louis Stevenson, we also know that

The world is so full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

So which is it?  Be choosy, or love a ton of things?  Both.  As we teach our children, we teach them to love as many things as possible (our neighbor, studying, hikes, the gospel, quilting, peanut butter, presidential biographies) and to hate a few things, too (lies, low standards, death, the Devil, and United Airlines).  But when we pursue interests and decide what we like, we must always remember the way God is: before anything else, he created a Garden full of countless Yesses with a single tree of No.  Which means, at the very least, that we should like most kinds of music.

Classical School: Filling the Void

The human mind doesn't like empty spaces.  Ask someone to articulate a hypothetical space in which there is nothing (really), and you won't get a good answer.  We can't properly conceive a true void; the closest we can get is to visualize a space without air that is black.

The human mind needs content.  Fortunately, this is the way God created it, but it means that we will always seek out content to give ourselves meaning.  On a simple level, we love to ingest information.  On a higher level, we adopt values and beliefs.  We look at the world and interpret it, Christians by the revelation of the gospel, others by their observations of the natural world or the traditions they have received from their cultures.  Where there is a question, humans want an answer.  Where there is a void, we fill it.  But with what?

Both grownups and children desire fullness.  For adults, our voids are often of loneliness or disillusionment, and so we turn to gossip, pornography, an illicit relationship, or another worldview.  We fill ourselves with what we think will provide satisfactory content to our empty spaces.  Our children do the same -- but usually not until the late high school years and college.  All through their growing-up years, they are subconsciously deciding what is meaningful and what is not, what is beautiful and what is distasteful to them.  Once they get a measure of independence, they either accept or reject the content they've been given. And -- here's the rub -- they finally make those decisions based on what has given them the most joy.

Our children are always famished.  So as parents or educators in a classical school, what are we feeding them?  Stale bread and tepid water?  Of course they will want more, and they will want what's forbidden.  But if we serve up feasts, good and often, and with plenty of laughter, why would they want to turn anywhere else?  Scripture, stories, art, music, crafts, projects, biographies, myths and legends, hymns and psalms, good food and dancing (yes), star-gazing, mathematical puzzles, discipline, joyful standards, the creeds of the faith, and a family unified -- serve these up (little by little, day by day, always-and-ever upward), and there will be no voids your children need to fill.  But when those empty spaces falsely demand attention, your children will know where to turn.  They serve a faithful God.