Head of School’s Notebook | Sophomore Insight

January 15, 2018

I was a substitute English teacher on our first day of classes in 2018. Some members of the faculty couldn’t reach us because of the storm, so I was pulled off the bench just to get kids thinking after a long hiatus from school. I reached for my favorite provocateur, Abraham Lincoln, and we read his speech at Gettysburg.

We focused on the language, which is always a treat on anything authored by Honest Abe. The opening sentence, which most people are quite familiar with, is arguably the most significant of the speech, for in it Lincoln discusses this nation’s “conception.”

The kids were fascinated by that word. He uses it, they said, because it recasts the country in terms people can understand. It’s like a person.

Pretty darn astute. Why would he want to do that?

Because it means the country is mortal, they said. It has a lifespan.

Is that a good thing to say, especially in the midst of a civil war?

Yeah, they eventually agreed. Because we take better care of things when we understand how fragile they are. When we don’t take them for granted.

Maybe it’s just coincidence that the students drew those conclusions on the day after mudslides and flooding devastated Santa Barbara County and after they had faced their second evacuation order in several weeks. Maybe these are just really sharp kids with a knack for textual analysis.

Or maybe the events of the last several weeks made an impression on them that is already manifest in their scholarship. I can’t say if it’s any of those, all of them, or some other reason altogether, but I was reminded in that moment what a remarkable teacher life is.

Recent events and community losses have confirmed our fragility and our vulnerability. Humility is a virtue when it comes to learning and to life, but it’s hard-won. Though we have returned to our familiar rituals, there remain residual impacts, many of which may never leave us entirely. I’m pretty sure I was seeing some newfound insight in that class.

He sounds more like a minister than a politician, they said, like he is speaking from a pulpit rather than a podium.

Any idea why?

Because he’s honoring sacrifice … the last full measure of devotion. That can’t be about politics, they figured. It’s too elemental, too fundamental.

A member of the Cate family wrote during the Thomas Fire evacuation, “A wise bishop once said to me that there are two essential human stories in every good sermon: that of making a journey and that of making a home.”

Lincoln included both at Gettysburg. And the story of these last weeks for Cate is not altogether different. The journey has literally brought us home, back to the Mesa, which we now understand and know somewhat differently. It is not simply a place but a reminder of something we all believe in, a possibility that we make tangible every day.

Five score and eight years ago our community was conceived. Despite the myriad threats and challenges, and thanks to the care of generations, we’re still going strong. May we always make it so.