It began with a wrong turn in a familiar city, and the daily privilege I have in dropping my children off to school every morning.
The “it” to which I am referring is the progression of my thinking about the role of church-related higher education in America, particularly church-related higher education in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Many may not know the history of our denomination in America; a history that is long and committed to easing the burden of “the least of these” in our country and in our world. We focused on two specific forms of outreach: healthcare and education. With the exception of the many congregation-related community clinics in places like the Eastminster Church in Pittsburgh, Pa., or the weekly foot care clinic for seniors at the Queen Anne Church in Seattle, Wash., much of our church-related healthcare ministry has been subsumed by larger corporate entities. The name may still remain the same as is best exemplified by the plethora of Presbyterian hospitals that exist across the country, but the economics are much more complicated and the mission is understandably different. Quality healthcare is expensive, bureaucratic, requires a great deal of research and investment and, with but a few remarkable exceptions, is now an industry that has outgrown one denomination’s ability to provide those services well.
Education, I posit, is another matter entirely although, as I have suggested in a previous Outlook article titled “The Dimming of the Light: the Idea of a Christian University,” (The Presbyterian Outlook, issue 186/38, October 25, 2004, page 20) we are on the verge of losing that unique contribution to our society as well.
For all intents and purposes, the education of most children in America takes place through the public school system. Although there is a growing movement in home schooling, private education, and the long-established parochial system, most students today are educated and socialized in public schools, and anyone who has done the slightest bit of research or traveling knows that the overall quality of that educational and formational experience varies greatly by school district.
I first became aware of that variation my first day of college when it became embarrassingly clear that the literature background to which I had been exposed in my small rural district in southern Minnesota did not quite measure up to the depth and breadth of experience acquired by classmates from preparatory schools. Though Mrs. Kofforan is one of the finest teachers I have ever had, there was, literally, only one Mrs. Kofforan in my little school, and she was operating with a limited supply of resources. I spent the first two years of my college experience catching up to many of my peers. Quality education and formation happens in districts with good teachers and administrators who are respectfully compensated and generously resourced; school districts where textbooks are current, pedagogies are adapted to various learning styles, parents are engaged in the educational process both at school and around the kitchen table, and where taxpayers are genuinely committed to supporting an educational system that not only exceeds the national norm, but also provides opportunities for advanced placement, experiential learning, community service, and “stretch” opportunities for all students. For the most part, it is that kind of place where our three young children are privileged to learn every day.
One of the simple joys in my life is being able to drop our boys off at school virtually every morning that I am home. The routine is the same almost every day, from breakfast while watching Sponge Bob to an 8:14 a.m. delivery on the curb next to Bryant Elementary School. I am fortunate enough to have children who still kiss me good-bye when they leave the car, though I have noticed that they now look both ways to see if any of their friends are coming before they impart that affectionate farewell.
Though built in 1939, the school’s physical structure is still in good repair. The classes are a little more crowded than I would prefer, and access for special needs students is restricted given that the structure was originally constructed without an elevator. The grass playground has long ago been replaced by asphalt, which is aesthetically less pleasing, but it admittedly does provide more outdoor opportunity during our wet and cold weather months. Mrs. Sullivan, the school principal, was a classroom teacher for several decades before she moved into administrative work. Virtually every day she stands at the school entryway greeting each student by name, inquiring about their injuries, complimenting them on their concerts, and congratulating them on a particular achievement, as do the other teachers who have been assigned beginning-of-the-day duties. We definitely have our challenges as a district but, comparatively and as a community, we are extremely fortunate. And not until most recently did I truly understand the extent of our privilege.
Much of my time as a university president is occupied by travel to different cities and sometimes to different parts of the world. During one meeting in a city where I also have relatives, I decided to return to their home using a route with which I was once familiar. I took a wrong turn on this once familiar route and ended up on a dead end street immediately adjacent to what looked to be an elementary school. Unlike the 1939 building where I deliver our children every day, this building was in terrible shape. Windows were broken; bricks were coming unattached from the walls they were to support; the paint on the entryway door was peeling; and the playground equipment, which was located in a swamp of mud, looked like a dangerous and mangled mess. As I drove around that neighborhood, trying to find my way back to someplace familiar, I was struck by how many of the homes were in disrepair, looking not much better than the school in which the children were supposed to be learning.
It is easy to infer that the atmosphere for learning and positive socialization is obviously one of severe challenge and maybe even hardship. Despite the idealized political rhetoric often associated with issues surrounding education, these two schools clearly exist on two completely different playing fields. Though positive outcomes and experiences undoubtedly happen on both campuses, the odds for a successful learning experience for the greatest number of students are clearly weighted towards the school where I deliver our children every morning.
This experience also happened to coincide with some of the reading I had been doing about the changing demographics in America and, specifically, the implications of those demographic changes for higher education. The deeper I began to get into the literature and the data, the more uncomfortable I became. For most of my professional life I, like many others, have been accustomed to hearing the “best and brightest” language that has been used to describe not only what we want in prospective students, but what we hope to produce in our graduates. I cannot count the number of times I have read articles or heard comments from colleagues and other authorities about the need to recruit the “best and brightest” for pastoral ministry, education, mission work, and other leadership positions. Among faculty colleagues at the University of Dubuque and elsewhere, conversations sometimes reflect on the need for “better students.” These conversations are usually laced with lament over the way that it used to be, whatever that really means. They often consider the kind of students that supposedly exist at other competitor schools, as well as how those other schools tend to place above us in the U.S. News & World Report rankings. “If only we could be more like ‘X’,” the statement goes. “Things would be so much easier.”
I have come to understand that there is a nostalgic wistfulness to these conversations; a recollection of that which may have existed or, perhaps, never really existed at all. It is far easier to teach people who are “like us” — students who come from similar backgrounds and experiences, who learn easily, contribute often, participate regularly and who, generally, breeze through their undergraduate experience with flying colors. These students do exist, and many of them exist in our church-related institutions, which accounts for one of the reasons why our schools fare so well in the national rankings. Structuring a higher educational environment to attract only such students — focusing on increasing standardized test scores at the expense of cultural and socio-economic diversity — is, however, a kind of careless denial about the demographic facts in America and the ensuing challenges facing higher education today. These facts, I believe, provide enormous opportunity and renewed purpose for church-related higher education.
Traditionally, Presbyterians are a pretty smart bunch, at least if the national rankings of our colleges and universities are any kind of intelligence indicator. We are proud of our national rankings, listing them on admission brochures and Web sites, and we even cite those rankings at meetings of our General Assembly. That many of our schools are reluctant, if not completely unable, to articulate any kind of meaningful connection with our denomination and its Reformed identity is often lost in these accolades. From our collective Presbyterian perspective, these are still our schools, playing educational host to some of the “best and brightest” students in America.
The U.S. News & World Report rankings to which I am referring are based on data provided by colleges and universities. ACT/SAT scores, high school class rank, rates of acceptance, endowment holdings, student/faculty ratios, and alumni/ae giving percentages are just a few of the items that factor into the U.S. News calculation. The annual surveys are extensive and the amount of data collected is as massive as it is misleading.
It is misleading because what the data does not tell us is that there is, on average, a direct correlation between ACT/SAT test scores and a student’s socio-economic status. It is no accident that the top 25 highest ranked liberal arts institutions, with a few exceptions, also have the top 25 largest endowments; and institutions with the largest endowments also have some of the lowest acceptance rates, the most academically talented student bodies, the smallest student/faculty ratios, and the highest alumni/ae giving percentages. In other words, on average but with notable exceptions, students who are fortunate enough to 1) come from families where two parents are in the home, 2) live in homes where either one or both parents earns a good living, 3) be read to as young children, 4) be well nourished, 5) attend schools with textbooks that are current, and 6) learn from teachers who are well trained and competitively compensated, often score better on standardized tests and, therefore, have more educational options than students who do not come from those backgrounds.
Stated differently, and with many notable exceptions, some of which I suspect will show up in the letter to the editor column of the Outlook, there is a direct correlation between socio-economic status and the academic achievement of students. Students who are fortunate to live in quality school districts, who have access to tutoring and advanced opportunities, who learn in safe and clean classrooms with smaller student/faculty ratios, on average, perform better on standardized tests than students who do not learn in such an environment. And, perhaps unintentionally, a college or university’s sometimes obsessive quest to improve in the rankings could … could … be seen as perpetuating a norm where the “haves” continue to “have” and the “have nots” continue to struggle.
Given that this is America and we have the freedom of choice, colleges and universities can choose that kind of missional commitment, if they so desire. As church related-colleges and universities, however, perhaps we may want to consider an alternative, albeit a counter-cultural path that most of our church-related institutions were originally created to pursue.
Like many of our church-related institutions, the University of Dubuque was founded to serve those who lacked access to education in America. In our case, we began by serving Native Americans located along the Mississippi River and, when that mission failed, a self-educated Dutch pastor decided that there was great need to reach out to the westward migration of German-speaking immigrants. That mission field began as a theological seminary and grew into a college as well, giving hundreds if not thousands of young immigrants and their families at least a chance at a level playing field in America. Then, as now, education equaled possibility, and possibility provided at least the opportunity to experience success in America. Given that virtually all of our church-related schools had a similar, historically Christian mission to serve those who were not being served, we might do well to wonder if, in the midst of the heated debates about immigration, diversity, and access, it might be a good time for committed Presbyterians to ask the question: Who are we serving now? Do the student bodies of our church-related colleges and universities reflect the socio-economic, racial, and ethnic diversity that we see in America today, as many of us did when we were founded, or do the student bodies of our church-related colleges and universities better reflect the dominant culture in America today — those who have already succeeded and continue to succeed in our economy, in our communities, and in our world? Or, perhaps an even more devastating question: Is there plenty of room in our church-related schools for new, emerging immigrant and underrepresented populations; the kind of populations that we were originally formed to serve, or do the socio-economic realities that are often associated with these populations preclude them from having the required test scores and extracurricular experiences which make admittance to our selective institutions more than an occasional anomaly?
Nowhere was the reality of that question more poignantly brought home to me than in a recent discussion with a group of faculty, board, and administrative members from another church-related, non-Presbyterian college. When I posed the question of historic commitments, that is, how did that particular institution’s self-stated desire to significantly increase its average test scores and, therefore, improve in the national rankings co-exist with its historic commitment to educate and serve the underserved. A senior professor in the group responded: “Those students should not be admitted here. They should spend their first two years in the community college and, if they are good enough, then we might accept them after their sophomore year.”
I sincerely appreciated the professor’s unbridled candor. As I mentioned earlier, this is America and independent institutions have the right to accept or deny admittance to whomever they choose. The problem, of course, goes to the performative contradiction that exists between the rather altruistic mottos engraved in many of our institutional seals and the actual exclusive practices of forming an entering class with an eye towards improving in the national rankings.
More so than any other entity in America, the Lumina Foundation is addressing the questions of equity, access, opportunity, and affordability for new, emerging immigrant and underrepresented populations with a passion and a clarity that we Presbyterians should both admire and emulate. With the help of a $1.3 billion endowment to support their cause, Lumina has compiled a treasure trove of data and information that is as inspiring as it is overwhelming. For example, by 2015, 20% more students are projected to enroll in college (assuming a college participation rate of 66%), with students from new, emerging immigrant, and underrepresented populations representing 80% of that increase. Of that 80%, 45% will come from families who are Pell Grant eligible, or near the bottom of the socio-economic ladder. By 2020, the population of Hispanic/Latino Americans between the ages of 25-44 will grow by 5.49 million; African-Americans will grow by 2.03 million; and other underrepresented populations will grow by 1.41 million, while the population of Euro-Americans will decrease by 6.59 million. Furthermore, at a time when federal and state funding for higher education is declining, this demographic shift will exert enormous pressure on colleges and universities related to the student’s ability to pay, requiring intensive remediation, accommodation of various learning styles, cultural and intercultural awareness, and the need to reexamine pedagogical methods as they are applied to an increasingly diverse classroom.
To meet these challenges, professors must come to articulate a vocational calling to this kind of education. Interest in the student as an individual, as a uniquely created child of God who has been blessed with yet-to-be discovered God-given talents and gifts, is one of the most beautiful contributions that the Reformed Christian tradition makes to higher education. This kind of teaching is, literally, an expression of faith and, as any gifted teacher knows, it is an incredibly challenging task even in a classroom full of the most attentive students.
Throughout its history, the University of Dubuque has often been a harbor for many students who might not have otherwise had an opportunity for advanced education. Many of these students have enormous potential, but have been under-challenged and even under-prepared for college level work. Over this last decade, we have gained some very interesting insights into this kind of higher education. First, we have learned that, at every level, our entire campus must be committed to this form of education. Faculty, staff, coaches, administration, and student life personnel must all work together, must all be pulling in the same direction for students who come from challenged backgrounds to be successful. Secondly, we have learned that students must be addressed one-by-one and not as a monochromatic group. In addition to faculty and staff who are willing to devote exceptional amounts of time to meet with students individually, the best example of this kind of commitment comes from teachers who have revisited their pedagogy and teaching delivery styles, while not compromising on the intellectual content of their courses. Different populations learn in different ways, and gifted teachers understand how to communicate with a variety of different audiences. Thirdly, and maybe most importantly, we have learned that students learn best from each other, both in the classroom and outside of it. Over these years, peer-mentoring groups have emerged across disciplines, across cultures, and through our Character Initiative. The positive outcomes associated with a young African American from Florida working with a young Euro American from Wisconsin are truly amazing to behold. Intellectual content is being delivered, exchanged at the same time that intercultural awareness, appreciation, and mutual respect mature.
In an effort to improve upon what we have learned and integrate those experiences into the overall fabric of our mission, our board of trustees recently approved a pilot “Diamond Program,” which expands the four facets of our Mission (academics, vocation, community, and stewardship) by incorporating such initiatives as a Teaching/Learning Center, a Bridge High School-to-College Program, an Honor’s Program, a Life Coach Program, and Empowerment Training for students, faculty, and staff. At its core, the “Diamond Program” asserts that we are all teachers and learners, and that higher education, at its best, is a rigorous and transformative combination of intellectual, spiritual, formational, interpersonal, and intercultural experiences all rooted in the Christian commitment of the school. Operating from our mission, we collectively seek to redefine the meaning of “best” from a definition that equates it with US. News & World Report rankings, to one that equates superior performance with moving, equipping, forming, and successfully educating those who often begin with less; those who come from challenged socio-economic, educational, and personal beginnings. Though we are a long way from achieving the kind of outcomes that we desire, and though our methods may be different from the methods of those who have gone before us, we believe that we are honoring our historic mission with such an approach and that, in its purest form, church-related higher education was created to give the newest generation of “the least of these” a second chance at America, inculcating in our future leaders the virtues of faith, service, perseverance, and gratitude that was once the hallmark of Reformed higher education in America.
Jeffrey F. Bullock is president of the University of Dubuque, Dubuque, Iowa.
