Maxwell Prentiss-Hall, Bedlam’s counselor, entered the teachers’ lounge at break and slumped quietly into a seat. Resting his chin in his hand, he sighed deeply and then grimaced as he slapped his fist on the table. Bible teacher Cal Vandermeer looked at him with surprise, but it was gym teacher Rex Kane, working the crossword puzzle at the other end of the table who first responded. “Something wrong there, Maxie boy?”
“Yes, there is,” he snapped back. “There is something very wrong. I just talked with Mason Callahan, for the last hour. And you know what he told me?”
Rex still didn’t look up from the crossword. In fact, he seemed not to have even heard. Cal cleared his throat and asked, “Um, what did he tell you?”
“He told me he’s an atheist. And do you know why he says he’s an atheist?”
“Ha!” Rex said, a smile spreading on his face as he quickly filled in a word on the puzzle. Cal shook his head at the P.E. teacher and turned back toward Max with a shrug.
Max continued, “He told me that he is an atheist because being at Bedlam Christian has convinced him that Christians are dumb people who are afraid to face hard questions or uncomfortable truths.”
“Those are pretty serious charges,” Cal said. “And did he tell you why he feels that way?”
“Yeah, I guess it all started in biology class a month or so ago. Sam was teaching a unit on biodiversity, and at some point Mason asked whether the evolution of species was thought to increase or decrease biodiversity over time.”
“Hmmm, that’s a pretty good question,” Cal said. “Of course, I had Mason in Bible class last year, and he’s a thinker, so that doesn’t surprise me. But I’m not seeing the atheism connection.”
“Apparently, he no sooner asked the question than a bunch of kids in class started saying evolution was a lie, that only atheists believe in evolution.”
Cal turned red as he began to imagine the scene. And for all the places for this unfortunate scene to happen, Sam Toomer’s biology class was probably one of the worst. Sam was a nice enough guy, but he had a reputation for being a coward when it came to addressing anything even remotely controversial in class. With fear that he already had a pretty good idea of what the answer would be, Cal asked, “And what did Sam do?”
“What do you think?” Max said, and Cal realized that he almost never saw the idealistic counselor’s face with such a cynical smirk. “He said they weren’t talking about evolution, and he would appreciate if the class would stay on topic. So Mason never gets any kind of answer or any kind of support. Meanwhile, about four or five kids have left him nasty notes suggesting that if he doesn’t read Genesis as a literal account of creation, he must be an atheist. Finally, he told me, he’s decided, ‘Fine! I’m an atheist!’”
“Wonky!” shouted Rex.
Max was surprised to hear Rex supporting him so dramatically. Usually Rex made fun of him. “Thank you, Rex. The whole situation is kind of wonky.”
“Huh? Oh, no that’s the word I was looking for. A four-letter word starting with W that means to close one eye as a signal of agreement or irony. Wonky.”
Maxwell was about to point out that the word wonky had five letters and that the word he was looking for was obviously wink – but Cal caught his eye and slowly shook his head. Maxwell realized that trying to correct Rex about his crossword puzzle was a sure road to madness. To his surprise, however, Rex continued.
“Actually though, Maxie-boy, you gotta see things from Sam the Man’s point of view. If he talks to his students about evolution and everything, he could be walking right down a slippery wicket into the horns of a fallacy.”
Max and Cal stared, open-mouthed, dumbfounded by the complexity of Rex’s incredibly mixed metaphor. At that moment, librarian Jon Kleinhut walked out from behind a potted fern that was covering the space between two filing cabinets on the other side of the room. He shouted, “Exactly! Toomer was smart to shut them up if he wants to hang on to his job! It was a trap.”
Cal was the first to recover. “Hello, Jon. We didn’t see you, um, hiding back there. What do you mean, it was a trap?”
Jon snorted. “Come on, Vandermeer! Wake up and smell the coffee! Didn’t you hear about the science teacher at that CSI school in Ottumwa, Iowa? Talked about how long it would take for evolution to change animals over time, and some parent group said that showed he didn’t believe in a six-thousand-year-old earth. Next day: Bam! He is unemployed. Or how about the history teacher in that Christian middle school in Bad Axe, Michigan? He mentioned that Thomas Jefferson wasn’t actually a Christian but a Deist. Bam! Couple of people on the board disagree and he’s out of a job. No sir, if you want to keep your job around here, you had better toe the party line. And with enrollment down and tuition up, I’d be careful.”
Cal sighed. “But Jon, one of the hallmarks of the reformed tradition is that we believe we don’t need to be afraid of learning. After all, it is God’s world, and he tells us to explore and discover it. How are we supposed to teach if our students can’t feel free to ask questions?”
Jon laughed. “You want to ask questions, go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you have to greet me as I enter Walmart.”
Max chimed in. “That is pretty cynical. Isn’t there some way to fight this kind of narrow mindedness? Could we maybe try to teach the parents or the board members about how education works? Could we let Sam Toomer know we’ll stand behind him if he wants to talk about this in class?”
Rex snorted. “Maxie, don’t tell me you believe we came from the monkeys?”
Max sighed. “Actually, Rex, I don’t know whether God created humans literally from the dust or if that is a way of explaining that he used a natural process through evolution. But I do believe that reasonable Christians ought to be able to talk about it.”
“And if students have doubts about Christianity or any of its teachings, they ought to feel safe asking questions without getting attacked,” Cal said, his voice trembling. “And no child should literally be pushed away from God because followers of Christ are afraid. That makes me sick.”
Rex folded his newspaper, tucked it between his arm and torso, and rose to leave. He looked at Cal and said, “So let me get this straight. You think it’s OK for kids to express doubts. And you imagine a world where we, as teachers, allow them, even encourage them to deal with their doubts. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” said Cal. “Couldn’t Bedlam be a place like that?”
Rex smiled mischievously, and as he made his exit, he said, “I doubt it. Sounds kind of wonky to me.”
Jan Karsvlaam has started an alpaca farm near Topeka, Kansas to augment his salary as a biology teacher at Ursinus Christian School. He has also begun a blog about his adventures with raising alpacas, and encourages his faithful readers to check out his first post, “Um, what are you supposed to do with alpacas? I mean, seriously, do they run really fast? Are they pets? Can you eat them? Somebody help me out here.” Jan initially bought the 45 head of alpaca because he thought they were “really fuzzy.”
