On the first day of school this fall, my kids brought home the traditional pile of papers for me to read and sign. Cheerfully colored charts detailed strategies to cultivate and practice empathy, how to “Respect Yourself and Your Friends,” and ideas for communicating sadness and anger in constructive ways. These were the building blocks of a successful learning environment, our teachers’ letters explained, and they hoped to work in partnerships with the parents’ existing values.  

As I read though these resources, I was flooded with gratitude for the multitude of unexpected ways our school staff invest in my children’s long-term health. “Is this the dangerous public-school agenda I keep hearing about?” I asked my husband with a wink, “Because if so, sign me up!”

I love our school district. I’m grateful for the motivated, invested community with whom we raise our children. But when my family first moved to the area we were warned again and again: don’t send your kids to the public schools. No matter where I was—walking down the street, shopping at the store, chatting with neighbors in the yard or at church—friends and strangers alike warned me about the “failing public schools.” Homeschool or private school, they didn’t care what I did; but not the public school. Have you seen the test scores?

It was awkward to reply that we had moved here largely because of the public schools.

That was over a decade ago. Since then, we’ve enjoyed years of wonderful learning in community, all three of my kids making their way from kindergarten to elementary to middle school in this same “failing” and “dangerous” district.

As a Christian, I find myself meditating on God’s command to the exiles in Babylon. Through the prophet Jeremiah, God commands: …seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile (Jeremiah 29:7). How does this instruction, this glimpse into the heart of God instruct where I live, and how I school my children? How do my decisions impact the peace and prosperity of my city?

(Failing) Test Scores

The week my oldest son started 1st grade, our Chicago-area newspaper reported on the growing levels of poverty in the suburban school districts. Out of Chicagoland’s massive metropolitan area, our own local school was listed as the district with the biggest increase in poverty. The article cited a recent jump to 76 percent of low-income students making up our district’s elementary schools—and described the accompanying complications such as hungry children, English language learners, and failing test scores.

Ah, the test scores. A quick google search of our district’s rating is discouraging, I’ll admit; our grade is low. But these snapshots do not tell the full story. The way district scores are typically presented, they primarily reflect the privilege and economic status of the people drawn to live in the neighborhood. A school located in a non-diverse, upper-middle-class neighborhood full of English speakers with a generational history of educational advantages will produce higher test scores than a school in a racially diverse, immigrant-friendly neighborhood full of low-income apartments and hard-working parents working overtime to support their families while learning a new language and culture.

But this dynamic does not reflect the strength of the school board, superintendent, and principal, the quality and credentials of the teachers, the commitment and values of the neighborhood families, or the educational opportunities afforded the children who attend. In other words, a multitude of factors—not only test scores—work together to determine the strength of a school. That we so often overlook these other factors makes me wonder: what do we really want for our children when we assess test scores? A good education, or a school full of children who look and live like we do?

Or, as this analysis so pointedly asks, do we want a good school, or a white and wealthy school? Is our fear of failing test scores actually a fear of poverty and race? How can I seek peace in my diverse city, as God calls us to, if I am afraid of it?

Fortunately, there is another way to measure the effectiveness of elementary schools, one that takes the population into account and actually measures learning. Educators have long argued that we should focus on growth rates instead of proficiency levels. After all, the success of a school is in its ability to take all children from here to there, not in its ability to attract children who are already most of the way there. By this measure, our school district takes children, on average, through 6 grade levels of advancement in the space of 5 years; in other words, we’re overachieving at the 97th percentile.

Our public education is beating the odds and serving as a great equalizer in so many ways. Our community schools have qualified teachers, vision-casting administrators, and committed parents—even if the standardized tests aren’t equipped to measure these things. Our resilient, resourceful, immigrant-rich neighborhood schools provide children the opportunity to learn about language and culture, opportunity and empathy, the richness (and complication) that comes with diversity, and the responsibility (and temptation) that comes with privilege. No need to factor these skills into the curriculum—they exist in the nuances of every day. 

(Dangerous) Godlessness

But there is another warning I hear at last weekly: public schools are godless places, and not a spiritually safe environment for Christian children. There’s a deeply rooted idea that public schools may destroy our precious children through exposure to darkness—or at least, an agenda.

Once again, our reality has never resembled the hype. Is a public school allowed to teach my children about God? No—but this is for my protection. As Americans, my husband and I have the right to teach our children what we believe about God, and to choose the house of worship we want to augment that teaching. The separation of church and state is here to protect us and our religious liberty.

Meanwhile, the teachers, staff, students, and parents aren’t out to destroy my children’s faith: they are our neighbors. Our teachers are well-educated, trustworthy men and women who are passionate about investing in the next generation. They teach about respect and compassion and self-control right along with math and reading and spelling.

Are my children at times exposed to words, ideas, and scenarios our family (or our faith-family) disagree with? Absolutely! These moments of “conflict” become opportunities for me to teach my children what we value and believe, what we say and don’t say, and how to interact with those who view the world very differently. As my children grow, these challenging lessons take place in real-life, providing me a chance to speak into their identity, preparing them for an adulthood that will be full of such pitfalls and topics. I’m grateful for the chance to approach these ideas together in bite-sized pieces, now—and to demonstrate how to embody Christ with those who disagree.

I find God in our public schools because God arrives there with my children, his own image-bearers. God’s Holy Spirit indwells them (and their classmates and teachers, too!) My children can pray in school any time they want to. They can chat with their classmates about God if they like. But just as importantly, they learn to treat their classmates—regardless of wealth, immigration status, or ethnic background—with kindness, gentleness, and self-control: the fruits of the Holy Spirit.

Whose Children?

But imagine for a moment that none of this were true; that the education provided by our district was poor, the environment dangerous, and the climate godless. Even so, taking my own kids out of the district would not solve the problem. If anything, the reduction of my family’s financial, emotional, and social investment and advocacy would leave the school worse off than before. When families with choices walk away from a school, those left behind are often the community’s most vulnerable, who lack the resources of time or money to choose other options. By removing my family from the public school, there is a measurable dent made in “the peace and prosperity of the city” I am called to serve.

Certainly, the decision of a child’s education rightfully belongs to each family, a basic right we enjoy and a responsibility we have to our children. But as someone with the resources to consider options, I must ask myself: If I have the power to leave, does this privilege not also confer a responsibility to leverage my resources for the wellbeing of my community? And, as a Christian, the questions become harder and our responsibility heavier: We are called to be salt and light in our communities, to seek their peace and prosperity. If we believe our schools to be places of darkness and flee to protect ourselves, will they not become simply darker?

I don’t expect an easy answer to these questions, nor do I look for one universal solution for every family and school. Different people and places have different needs and problems. But as a Christian, I long for us to expand the conversation beyond “What can I do to help my children?” to “What could we do to benefit all our children?” As followers of Truth, I request that we look past stereotypes towards the facts, delighting in the ways we benefit from interacting with our neighbors. As followers of Light, I long to be known as people who make each neighborhood, city, and school that much brighter because we choose to be present.

When it comes to public schools, let's expand the conversation beyond “What can I do to help my children?” to “What could we do to benefit all our children?” Click To Tweet