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This is to voice my support of HB 61, relative to teaching on discrimination in the public schools and discrimination in public workplaces.
There have been reasons offered in support of the legislation that diminishes a teacher’s ability to discuss elements in the history of the United States that could be deemed divisive. Among them is the notion that to discuss the history of patterns of unequal treatment of people of color by a majority white population--treatment that includes chattel slavery, inequities in education, healthcare, housing, environmental safety, law enforcement and incarceration—would instill shame, guilt, and a sense of unworthiness among white students. The public has been warned that discussion of critical race theory or other concepts are dangerous for young minds (and souls) to be exposed to for fear that they would make us too aware of the inequitable treatment of those who have suffered—and, in fact, continue to suffer from conscious or unconscious biases based on differences of race, gender, class, religion, sexual orientation, or physical or mental capacity.
Shame is a power force, and the concern not to burden our young people with the notion that they are, by reason of their being a human being in whatever category, makes them essentially a bad person. Shame is more debilitating than remorse. Remorse says, “We have made a mistake, and we want to learn how to do better.” Shame says, “Not only have we made mistakes, we are a mistake and no matter what we do, we cannot make or do good.” I trust that nobody of good faith, be they conservative or liberal, black, brown, or white, gay or straight, spiritual, religious, (or neither) republican, independent or democrat, wants our citizenry to be shackled with the burden of shame. Shame does not allow us to live free, neither spiritually nor emotionally.
But discouragement-to the point of legally prohibiting- open, honest, often clumsy and awkward conversations about our shared history as a state and a nation is not the way to dissolve shame. In fact, such prohibitions serve only to say to our students and population, “let us be afraid of facing our past because we can never heal from those sins the effects of which we just have to accept.” That sounds to me like a statement of fear and cowardice.
As a Christian, I see one of the most soul and social liberating scenes is when the crucified Jesus, bearing the wounds of his torture and death, enters a locked fear-filled room to face those who were complicit in his denial and grisly death. The wounds are not erased, forgotten, or avoided—he actually invites one of the disciples to place his hands into the wounds. Were the band of disciples feeling remorse, shame, fear? No doubt. And yet, the Risen Jesus comes not to shame or punish or make them feel anything but that reconciliation is possible. In other words God gives us back our histories, as complicated as they are—in all their bright successes and abject failures--because in facing our histories is how true learning and growth occur.
For this reason, I urge passage of HB 61, repealing and replacing the 'Banned Concepts Act,' which was passed into law via the state budget in 2021.
Sincerely and Faithfully,
The Rt. Rev. A. Robert Hirschfeld
Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire
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I’ve been thinking much about time of late. It seems such an elastic notion. On the one hand it seems we were just in the middle of summer, so how is it we’re already seeing the tokens of Christmas up on the streets and in the stores? On the other hand, we also feel like time has either slowed to a cold creep, stopped, or even been thrown into reverse. Wars, violent setbacks in what seemed like a steady march for human rights and dignity, the ugly reappearance of symbols of hatred in our streets — even in a state that claims to allow all persons to be free — all can make us question that “long arc of history” and whether we can be so certain of its curve toward justice. The Psalms speak of how brief our life can be and yet there’s the refrain: How long, O Lord, how long?
It’s in just such a mixed experience of time that Advent invites us to find ourselves. When we read the Gospels, we find that’s precisely how the God of eternity entered the human experience in Jesus Christ. God comes to be present, fully present, in Jesus, who holds in his mind and heart joy, hope, agony, anger, and grief, not so much in sequence (as though first this, then this), but all at once. He doesn’t resolve the tension of time in order to love. And Jesus invites those who wish to know him and live the holy life (a life that seeks to mirror God) to keep in mind eternity. I find that when I am most anxious, in doubt, or fearing about what is happening, when I remember to pray, I am led to know God’s peace that passes all understanding in a sense of Presence, which never fails. God just is, in all of our lives and in the world’s turmoil. Right. Now. Always. Praying for God’s Presence, in the present, simply means allowing our minds and hearts to see what is, no matter what it is, with the eyes of Jesus, who never saw anything apart from God’s eternity.
I am drawn to that word presence. We’ve always been taught that Advent means an arrival, a coming. Usually, we think of Advent as the short season that gets us ready for Christmas. But to dwindle it down to just these 30 days deprives it of its deeper purpose. In Advent, we awaken and look for what the ancients called the “Parousia,” which is the Greek word for Presence.
We have a little sticker on our refrigerator that says:
Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is a mystery and
Today is a gift.
That’s why they call it the present.
It’s not without its corniness, but is there not some life-giving encouragement in the invitation to awaken and to see the signs of God’s miraculous healing and reconciliation and to feel the sharpness of how God’s kingdom is not yet here? I believe the longing and the striving, the waiting, with both laughter and tears, is just where God wants us to join God. That’s the space where Jesus came to dwell among us and to love us in all our beauty and brokenness. Perhaps that’s why scripture so often speaks of “the fullness of time.”
This Advent, let us be open to the all of it.
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I have to confess that in moments of distress at the news, my own convictions are at risk of eroding into a kind of despairing resignation, leaving more airtime for the worse impulses of those of passionate intensity on both far left and the far right to dominate all conversation. It is at those moments that I turn to the tradition of my faith as an Episcopalian.
Access the full article here.
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September 8, 2022
Good morning and thank you for this opportunity to share why I, a person of the Christian faith, believe that public education is so necessary for our communities, our state, in fact the world. One might assume that I would rather seek more opportunities for education in religious schools, specifically Christian schools. Though as the Episcopal bishop of New Hampshire, I serve as the president of the board of two boarding schools affiliated with the Church, I am deeply concerned that the state of our public schools warrant attention to the sacred trust, to borrow the language of Commission Edelblut, to tend to every child and youth, not matter what faith or religious affiliation, class, race, orientation, or gender.
A brief story of my own upbringing in a public school: I am in the fourth grade, standing in line at the cafeteria. A boy in line ahead of me, a classmate, has come to school with the symbol of the National Socialist Party, the Nazis, drawn on the back of his hand with a magic marker. Our teacher, Ms Zoss, who was Jewish, calmly asked him why he had that swastika on his wrist, and asked if he knew what it meant, what was its history. He was speechless. She calmly informed him that it was a symbol that represented a hatred that cost the lives of many people and that the symbol causes deep hurt for many people. There was no shaming. My friend had no answer about why he drew the symbol, it was something he just heard about and saw at home. Did he feel uncomfortable? Probably. Was I as a bystander uncomfortable? Yep. And yet the interaction was a gentle, loving, caring, balanced, true and life changing as any I had in Sunday School. And I’ve had a lot of Sunday School.
I share the grave concern, that the stability of public schools as a place where such interactions, respectful, caring and truthful is in peril. As more children are invited to abandon public school, healthful and I would say, holy and sacred collisions with others are being less available. What assurance do we have that they can happen in schools, extended learning opportunities, on-line that are outside systems of training and accountability of the Department of Education?
Parents, indeed all of us, want what is best for children, our own and others’ and we want children to grow up to be well-equipped for the world. As New Hampshire residents, we hope we want this for all of the schoolchildren in the state. I urge you to encourage, and not to discourage from those difficult conversations like the one I described, but to show us how to have them constructively and healthfully. I urge you to ensure our public schools are well funded by the state to support our teachers, administrators, and staff to do just that.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Please know of my deep gratitude and my prayers for your presence and service on this essential and vital Commission.
Photo Credits: Arnie Alpert
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Today we heard the news of the death of Queen Elizabeth II at the age of 96 after over 70 years as Sovereign. It brings great sadness to so many of us. She was a human being of tremendous faithfulness to our Savior. She relied on the strength of God’s grace to give her courage, wisdom, and resilience over so many years of profound change, not only in Great Britain but throughout the globe. I am of a generation who never knew of any other monarch on the throne in England.
Though we may not be avid followers of the activities of the royal family or particularly stalwart anglophiles—though I acknowledge with tenderness those who are and the Brits who serve among us here— the world has shifted today in a particularly sad and even disorienting way.
Upon seeing the bulletin of Queen Elizabeth’s death, I found this prayer in an English prayerbook on my desk. It was prayed on the occasion of her accession to the throne in June 1953 in Westminster Abbey. The language and tenses may be slightly off, but I am still praying it tonight:
Almighty God, who rulest over all the kingdoms of the world, and dost order them according to thy good pleasure: We give thee hearty thanks for that thou hast set they servant our sovereign lady, Queen Elizabeth, upon the throne of this realm. Let thy wisdom be her guide and thine arm strengthen her; let truth and justice, holiness and righteousness, peace and charity, abound in her days; and direct all her counsels and endeavors to thy glory, and the welfare of her people; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
May Elizabeth rise in glory with all the saints in light. And may God’s comfort and counsel be with Charles, the entire royal family, and all the British people in the days ahead.
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