I am late for class.
More precisely, I arrive in the classroom too close to the start time for my liking. I frantically go through the pre-class ritual: log into the podium computer, open my PowerPoint file, lay out lecture notes, grab a few whiteboard markers, find the attendance sheet, and take a big sip of coffee.
A student says hello on the way to their seat. I pause my set up activities to engage in a brief back-and-forth. I used to have a statement in my syllabus, basically telling students to refrain from talking to me when I was setting up. (It sounds horrible, but I rationalized it from the perspective of professional boundaries and communal good.) At some point, I removed this statement from the syllabus, believing that meaningful connections with students trump my need to start class on time. But I must confess that I still struggle to see these moments as God-given opportunities to connect, and instead I am prone to perceiving them as interruptions.
I test a whiteboard marker and discover that it is no longer working. I make a mental note to throw it away later (a collegial practice, I have been told).
Despite my initial fears, class begins right on time. We open class with a student’s cultural show and tell presentation. The student brought food to share. My parental instincts kick in for a few moments, and I check in about food allergies. No issues with the current group, thank God. Beyond the dangers posed by food sensitivities, there are so many other threats around us, including theoretically possible dangers during the time we are physically in the classroom. My syllabus is full of content to manage the risks, such as the emergency procedure statement (a whole page) and health-related guidance (another full page). Whenever this kind of anxiety turns especially intrusive, I lift prayers for God’s protection and mercy for my students and myself.
Lord, this world can be a scary place. Keep us safe.
Today’s topic is Research Methods in Cross-Cultural Psychology. So much of my students’ reactions to a class topic shape my own trepidation in teaching it; and my own insecurities about the topic, in a reciprocal way, further impact the student experience. Unsurprisingly, my cross-cultural research methods lecture is not one of the more scintillating topics in the course. But it is a topic of high importance in the course and across the psychology major. Whenever I feel the tension between what students like versus what I believe (and what my profession believes) is imperative to psychology, I remind myself about interpersonal duties and obligations. What I owe my students is steadfastness in teaching them what they need to apply psychology for the flourishing of all people in God’s world. This commitment means persisting in teaching unpopular topics. The desire to be liked is strong, but a day like today is a good reminder that my obligations to students should be in the driver’s seat when it comes to how and what I teach.
God, give me extra perseverance in teaching this material. Help me not to be so fixated on being liked.
My students and I dialogue about the effectiveness of a culturally diverse research team when conducting research with underrepresented communities. Moreover, we reflect on cultural humility as a vital posture on the part of the researcher to gain the trust of research participants. Finally, I underscore that psychology researchers must not approach the researcher-participant relationship as one directional – that is, primarily seeing the relationship as a way to obtain research data; instead, researchers must also see the relationship as an opportunity to meaningfully give back to the communities of the participants, and, ultimately, to demonstrate God’s love through research that contributes to human flourishing.
My stomach growls as I talk. I should not have skipped lunch.
Even while I passionately speak against the “taking but not giving” attitude when interacting with research participants, I am cognizant of the times when this mentality has infiltrated my own research endeavors. Times when I was preoccupied with seeing participants as numbers – means to an end – rather than as image bearers of God. Perhaps, in part, to appease my sense of hypocrisy, I share an example of my shortcoming in this regard with the students.
God, forgive me for my lack of cultural humility that can so easily take over when conducting research. Help me to see people, including research participants, in a way that you see them.
As I look around the classroom, some students appear exhausted. A few others appear checked out. Impulsively, I ask students to indicate their energy/positive vibes level on a scale of 1-5; my hunch was right – I count several 1s and 2s. I wonder what their lives are like outside of this classroom.
Lord, have mercy. Give students renewed energy during this time. Also, be with students who are not present today.
At the hour mark, I announce a seven-minute break. I used to power through my two-hour class without a break, and I occasionally wonder if I should return to that approach. Also, I might as well call it a phone break; almost all of the students are glued to their phones. I have a fleeting thought to interrupt a student’s scrolling to make small talk, but I think better of it.
After the break, we discuss the issue of equivalence when research tools are used across cultures. I recount a humorous story to illustrate the idea of functional equivalence. I have told the same story many times, but it seems to land differently depending on the group. This time, I am mostly met with silence and a few polite chuckles. I take a deep breath to regroup. It’s a tough crowd today.
I glance at the clock. It is 2:30 pm – my youngest daughter’s school dismissal time. I hope that she remembers to take the bus home today.
I encourage students to critically think about ways to address methodological and conceptual inequivalence in cross-cultural research. Today, I feel like I am overly reliant on questions posed to the larger class. I observe that it is more or less the same group of students who are responding. How do I get other students to also speak up? But does the lack of verbal participation necessarily indicate disengagement? I reflect on cross-cultural differences in how we are socialized to participate in the classroom, and the irony of this Cross-Cultural Psychology course favoring a certain type of participation. I make a mental note to experiment with other ways of soliciting student responses in future sessions.
The landscaping crew arrives outside our classroom window, and the sounds of lawnmowers and related tools intrude into our classroom conversation.
I don’t have the energy to compete against the decibels of the lawnmowers today. Class is dismissed a few minutes early; students don’t seem to mind. As I pack up my belongings and walk out of the classroom, I momentarily reflect on how the class went. Did I treat that one student fairly? Did my sarcasm land differently than intended? Did I encourage students to intentionally think about how research method is connected to faithful Christian living?
But my mind quickly shifts to the next battle on my daily schedule: fighting traffic on my way home. Also, I forgot to throw away that whiteboard marker. I will do better next time.
