Written by Jon Singleton
Recently I heard one professor say to a faculty group, about a new challenge or initiative (I forget which), “Let’s keep discussing this — we want to make sure we have a shared narrative.”
I thought, “What does a ‘shared narrative’ mean?” I guess the phrase gets thrown around to mean “using similar words to explain our decisions” or “staying on-brand.” But because I study narrative structures in fiction, I started imagining how having a “shared narrative” could run deeper than “on-brand” wording.
Having a shared narrative might mean we know our bigger story: the struggle we face, who is guiding us and what monsters we must overcome.
Above all, who is the hero of the story? For us professors, we cannot be — this is crucially important — we must not be the heroes of our shared narrative, nor is Harding as an institution the hero. (Administrators and academic leaders, sit up and listen, because losing sight of this next bit may be our biggest present danger amid all the risks and pressures of finance and enrollment and market competition facing higher education in 2024.) You, our students, are the heroes of our (your professors’) shared narrative. We, the staff, the institution and the faculty, are (at our best) the guide — Gandalf, Obi Wan.
It’s your adventure that’s at the heart of our shared narrative.
And this also means our own disappearance from the picture — hard but inevitable — must be part of the story we’re living out.
You’ve left behind the comfort of a childhood home, and you’re headed into a harsh, chaotic world. The foes ahead already threaten to tear you apart, eat you alive. Surviving them and restoring order and justice to your kingdom — that’s our shared narrative. We hope that when you do, when you establish peace and prosperity for yourself and those you love, your kingdom will be an outpost of God’s kingdom.
Everything we do in the classroom, everything we ask you to study and internalize through your assignments and homework, only matters to the extent that we are equipping you with wisdom and the right weapons for the task ahead. This is not about us making you do what we tell you to (lectures, assignments, assessments). This is not about us standing in judgment over you (grading, rubrics, exams). Those are just the ropes around our practice field, the way of being together in order for us to give you the real gift — and for you to be able to receive it. Here is knowledge; here is skill; here is wisdom. Here is your sword: Learn how to use it as best you can, as best we can teach you. And then go and find other sword-masters to teach you what we couldn’t. And then when you must, stand firm and fight.
What dark cave will you have to enter that we cannot foresee? What waits for you there in the darkness, hungry, devouring? The bones of others are heaped all around its lair. But you have what it takes — the expertise, the character, the discipline — you will have what you need when the time comes. You are the one we need. You will struggle, you will suffer, but you will slay your dragons and return to life in the light.
This “hero’s journey” (which you may have recognized, above) is just one (and maybe not even the best) way to tell the story. But the story really is only one. A seed has been planted in you, Jesus said; what fruit will be seen when autumn comes? A fortune (“talent,” “mina”) has been given to you; how will you invest it? A storm is coming; what foundation will you build? I hope you can see that our shared narrative really comes from the master storyteller, the master teacher, and he has a lot more to teach us all as we learn to listen. Crowds around you are letting themselves be herded to a very bad place, but there’s a hidden path to what you truly seek; will you find it?
We see more in you than you can probably see in yourself right now. More people notice you than you realize. What you do matters, and what will matter most is what you do when we, Harding, have faded into your background.
And whose side-character will you give up your life to be?
