This is the entrance to the Vesely household. In the window to the left of the front door, the sign I bought at the dollar store (as a prop for playing “store” with my grandchildren) now has a permanent spot. Thanks to Gracyn, who explained that this way we will know that you are open for us! The fact that the sign has never been flipped to announce “CLOSED” speaks volumes.

The Sanctuary of Open welcomes visitors with come in, come as you are, come often, and come again. It fries another hamburger–or many–and is never ashamed of paper plates. Its arms are always bigger than one imagines, folding others securely into the deep bosom of home. And, in the Vesely house, its dining room willingly becomes a playroom whose toys are never quite put away and lay partially assembled and ready for the next round of train station, grocery store, doll house, or camper.

Years ago in my Ottumwa church, our adult Sunday School class took a “spiritual gifts inventory.” As we considered the results of our individual surveys, no one was the least bit surprised when a senior member of our class, Ruth Rice, revealed that she had the gift of hospitality. Actually, this was one of those duh-we-could-have-told-you-this moments, for Ruth’s very pores exuded hospitality. Before and long after June Cleaver, there was Ruth: gracious, generous, hospitable, open to any and all. I remember thinking, I hope I can grow up to be a Ruth. 

Still, as good and true as the virtues of generosity and hospitality are, veteran members of the Sanctuary of Open carry discernment in their back pockets. For if Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy appeared at the door, they would not greet him with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a well, for heaven sakes, come in! Even Christ, the consummate model for loving openness, cautioned his disciples to be discerning as they traveled to preach the gospel:

If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you. If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, leave that home or town and shake the dust off your feet. [Matthew 10: 13-14]

Discernment is the tempering factor in the Sanctuary of Open. Its still small voice whispers: What are the rewards? What are the risks and costs? Are you willing to sacrifice? Your time, yourself, your heart and your life? Some are all too eager to shake the dust off their feet as they quickly abandon people and places, while others struggle to do so, willing themselves to give more time, more effort, and more heart in genuine openness. The Sanctuary of Open may, indeed, be a tricky place to maneuver, even for seasoned veterans.

Today, we live in a country and society that generally purports to value openness. Open communities, open schools, open borders and open minds. For the past five years, I worked in an urban high school that opens its doors and services, daily, to students from all over the world. It is not uncommon for a 17 year old student from Guatemala, Honduras, Ethiopia, or Sudan to enter as a new student in December or March or even May. It is not uncommon for this student to come with little–or no–formal schooling and no English language skills. All come with their parents’ and guardians’ sincere hopes for the better life that American education offers. All come carrying their past experiences, positive or negative as the case may be. And all are expected to graduate, meeting baccalaureate requirements, on pace with their peers.

In American schools, open means inclusion. A typical classroom, then, may host exceptional, proficient, and struggling native and non-native students, as well as students with special needs. In the spirit of inclusiveness, the teacher is charged with meeting the educational and personal needs of each and every student. Open classrooms require differentiation, tailoring instruction and assessment to individual needs. In my high school, this means that every 45 minutes for six periods a day, a new diverse group of 20-24 students arrives. The Sudanese student who has limited English and finished her last formal year of schooling when she was ten years old sits beside the National Merit finalist. The student with a significant reading disability sits beside the student who has just rebuilt his friend’s computer hard drive. And the homeless student who spent the night in his uncle’s car–and who can rarely stay awake for more than a few minutes of class–sits beside the student who is writing and illustrating her own graphic novel. And where is the teacher in this mix? He or she is taking up the gauntlet. Jim, would you wake up and join us? Juan, would you translate this for Ricardo? Please put your phone away, Carrie. Last warning. Amy and Taylor, once again, I need your attention up here. Taking up the gauntlet in the Sanctuary of Open is daunting and unrelenting. Most days, it is downright hard.

And yet, the best teachers open their classrooms, their minds and hearts in spite of the seeming futility of such unrelenting challenges. Graduate a new, previously unschooled, student who now has 18 months to learn the host language, become proficient in mathematics, social sciences, physical and life sciences, and English language arts? In our American system of open public education, the answer must be a resounding yes, knowing that each school will be held accountable for graduate rates and sanctioned if it fails to meet them yearly. 

So where is discretion in such an open educational system? It would seem that discretion would be the compassionate response to such real and individual challenges. Perhaps expecting students with genuine educational deficits, with special needs, and without native language skills to graduate on pace with their peers is neither compassionate nor realistic. Sadly, expecting bureaucrats to fully understand this reality and respond compassionately–for students and teachers alike–appears to be equally unrealistic.

The Sanctuary of Open–open communities, open schools, open homes, open minds and hearts–is a sanctuary for which to aspire. But it necessarily comes with discretionary cautions that must not be misconstrued and labeled as intolerance. Openness tempered with discretion is a more complex, intellectually and emotionally demanding venture. In Shakespeare’s King Henry IV, Falstaff proclaims that Discretion is the better part of valor. Indeed it is. It goes without saying that openness often requires a degree of valor, but discretion discourages us from the kind of blind courage that feeds good intentions but may, ironically, leave all unsatisfied and wanting.

My personal wish for our country, our communities and schools? That we move forward–mind, heart, and soul–in discretionary openness. I would really like to see where this might take us.