Learning and Caring:

TWo Sides of Christian Nurture

Luke 24:13-35
/. Bradley Wigger

The idea of Christian nurture, made famous by the nineteenth century theolo-
gian and pastor, Horace Bushnell, has been crucial to the field of Christian edu-
cation for well over 100 years. This article, based on an address given at the fall,
2001 convocation service at Louisville Seminary, explores Christian nurture as
it relates not only to Christian education, but also to family ministries and the
work of the Center for Congregations and Family Ministries (that publishes the
journal Family Ministry,). The article is part autobiographical and part aca-
demic, but it is intended to provide some insight into the work and mission of the
journal and Center.

In 1981, fresh out of college with a degree in social work, I came to Louisville
Seminary to pursue the dual degree program in divinity and social work.
Soon after I got here, I doubted seriously whether Louisville was the place for
me. I was the only one in this dual program, the workload was heavy, but the
load created by the professional and spiritual expectations around ordina-
tion and call and ministry and the future itself, all became overwhelming. I
was scared, depressed, homesick, and ready to leave. It was a tough time.
I let my thoughts of leaving slip out, and several wonderful people ral-
lied, encouraging me to hang in there, assuring me I would make it and that
things would be okay. But somehow, the encouragement only made matters
worse. Now I felt I would be letting these people down if I bailed out. I re-
member calling Mom and Dad, who were as eager as anybody to see their son
do well in school. They listened very carefully and then simply offered to me
these words, "Well, you know you've always got a place here."
The load was gone, replaced by grace. My parents would support me
whatever way I went and would give me a place to figure it out if needed. I
knew theological grace-that we do not in any way earn God's love, it is al-
ready there. But these words from home gave grace new texture for me. I did
stay in school, but that is not the point. I could have left, could have done
something else. But having a place, an actual place, a place in my heart, a Key words: Christian
nurture, Christian
place with God, freed me to even enjoy being there, freed me up to learn, to
education, family
work hard, to play, to make wonderful friends, and even to fall in love. It was ministry, care,
a good time.1 learning theory, mind
I share this bit of my own educational and personal history because I and body

FAMILY MINISTRY 19
 believe it reflects how deeply entangled home and family are with care and
learning, not to mention grace itself. Since 1981,1 have continued to move
back and forth and through work in education, congregations, social work,
and being a stay-at-home father. I am grateful to Louisville Seminary for
eventually inviting me, in 1997, to serve as the director of its new Center for
Congregations and Family Ministries. I am grateful for many reasons, but
one of them is that it has allowed me to integrate these various dimensions of
my career and life in one place. Then again, I have always felt these career
interests were coming from the same place, maybe, probably even, from that
"place" of which my parents spoke. It is a place born of and made known
through Christian nurture.
Like any intellectual idea, Christian nurture is not as powerful as the re-
ality itself. But as an idea, it is fruitful nonetheless for integrating many of the
deep concerns born of the life of faith itself. It is also helpful for understand-
ing the vision behind and the various facets of the Center (that I originally
suggested calling the "Center for Christian Nurture"). And, as this article will
explore, when abstract ideas are joined with concrete experience we have the
makings for things meaningful indeed.

Horace BushnelPs Christian Nurture

Because the book is so foundational, one of the first books I read in my first
graduate course (Craig Dykstra's History of Christian Education Seminar) was
Horace Bushnell's Christian Nurture. Originally published in 1847 it was a
watershed for what eventually became thefieldof religious education. Bushnell
begins with the question, "What is the true idea of Christian education?" His
answer: "That the child is to grow up a Christian, and never know himself as
being otherwise."2
Deeply rooted in a theology of covenant, Bushnell argued that our homes
and families, yes, even families, could be avenues for God's grace and revela-
tion. Long before anyone thought up the term, family systems, Bushnell spoke
of the "organic unity" of families-those deep patterns that emerge in family
life either for the benefit or harm of its members. Family members, young
and old, acting together, he says, "take a common character, accept the same
delusions, practice the same sins, and ought, I believe, to be sanctified by a
common grace."3
Bushnell was particularly concerned for children. He worried that some
extreme forms of revivalism in his day were leading many parents to see their
own kids as children of wrath, or children of the devil, which in turn made it
okay to beat the hell out of them or shun them. Bushnell argued against such
practice on theological grounds. "If the soul is to be a temple of the Holy
Ghost," he says, so the "body will be."4 In other words, for Bushnell, nurtur-
ing the life of faith through learning and education cannot be neatly sepa-

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rated off from other, concrete and emotional forms of care and nurture.
Bushnell even went so far as to say that the "physical nurture" of children is to
be "a means of grace."5 The life of the mind, the body, and the soul are deeply
intertwined.
Now some worried then and some worry now about BushnelPs empha-
sis upon the grace made known in everyday family life and nurtured in the
daily acts of care and conversation of parents.6 One of the big worries rel-
evant for today is that Bushnell intensified the sense of burden and responsi-
bility placed on caretakers, usually and especially women. "I've already got
enough to worry about, now I have to worry about my kids' souls too!" Re-
lated, it may have made "blaming the mother" when things went wrong that
much easier as well.
So for those of us who currently attend to the importance of home and
family life in faith formation, we do well to avoid these traps. Yet to discon-
nect the everyday acts of family life from the life of faith is terribly problem-
atic as well. It is akin to separating the mind and soul from the body. If faith
is a kind of posture in life, a way of being that flows from relationship to God,
then faith will affect who we are in all dimensions of life-Sunday morning, at
work, and at home. More positively stated, to see even our physical nurturing
as in some way helping to make known God's grace to our children is a theo-
logical vision that can be extremely meaningful, especially if this nurturing
can be freed from rigid gender roles. Such an understanding can help sustain
the often tiresome, incredibly demanding tasks of parenting.
As Martin Luther once put it, when we are seduced by, in his words, "natu-
ral reason" alone, fathers and mothers alike will easily despise the daily tasks
of caring for one's children-"rock the baby, wash its diapers, make its bed,
smell its stench, stay up nights with it, take care of it when it cries, heal its
rashes and sores...." So what does faith say to this? Luther says, "It opens its
eyes, looks upon all these insignificant, distasteful, and despised duties in the
Spirit, and is aware that they are all adorned with divine approval as with the
costliest gold and jewels." He goes on to give an example: "when a father goes
ahead and washes diapers or performs some other mean task for his child...
God with all his angels and creatures, is smiling-not because that father is
washing diapers, but because he is doing so in Christian faith."7 Therefore,
an important dimension of life in the Spirit, for Luther and Bushnell alike, is
the vision faith provides, opening our eyes to the deep sense of meaning in
the simple, even "despised" acts of care.
Even so, it was not the connection between physical nurture and Chris-
tian nurture that became so influential in the twentieth century religious edu-
cation movement. Instead early leaders in the Religious Education Associa-
tion, such as George Albert Coe, can be seen picking up Bushnell's notion of
organic unity and its formative powers in order to emphasize the role of so-
cial relationships in learning and the importance of society itself in educa-
tion. "Society is not merely one educator among many," writes Coe in 1917,
 c
it is the prime educator within all educational enterprises."8 The aim, what
education does, is "to bring the child and society together."9
Basically the movement applied Christian nurture to classroom learn-
ing, a helpful move surely giving the quality of classroom learning a boost.
But in a sense, Christian nurture left home. While picking up the formative
power of human relationships in classrooms, congregations, and society, the
movement tended to ignore Bushnell's long discussions on subjects such as
family prayer, how parents should teach their children, and the general im-
portance of home piety and practice in the Christian life. The idea in Bushnell's
Christian Nurture was that the deepest forms of learning for children happen
in relation to those who are caring most deeply for them. Learning and car-
ing are the two sides of Christian nurture.10
For those interested in trying to keep home life and congregational life
better tied together, I have shared my own thoughts about this in The Power
of God at Home (Wiley/Jossey-Bass, 2003), and of course much of the re-
search and writing in the journal Family Ministry lands in this territory. How-
ever, in this article, I would like to take a brief look at Christian nurture from
another point of view, from the angle of learning theory.

Understanding

It turns out that Horace Bushnell's work in Christian Nurture is pretty good
learning theory (even though the phrase was not around when he wrote).
Some of the most important recent work in educational research and theory
is that of the Harvard professor, Howard Gardner. Gardner is most famous
for his theory of multiple intelligences, but he also is an important learning
theorist.
In his book, The Unschooled Mind, based on surveys of solid educational
research, Gardner argues very persuasively that learning, or in his words,
understanding, happens most powerfully when the more abstract forms of
knowledge are united with the more concrete and bodily forms of knowing.
In other words, the deepest learning happens when the more immediate, di-
rect kinds of experiences are held together with symbolic, representational
types of knowledge. Gardner might even suggest, for example, that a child
practice spelling words while skipping rope or do math problems while tak-
ing a walk. Maybe it sounds a little silly to our academic ears, with our feet
fixed in classrooms and bottoms planted in chairs, but then again, good things
seemed to happen in the Luke text when the Scriptures were read while walk-
ing along the road to Emmaus (Luke 24).
Then again, maybe all this is just common sense: the mind and body are
connected. Who would not agree? But whenever school budgets or curricula
get tight, you can bet the first things to go will be the more physical, active
ones-athletics, gym, band, music, field trips, and art. Even recess, I have no-

SPRING 2005
ticed with our children, is getting squeezed out of school. Gardner would say
that such trends are misguided. His work challenges the educational assump-
tions beneath them, especially theories of cognitive development, which tend
to view the mind more as a corrective to bodily experience.
For example, in Piaget's well-known conservation experiments-a child is
shown a beaker full of liquid. The liquid is poured from the beaker into a
taller, but thinner beaker. When asked which beaker has more liquid, young
children typically say the taller one, because it is "bigger."
The point is, from this classic developmental perspective, we cannot trust
experience. Experience gets things wrong. Education, then, is about disci-
plining the mind to correct experience, getting unchained from the chair of
misperception, as Plato's cave analogy put it, so that a child can learn that the
amount of liquid did not, in fact, change. Disciplining the mind then is the
heart of schooling from this point of view. And believe me, I am all for disci-
plining the mind, and so is Howard Gardner.
But a second look at this classic experiment, as Howard Gardner shares,
reveals some curious results. It turns out that it matters who does the pour-
ing. If children themselves pour the liquid from one beaker to another, they
are much more likely to say that the amount of liquid stays the same.11 In
other words, the more direct, active experience of pouring the liquid yields
understanding. Touching the beakers, holding and moving them around, and
feeling the transfer of weight, for example, offer a fuller picture than passively
watching someone perform. The body's direct experience, if not artificially
controlled, is more reliable, even by the mind's standards, than Piaget
thought.12
Gardner's major point is that instead of outgrowing the more concrete,
bodily ways of knowing, genuine understanding happens when the concrete
and symbolic, the representations of the mind and the direct experiences of
the body are held together. Discipline is a two-way street. In my own research,
all this has come to a head in the issue of perception-that most primal way of
knowing anything at all-and in the relationship between perception and learn-
ing. In The Texture ofMystery I explore and describe how much more is going
on when we sense the world than classic Enlightenment theories of percep-
tion would allow.13 The temptation is to imagine that perceiving is inherently
impoverished, the senses are not to be trusted,but it maybe more accurate to
say that our theories of perception are that which have skimped on reality, as
well as our theories of knowing and learning built on such a shaky founda-
tion.

Understanding Ourselves

When perception is reconsidered in fuller ways and combined with Gardner's

notion of understanding, knowing itself takes on richer meanings. And when
 some of the more complex and relationally oriented understandings of hu-
man development are thrown in (for example, by Terri Apter, Carol Gilligan,
or my colleague Carol Cook), the relationship between knowing and know-
ing ourselves (identity), not to mention Christian nurture, takes interesting
shape.14 Identity and growing up, as well as faith itself are seen as embedded
in deep, richly textured, relationships that are not necessarily outgrown any
more than covenant or love or grace are outgrown. Instead we move more
deeply into them. Knowing anything at all, and knowing who we are, both
involve a fluid interplay between direct, concrete experience and mental rep-
resentations of reality.
An example. When our daughter Cora was first learning words, we had a
little game at the dinner table that let her practice and play with her emerging
language. (Cora gave me permission to tell this one.)

"Cora, can you say, 'Daddy'?" I would ask.

She would respond, "Da-da."
"Can you say, 'Mommy'?"
"Ma-ma."
"Can you say'David'?"
She would say, "Day-day."
"Can you say, 'Cora'?"

And the first night we played this game she responded, "Co-wa." For a
good week or so of playing this game nearly every night, she would respond
the same way, repeating the names, including her own. "Co-wa." Then a change
occurred.

"Cora, can you say, 'Daddy'?"

"Da-da."
"Can you say 'Mommy'?"
"Ma-ma."
"Can you say'David'?"
"Day-day," as before.

But when it came to, "Can you say 'Cora'?" she just stared, looking part
puzzled, part thoughtful, but nothing came from her mouth. It was if her
words were paralyzed. And her silence to this question went on for a few
more days, then another shift occurred.
"Can you say 'Daddy'?" After repeating our names as usual, this time
when I asked, "Can you say 'Cora'?" she smiled and declared, "Me!"15
This was a genuine mental leap for Cora. At that point, she could repre-
sent herself to herself. But it was a psychological leap as well. Erik Erikson, for
example, would call it the birth of autonomy. Yet notice how even individual
autonomy emerges in relation to others. As Anne Ulanov puts it, "We get an
ego-the center of consciousness-by someone lending us theirs."16

SPRING 2005
 Now if you lean more towards the "sin as pride" school of theological
anthropology, the emerging "me" is precisely the problem. We start with me,
then it is me, me, and only me. And I have to admit that it was not long after
Cora could say "me," there was a whole lot of "no-saying" in our household-
both in her and in the rest of us. "No" is the stuff of the terrible twos. Au-
tonomy has a backside.
On the other hand, if you lean more towards the view that for some, girls
particularly, the greater danger is not having enough sense of "me," then you
might see this story differently. Our daughters, as well as our sons, better
know how to say no, in this troubled world. As I see it, identity is power-the
power to choose, to say no, to say yes, to have integrity, to imagine ourselves
in new ways. It is the power to be. The challenge is learning to handle this
power in relation to others, negotiating the love of self and the love of neigh-
bors.

Some Implications

The interesting thing to me about this "me" story, in light of our learning
theory and Christian nurture discussion, has to do with the relationship be-
tween the mental life and bodily life. Typically this mental leap in children
happens in children only after they learn to walk. Specifically, there are some
suggestive studies that, in fact, link a child's ability to use the words "I" and
"you" properly, with a child's ability to walk.17 It is as if the steadier children
become on their feet, the steadier their sense of "I" becomes. Walking seems
to be the prelude to mental and psychological leaping.
The implications for education are multiple, whether in seminaries, con-
gregations, or homes. At a minimum we can notice how learning is not sim-
ply a passive enterprise of viewing and receiving. Or as Paulo Freiré put it in
the Pedagogy of the Oppressed, education cannot simply rely on "banking"
methods-cannot be a matter of making deposits of information into the minds
of students.18 Banking methods tend to breed mis-education and mis-under-
standing. On the other hand, we can notice how important it is for students
to have opportunities to get steady on their feet, opportunities to learn who
they are, to learn who they are at the table, to practice saying "no" and "yes,"
to smile, to try things for themselves, to play, and to fall in love with learning
itself. In seminary education for example, field education is particularly im-
portant, from this point of view, if it is integrated with the ideas, history,
discipline, and knowledge of our seminary classrooms.
In terms of congregational education, there is one important implica-
tion I want to highlight. If Christian education is imagined as happening
only through classrooms, it misses out on the ways that the daily, more direct
experiences of everyday living teach the life of faith. This opens up home and
family life of course, as educational territory, especially for children. But it
 also opens the territory of neighborhoods, work, friendships, and commu-
nity life. In a sense, these are the field experiences for Christian living. The
most powerful Christian education happens when field and classroom work
together, like the mind and body with the soul.
In terms of the work of the Center for Congregations and Family Minis-
tries, holding the rich and sophisticated resources of theological scholarship
together with the more down-to-earth concerns of congregational and home
life has been an important principle guiding us, especially for our educa-
tional work through conferences, workshops, and the journal Family Minis-
try. Not only do we ask colleagues in pastoral care and family therapy to deal
with such concrete realities as domestic violence, ministry with step-families,
and child advocacy, the principle extends to other disciplines. Examples are:

• doctrinal theologian, Amy Plantinga Pauw, leading a workshop on teach-

ing children to pray;

• historian, Martin Marty, speaking about grief and hope in the midst of
losing a loved one;

• Christian educator and biblical scholar, David Hester, teaching teachers

to consider how children and adults can learn together;

• practical theologian and seminary president, Robert Franklin, teaching us

how he taught theology to the teenagers on the streets of Chicago;

• musician and minister, Chip Andrus, writing worship music to welcome

the child;

• prize-winning children's author, Katharine Paterson, stretching the imagi-

nations of congregational leaders through her literature and experience as
a missionary kid; and

• lawyer and president of the Children's Defense Fund, Marian Wright

Edelman, challenging us to marshal our theological resources to ensure
the most basic physical and moral needs of children are addressed.

These and so many more have revealed to me the power of learning when
the concrete and abstract are held together, the power where heaven and earth
meet.
Though this is not a sermon, it is at the least interesting to notice how, in
the Luke 24 text, learning happened in relation to something very concrete-
the breaking of bread. The breaking of bread is immediate and bodily. But
the bread is also representational, invoking the broken body on the Cross.
Recognizing Christ in this story happened through a good walk, where the
Scriptures were opened, the prophets were re-considered, and the presence of

SPRING 2005
God was known in the broken body of a suffering servant. In other words,
understanding happens when the visible and invisible, the concrete and rep-
resentational, paradoxically, are held together. Theologically we could say that
when transcendence and presence meet, powerful things seem to happen.
When my parents told me, "you know you've always got a place," the
seeds of those words meaning anything gracious to me were planted much
earlier, in childhood. And, unfortunately, for some, such words from their
parents might have no impact, or even a negative one. The "place" they know
is not so gracious; the seeds, bad. My work, both in congregations and in
social services, makes it perfectly clear that families can curse children as well
as bless them.
I remember the first child abuse hotline investigation I went on, accom-
panying a seasoned social worker, as part of my undergraduate field experi-
ence. It was at a doctor's office to see a little boy, maybe 7 or 8 years old. The
child had welts up and down his back, and his testicles were badly bruised. It
was terrible. It was overwhelming enough for me; I cannot imagine how it
was for this little boy.
In fact, I remember going home that evening, deeply disturbed, and pray-
ing about it. I remember praying, "God, how can you let that happen?" And it
was one of the few times in my life I felt I got a clear, immediate answer from
God. The answer I got back was straightforward: "How can you?"
For a 21 year-old, that was a pretty heavy message. In fact it may have
been part of the load that weighed on me my first semester as a seminary
student. But by grace, the grace of my home and the grace of this community,
I learned not to take the "you" so individualistically. It was a plural "you" as
well. Addressing issues of suffering and evil requires the full strength of the
theological communities-from discovering the pathos of God in the proph-
ets, to theological reflection on evil, to strategies for care and healing, and
even to worship, praise, and education which all, working together, build up
the body. Moreover, it takes grace, the kind of grace that reveals God's pas-
sionate care for life, which in turn frees the body for a passionate ministry.
If I have a vision for Christian education it is a very bodily one: that
Christian education marshals the wisdom and resources of faith from and
for the body of Christ. As Bushnell would say, Christian learning relies upon
the direct experiences of Christian care in congregations and homes alike,
but it adds something too, it adds a vision of care. Not only do we need to take
care of our children, for example, we need our children to learn to value care
in a hurting world. Care, like a New York City skyscraper, is fragile; it can
disappear in the blink of an eye. Care, as Bushnell knew, needs theological
vision to sustain it. So Christian education, empowered by Christian nurture,
is part of the community of faith's vigilance-watching out for love. In the
end, learning and caring, as well as all the theological disciplines, mutually
support one another. They build up the body even as they learn from the body.
May you know that you always have a place.
 Endnotes

1.1 also share this story in The Power of God at Home: Nurturing Our Children in Love and Grace (San
Francisco, Wiley/Jossey-Bass, 2003), xvii-xviii.

2. Horace Bushnell, Christian Nurture (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Books, 1979, reprinted from the
1861 Scribner Paperback edition), 10.

3. Ibid, 90.

4. Horace Bushnell, Christian Nurture (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Books, 1979, reprinted from the
1861 Scribner Paperback edition), 272.

5. See Bushnell, chapter III, "Physical Nurture, To Be a Means of Grace."

6. Two excellent resources for this discussion are Robert Bruce Mullin, The Puritan as Yankee: A Life of
Horace Bushnell, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), and Margaret Lamberts Bendroth: Growing Up
Protestant: Parents, Children, and Mainline Churches, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2002).

7. Martin Luther, "The Estate of Marriage," Luther's Works 45: 39-41.

8. George Albert Coe, A Social Theory of Religious Education, (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1927
edition), 14.

9. Ibid. 15.

10. It was not so much that the home was ignored at this point in the history of religious education; it is
probably more accurate to say that everyone-church leaders, educational theorists, and parents alike
were somewhat befuddled. In a fascinating passage from Coe himself, he observes, "For some years
there have been complaints that family religion is declining. The old customs of family prayer,
catechizing, and direct, personal religious appeal from parent to child have largely disappeared." He
notices how the ongoing complaints about this among clergy and the blaming of parents has done little
to remedy the situation. His analysis of the situation has less to do with parental responsibility or
neglect, and more to do with religion itself. "Two generations back," Coe writes, "there was relatively
little question as to the sort of religious ideas that should be presented to children." Any part of the
Bible could be read, catechizing was a simple process of memorizing questions and answers, and how to
pray was clear, Coe notices. Basically, religion got complicated, and "parents are bewildered" by the
complexity. Ibid, 22Iff.

11. Howard Gardner, The Unschooled Mind: How Children Think and How Schools Should Teach (Basic
Books, 1991), 146-7.

12. Paradoxically, in some ways this insight is actually truer to Piaget's own, larger emphasis upon
learning as an active engagement with reality.

13. J. Bradley Wigger, The Texture of Mystery: An Interdisciplinary Inquiry into Perception and Learning
(Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press/ London: Associated University Presses, 1998).

14. See for example, Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women's Development,
(Cambridge Massachusetts: Harvard University Press), 1982; Terri Apter, Altered Loves: Mothers and
Daughters During Adolescence, (New York: Fawcett Columbine), 1990; or Carol Jean Cook, Singing A
New Song: Relationality as a Context for Identity Development, Growth in Faith, and Christian Education
(Ann Arbor, Michigan, U.M.I, Dissertation Services, 1994).

15.1 also tell this story and discuss its implications in The Texture of Mystery, 106ff.

28 VOL.19 NO. 1 SPRING 2005

16. Ann Beiford Ulanov, "The Gift of Consciousness," (The Princeton Seminary Bulletin, Volume XIX,
Number 3, New Series 1998): 243.

17. See Eleanor J. Gibson, "Perceptual Development From the Ecological Approach," in Advances in
Developmental Psychology, vol. 3, ed. by Michael Lamb and Ann L. Brown (Hillsdale, New Jersey:
Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 1984), 281.

18. See Paulo Freiré, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (New York: Continuum Publishing, 1981), chapter 2.
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