Editor’s Note: Good Faith Media is committed to strengthening faith and democracy, “protecting both and compromising neither.” A strong democracy depends on robust support for public schools. This week, we are highlighting that commitment with a series of articles focusing on the history and current state of the U.S. public school system.

Content warning:  mentions of harassment against BIPOC and LGBTQ+ individuals

I attended a public high school in a small East Tennessee town. At the time, the school was predominantly white, despite being the first public high school in the South to integrate. Although my high school had students from various backgrounds, not all were enthusiastically welcomed.

One day during marching band practice in my freshman year, a few football players were nearby practicing passes. We were doing warmups far enough away that it shouldn’t have been an issue for all of us to occupy the field simultaneously. (Although they shouldn’t have been there at all, as we had reserved the field that day). 

Suddenly, two footballs barreled toward one of our bass drum players. One hit her drum with a resounding “boom;” the other hit her head, knocking her off balance. One football might be an accident, but I hardly believe two in rapid succession was a coincidence.

She was the only black member of the drumline. 

Later that year, our winter guard unit performed during a school pep rally. It was the first year our band director allowed male students to participate in the activity, and our drum major— a gay student — was eager to do so, even though he was the only male in the group.

As the unit performed, several students in the stands yelled “f*g!” at him, laughing as he danced. When I reflect on the event, I’m amazed that he had the composure to finish the performance with the grace he exuded. 

That’s not to say high school was all doom, gloom, and discrimination.

Several teachers advocated for students who weren’t white and/or cishet. They sponsored clubs, made their classrooms peaceful spaces for students to eat lunch, and offered safe spaces before and after school. They found ways to make learning fun, which gave bullied students a welcome respite from the mistreatment of their peers.

These were easily the most beloved and respected teachers in the school.

Even so, we can’t rely on a handful of exceptions (as exceptional as those individuals are) to do the work the system should be doing. Teachers like them can’t be the only ones seeking to make school a safe haven for all students.

Those events happened nearly two decades ago. I want to believe that things have improved for public school students who aren’t white or cishet since then. But then I see the legislation still being proposed to stifle the rights of LGBTQ+ students across America.

I mourn Nex Benedict, who died earlier this year after standing up to the students who had been bullying them for nearly a year– the same amount of time Nex had been forced by state legislation to use the bathroom that did not reflect their gender identity. 

According to a 2022 study by the Trevor Project, 31% of LGBTQ youth indicated they had been physically threatened or harmed because of their sexual orientation, and 37% of trans and nonbinary youth have been physically threatened or harmed due to their gender identity.

Additionally, 73% of LGBTQ youth have been discriminated against at least once in their life due to either their sexual orientation or their gender identity. Fifty-five percent of the LGBTQ students surveyed indicated that their school was an LGBTQ-affirming space.

Students of all backgrounds are required to be at public schools and, in many cases, mandated to assimilate into whatever the school deems socially acceptable.

The expectation of assimilating is simply another way to communicate to someone that their essence isn’t welcome. If they are to participate in this part of public life, they have to change (or at minimum, hide) who they are.

When you communicate to someone that who they are isn’t welcome in public life, you’re sending a clear message that you believe they don’t belong in any kind of life. The Trevor Project’s research on LGBTQ+ youth suicide is a sobering testament to that reality.

As much as I want to agree with Rep. James Talarico (TX) that public schools are the closest thing we have to the kingdom of God on this side of heaven, I’m not sure we’re there yet.

Right now, public schools are places where students of all backgrounds are required to be, regardless of whether the institution celebrates their humanity or not. If the kingdom of God is about obligatory attendance and forced assimilation, I don’t want it. 

Instead, I argue public schools have the biggest potential to reflect the kin-dom of God on earth as it is in heaven– if we are willing to do the hard work of intentional, radical reconciliation.

In his book “Disciplines of the Spirit,” Howard Thurman states, “The quality of reconciliation is that of wholeness; it seeks to effect and further harmonious relations in a totally comprehensive climate.” Reconciliation isn’t about forcing others to assimilate to the “status quo” before being accepted; rather, it’s about creating an environment suited to their unique, comprehensive flourishing. 

Can you imagine what our public schools would be like if they all focused on each student’s holistic flourishing? Might it look like those students knowing that they are loved unconditionally, learning that harmony looks like celebration instead of tolerance?

Thank God for the teachers who give us glimpses of this in how they run their classrooms! That sounds a lot like the kin-dom of heaven to me. If we can’t participate in the work of helping our neighbors be whole, we won’t see the kin-dom happening in our midst.

The kin-dom of God isn’t an exclusive club guarded by bouncers checking their lists of “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots” to see if you get VIP access. It is a community block party where neighbors pass food, make sure you’re hydrated, hug necks and welcome everyone, even if they don’t live on the block.

The only vetting questions are “Do you love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength? Do you love your neighbor the way you love yourself?” 

If the answer to one or both questions is “no,” they don’t kick you out. They say, “That’s okay. Come on in and grab a drink. Let’s talk about what it means to love.”

Public schools have the potential to be this block party. They can be a place where all students are welcomed, celebrated as they are and given the tools to learn about people who are different from themselves. If we can equip our local schools with the resources needed to make that happen, then I think we’ll see the beginnings of the kin-dom of God on earth as it is in heaven.