Parents, Children, and Education: Rights or Responsibilities?

Parental rights are a key issue this election season – particularly with respect to what happens in public school classrooms. Former Virginia governor Terry McAuliffe stated in a debate last year, “I don’t think parents should be telling schools what they should teach.” He then lost the election to Glenn Youngkin by a substantial margin. Advocacy groups such as ParentalRights.org are promoting this issue at the national, state, and local levels, emphasizing locally the importance of school board elections.

There are indeed dangers to parents in our wider society. For example, some legal scholars are promoting a theory that parents’ rights are conferred by the state. One of these, Professor James Dwyer of William and Mary, says, “The reason parent-child relationships exist is because the state confers legal parenthood…. It is the state that is empowering parents to do anything with children.” Such theories are part of a larger movement (documented by Carl Trueman among others) that denigrates the family, exalts the state, and promotes the idea that we must discover who we are by looking inside ourselves.

Scripture presents a contrasting picture of the relationship between parents and children. But I would not label the Scriptural viewpoint as “parental rights.” It’s much closer to “parental responsibilities.”

Psalm 127:3 is key: “Behold, children are a gift [or “heritage”] from the LORD” (NAS). Note that there is no mention of the state in this verse! Children are created by God; they belong to God; He grants them to parents as gifts; and He entrusts parents’ with their care, their provision, their upbringing. Parents thus have the joy of playing a part in another’s story – an intensive, guiding part for 15 or 20 years, then an advisory part.

Certainly in fulfilling that role granted by God, parents have implied rights.

But the responsibilities are much clearer biblically than the rights. Consider the questions we ask parents at baby and child dedications. We never mention of rights; there is, however, a lengthy list of responsibilities found in Scripture, including:

Do you pledge as parents that, with God’s fatherly help, you will bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord, making every reasonable effort, with patience and love, to build the Word of God, the character of Christ and the joy of the Lord into their lives?

God calls every parent to the task of training up children (Proverbs 22:6, Ephesians 6:4). Parents here make a commitment to help their children live lives of personal obedience. Yet personal obedience is not the goal; faith is the goal. Through learning obedience to loving parents, our children can learn the joy of obedience to a loving God; this can then be a means of grace that God uses to bring the children to faith, and that very faith will bear fruit in genuine Christian obedience.

We also ask:

Do you promise to provide, through God’s blessing, for their physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual needs, looking to your own heavenly Father for the wisdom, love and strength to serve them and not use them?

We as parents are tempted to use our children: As status symbols, as props for our egos, as accomplishments, as ways to succeed vicariously where we failed in our younger years. But biblically we are to provide for our children and serve them – not serving under them, but so to lead them that they grow into independent adults who by God’s grace love Jesus Christ, put Him first, and serve productively in society.

Now, if parents have the responsibility to train their children and to provide for the intellectual needs, they clearly are responsible for their children’s education. They are responsible for deciding how their children can be best educated. Some before God will choose to educate them at home; others will think it best to delegate part of their children’s education to a private or public school. But whatever the choice, the parents are responsible. God has entrusted them with their child. They must arrange for that child to be well-educated, intellectually, spiritually, and socially. To the extent that they delegate part of that responsibility to others, they must know what is being taught, how it Is being taught, and then in the home correct or combat any falsehoods or half-truths propagated in the school. Parents as a group, therefore, can and should influence what is taught in schools.

Now, the state does have a role in the lives of children. Most clearly the state has a responsibility to protect all citizens from law-breakers – and that includes protecting children from parents who clearly abuse or harm their children. The state also has a civic interest in seeing that children receive sufficient education to be good citizens. But the family precedes the state. Furthermore, as G.K. Chesterton wrote, the family is the “only state that creates and loves its citizens.” The governing state should rightly defer to parents on education and childrearing in general, acknowledging that the great majority of parents will do a better job of raising their children than any state institution. Laws for dealing with the exceptional cases of child abuse should not be extended to cases in which parents simply have chosen to raise children in a way contrary to the state’s preferred way.

When the Pinckney children were young, we had an interesting annual interchange in this regard with our local school superintendent in Massachusetts. As homeschoolers, we were required by state law to ask for approval from our superintendent. But before God, Beth and I did not believe the superintendent had the right or responsibility to judge whether or not we were fit to school our children. At the same time, we wanted to have a cooperative relationship with the schools in town and were quite willing to listen to any advice or counsel they might give. So, every year, we wrote a letter informing our superintendent of our decision to homeschool, asking if they had any counsel, but explicitly not asking for approval. And then a few weeks later, we received a return letter approving our homeschool. In this way, everyone was kept happy.

So, parents: Rejoice in the responsibility God has given you to raise your children. Take it seriously, with all its trials and pressures. In a few short years this season of your life will end, and you’ll feel as Beth and I did when our youngest left home: “Like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart – your abdomen is open and someone is cutting away at your guts.”

I encourage all of you – vote wisely this week, especially taking into account candidates’ views on education and parental rights.

But may we as a church stand alongside one another and assist one another in raising these precious children to know “the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit,” to His great glory and praise (2 Corinthians 13:14).

Be the Smile of God to Your Children

From Joe Rigney on the Desiring God blog:

He’s a squirmy one, he is. If I don’t watch him, he’ll wriggle off the bed. But he doesn’t want to. He’s enjoying the tickle fight too much. I can’t blame him. Those giggles make this father’s heart want to leap out of my chest. I wonder how long this laugh will last.

Reflect on the tickle fight with me. See the layers of reality at work. . . .

On the surface: an adult male and a one-year-old of the species, smiles, laughter, darting fingers, kicking legs, squeals, deep breaths, rapid kisses on the neck, raspberries on the belly, and did I mention the laughter?

Beneath the surface: emotional bonding, fatherly affection, wide-eyed childhood delight. A contribution to the child’s sense of safety and security in the world. Perhaps he’ll be “well-adjusted” (or at least better adjusted). This will, no doubt, help him on his standardized tests.

Beneath and in and through it all, Trinitarian fullness is being extended. The Joy that made the mountains is concentrated in my home. Fatherly delight is at the heart of reality. “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased.” It plays on a looping tape in the back of my mind. Thus sayeth the Lord to his Son. Thus sayeth the Lord to all of his sons that are in the Son. . . .

This is the pitch of fatherhood. This is the melody line of motherhood. This ought to be the dominant note in the familial symphony. Delight, Pleasure, Joy. This tickle fight is high theology. . . .

This is our fundamental calling as parents — to be the smile of God to our children. We are charged by God to bring our children up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. God himself has commanded us to communicate to our children what he is like. And God is fundamentally a Happy Father, a Well-Pleased Parent. And just as the Father communicates his delight in his Son through his words and deeds and demeanor and presence, so also should we.

Read the whole post.

Reflections on Parenthood and Letting Go

On Saturday, Beth and I left Joel at Chapel Hill. We have now sent six children off to college. Our once rarely-quiet home has become mostly-quiet. Years of always being asked to read a book or rub a back or play “Dangerous Criminals” (or Uno or Quiddler or Knockout or Superfluous Ball or Friscup) have ended. We miss all our children – though at this point, we especially miss Joel. Oh, we miss what we would do with him; but we also miss just knowing he is in the house – knowing that at any moment we might smell his coffee or see him reading or hear him walk in the door. Yes, we can always call (and thankfully phone calls and Skype are so much easier than only a few years ago), but what we miss is not only talking, but, in part, just being. Being together.

For those of you who have not yet said goodbye to a child: It doesn’t get any easier. Daughters, perhaps, are harder than sons, but the fifth boy was as hard as the first.

Eleven years on from leaving our eldest at college, we see more clearly than ever the joys of having adult children: The continued partnership in life, the sharing of what we each learn about marriage and jobs and family, and especially the sweetness of a granddaughter asking, “Will you read Piggy in a Puddle to me, Papa?”

So we know that leaving Joel at Chapel Hill is a necessary and important step toward that future, deep relationship.

Nevertheless, no matter how much you tell yourself that this is a step you have been preparing your child for all his life, no matter how much you know that she is the Lord’s not yours, no matter how confident you are in his relative wisdom and solid faith, no matter how happy you are about her choice of college – sending a child off surprisingly feels like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart – your abdomen is open and someone is cutting away at your guts.

But as Michael Gerson recently wrote, one of the very best things about life is having “a short stage in another’s story:” The great privilege of watching elbows and feet poke against Mommy’s abdomen; the responsibility of feeding, protecting, and providing for a helpless infant; the joy of watching a toddler take a few steps, stumble and try again; the warmth of a sleepy child cuddling in your arms; the laughter of family gatherings; the mischievous smiles of boys, covered in mud, running toward their mother; the times day after day reading God’s Word, as well as reading One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish and The Narnian Chronicles and The Lord of the Rings and The Tempest and David Copperfield. The struggle of disciplining in love; the confessions when discipline is too harsh; the long discussions with a teen struggling with the opening act of adulthood; the look of accomplishment the first time a boy beats his daddy (without handicaps!) in ping pong, or HORSE or running; the sweetness of porch time on a summers evening; the hours and hours over the years spent together in prayer.

We long for such days to continue. To never come to end. To be permanent.

C.S. Lewis suggests that this longing for permanence indicates that we are made for another existence: An existence which, indeed, will last forever and ever – where there will be no more time limits, no rush to go on to the next pressing responsibility.

Perhaps he’s right. But this week I’ve focused on a different possible parallel – a parallel between the parent’s pain of separation and God the Father’s pain. Is there a reflection, at least slight, in the parent’s pain of the pain the Father experienced at the cross? The Apostle John tells us, “God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son.” He loved – and so He gave. He gave up. He lost something.

We sometimes think that, while Jesus experienced pain at the cross, God the Father did not. He planned the event; He knew clearly the outcome of this mission. But as we’ve noted, parents often know that leaving home is the right decision, with all sorts of future joys conditional on that step – and yet we feel great pain. Is God the Father’s pain somewhat similar? Did He feel pain, seeing His Son suffer, seeing His Son take on Himself the wrath appropriate for punishing all the sins of all those who would ever believe in Him, seeing the mysterious separation between the Son and Himself – even though He knew this was His perfect plan to redeem a people for Himself?

I don’t know. But I do know that I am incredibly grateful to God – and to Beth, my superb partner in parenting – for the privilege of 30 years of raising children in our home. It does, at this point, seem a short stage in their lives. We say to them what Paul said to the Ephesian elders when he never expected to see them again: “Now I commend you to God and to the word of His grace, which is able to build you up and to give you the inheritance among all those who are sanctified” (Acts 20:32).

I look forward to those brief, future times when we can once again come together as a family. And I long all the more for the Final Day, when all God’s lost and separated children will be brought together to rejoice in Him, to delight in God’s work in one another, and to live out for eternity the joys of life in an intimate family – the true joy that was reflected in our intimate earthly family for a few, short decades.