Illustration by Sophia Tareen
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When a Kansas sky is dark and looming, natives are, ironically, content. A torrential day is, for them, better than one characterized by a swing in temperature, odd winds, and as one local describes it, “a strangeness in the air” that signals an impending tornado. On one particularly rainy day in Wichita, the roads are flooded in deep, thick puddles, and with the rain estimated to continue for the next four days, it seems positively biblical.
Off the main drag in northeast Wichita sits New Song Academy, a bright brick building with a charming cul-de-sac and bright green bushes. The entrance is a cheerful reflection of its name, and one is immediately greeted by a fresco of Noah’s ark, an image repeated on the sofa pillows, in other paintings, a patchwork quilt, and crafted items enclosed in a locked glass case. Statues of elephants, giraffes, and lions sit poised and motionless, two by two. At the front desk, cheery Linda clicks on the loudspeaker to start the day. “Good morning, teachers and boys and girls. Let’s fold our hands and bow our heads and close our eyes and get ready to speak to God this morning. Heavenly Father, thank you so much for this wonderful day. Thank you for all the many blessings you give us. Each and every day. Please watch over our teachers, watch over our mommies and daddies today, and bring them safely back to us this afternoon. Help us to listen to our teachers and do the things you would like us to do in your name. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”
New Song Academy is a private Christian school whose students range from infancy through grade six. If the word “Christian” has become taboo in certain quarters, the words “Christian school” are utterly detonating. But the nondenominational New Song Academy has nothing to apologize for. As owner and executive director Phyllis Lowen states, they don’t adhere to a method of teaching that involves “shoving anything down their throats.”
Amy White is young, blond, and greets her students with “sweetheart” and a kind voice that never alters, even when she needs to use a firm hand. A young boy gets up out of his seat and comes to her for help. “Go back to your seat and raise your hand, sweetheart,” she says. “Manners and discipline are very important here,” Amy tells me. “Even after lunch they get a cookie, but only if they’ve used two ‘pleases’ and two ‘thank yous.’?” Behavior is noted by a colored square stuck beside the child’s name in a large decorative plaque hanging at the back end of the classroom. Blue is the best, yellow a first runner-up, and red indicates a trip to the office. Today every child has a blue square by his name. It’s a good day.
The morning begins with two pledges, the Pledge of Allegiance, and then a similar, revised version, to God. This summer Amy has grades one through six in her schoolroom, lessons distinguished by individual needs. They pray before their snack—a cupful of Cheerios—and thank God.
New Song Academy uses A Beka Books, Christian science texts that, according to A Beka’s Web site, “present the universe as the direct creation of God and refute the man-made idea of evolution.” The lessons are otherwise incredibly similar to anything in the public school sector. The students are introduced to atoms and plants, molecules and the universe, with “reminders” at the beginning and end of each lesson that these are God’s laws and creations. One of the children’s science books is called Investigating God’s World, which starts off with a friendly reminder: “Science is possible because we live in an orderly world that operates according to a well-designed plan. As we study science, we are really studying the works of God.” At the top of one of the lesson pages, in the header, reads a verse from the Bible: “Do all things without murmurings and disputings. Philippians 2:14.”
“We tell them to keep an open mind,” Amy says. “We don’t tell them what to believe.”
Midafternoon the children line up for “chapel,” and today they’re performing. Obediently they form two lines and file out across the decorated hallway strewn with pasted pictures they’d posted from their creationism class the week before. The title on each page is “God Made . . .” and they’d cut out pictures to demonstrate that God has made everything from the flowers to Earth itself. A collage of their images displays itself brightly.
