This is my first school year outside the South. What do I notice most? Right now, amidst this beautiful spring day, the mountain air of the Pacific Northwest, abundant wildflowers, and the sunny 70-degree days stand out most. But what has surprised me more than the weather is the reality of school this week, after Memorial Day. For me, that holiday has always marked the joyful end of a school year—a time for final assemblies, heartfelt goodbyes, and the promise of summer rest. Here, it signals one last stretch of academic work. This new cadence, coinciding with a final edit of our playbook for Standard 3 on school culture, has me reflecting on the rhythms that shape us.
In classical Christian education, rhythm is more than a matter of scheduling—it’s a form of discipleship. Rhythms teach us what to value. They frame our time and shape our affections. The liturgical calendar, the academic year, even the flow of a school day—all of these train the heart as much as the mind. And summer, in its own quiet way, is one of the most important rhythms of all.
Summer invites rest, but not idleness. It offers space for recovery, renewal, and re-anchoring in what matters most. For teachers and leaders, it’s a time to remember our calling apart from the stress of daily duties. For families, it’s a chance to rediscover one another through unhurried days. For students, it’s a season of both pause and preparation—a space where what was planted during the year has a chance to take root and grow.
As we state in Standard 3 on School Culture,
“Time is not a series of interchangeable units to be measured and managed with efficiency alone, as modern schooling tends to assume… The Christian tradition views time as meaningful, ordered by God and filled with purpose… Even the rhythm of the school day communicates what we value and whom we serve.”
This vision of time not only orients our academic year—it orients our hearts. Summer, then, is not merely a break in the action but a sacred rhythm– a season that reflects God’s own ordering of time and reminds us that our lives are not our own.
And for many of us, part of that rhythm includes gathering in June to reflect, reconnect, and reimagine the work we’ve been given. The SCL Summer Conference exists within this seasonal grace. It is, we hope, both a punctuation mark and a fresh start—a pause filled with purpose.
So, however your calendar lands this year—whether you’re finishing before Memorial Day or long after—may you enter the coming weeks not just relieved, but renewed. Let the rhythm do its work.
