The Porch of His Presence

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BLACKBOARDS AND BLESSINGS

Teaching Evolution in a Room Full of Questions

There were topics I taught that fit neatly into charts and diagrams.
The parts of a cell, the structure of DNA, photosynthesis—these could be measured, mapped, explained.
But then there was evolution.
And with it came not just facts, but feelings. Beliefs. Doubts. Conflict. Wonder.

So I began those lessons not with a lecture, but with a question.

I told my students, “Evolution is real. Things do change over time. And we have good evidence of that.”
Then I shared three examples—clear, compelling, grounded in observation:

The changing skull of the elephant across fossil records.
The gradual shift from many-toed ancestors to the modern horse hoof.
The famous peppered moths of industrial England, where soot-darkened trees changed the fate of camouflage and survival.

These weren’t guesses. They were evidence of natural selection, adaptation, and change.

But then I’d shift.
“Now,” I would say, “when we talk about the origin of all life—or the beginning of the universe—we’re in a different space. We’re moving from observation into theory. And for many, into faith.”

Here, I drew a careful line. I mentioned the old trial often shown in films—Inherit the Wind, about the Scopes “Monkey Trial.”
I’d explain that creationism is rooted in belief, not fossil records.
It’s not something we teach from science textbooks. But it is something many hold in their hearts.

So I honored both.

And then I’d ask,
“How many of you think we are here because of evolution?”
“How many of you think we were created by God?”

Hands would rise on both sides. The room would go still.

And sometimes, a student would lift a hand and ask the question they were all really wondering:
“Sir… what do you believe?”

I never lied to my students.

“I believe in God,” I would say.
“I believe in a God powerful enough to create everything we see. And if He chose to do it in six days, I believe He could.”

But I also reminded them:
“Our textbook teaches change over time. It presents patterns, observations, and how species adapt. That’s not something we argue with. That’s something we learn from.”

And then I would leave them with this:

We, too, are evolving.
Not just in our bodies, but in our character. In our choices.
In how we treat each other.
In how we raise our children—and our children’s children.

And thank God for that.

A teacher’s job is not to tell students what to think.
It is to give them tools to think well.
To invite them into the mystery, and show them where to begin.
That, I believe, is sacred work.

And some remembered…

Years later, a few students found their way back to me. They’d tell me I was their favorite teacher—and more often than not, they’d mention that lesson. The one about evolution. Not because it gave them all the answers, but because it made them think. It made space for their questions.

Funny thing is, back in high school, most of them didn’t want to offer opinions. When I asked what they believed about evolution or creationism, only a few would raise their hands. Maybe one or two for evolution, a few more for creationism. Usually, there was only one brave voice. And then… someone would ask me what I believed.

They didn’t all care. But I still taught with care.
And maybe—for some—that made all the difference.