Students and Children as Arrows

“Unless the Lord builds the house,
    those who build it labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the watchman stays awake in vain …

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
    the fruit of the womb a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior
    are the children of one's youth.
Blessed is the man
    who fills his quiver with them!
They shall not be put to shame
    when they contend with his enemies in the gate.”

Psalm 127:1 & 3-5

When my wife and I found out we were going to have a son, I immediately wanted to name him “Arrow,” but she would have nothing to do with naming him after a weapon. Wives and moms reading along are collectively thinking that my wife is a wonderfully wise person, and she certainly is. One of the things Katie and I learned in the early years of our marriage is that we have very different approaches to naming our children. She wasn’t a fan of having to tell a lengthy story to explain why we named our child what we did. I can’t help thinking that it’s one of the best reasons for selecting a name.

I thought “Arrow Brink” would be so unique that we wouldn’t have to worry about him sharing his name with others; it also passes the “P.A. Test” (As a former football coach, I’ve prioritized how a name sounds over the public address speaker at a football or basketball game). “Arrow Brink on the tackle,” does have a strong ring to it. Uniqueness and sound aside, I was far more interested in the name Arrow, because of Psalm 127. It became one of my favorites in the early years of my teaching career and a sort of personal mission statement for my approach to teaching. It’s also the reason why we chose to include an arrow in logo for RenewEd. But my love for this psalm grew tremendously once I became a father.

Psalm 127 is a God-centered psalm, recognizing that our efforts (regardless of what they are) are in vain if God is not central to our work. It’s a powerful starting point for the Christian school and the Christian home. Unless God is in them, our schools and our homes stand upon weak foundations. Christian lingo often familiarizes this sort of recognition; despite the overuse, it’s no less foundational. Bible-believing Christians confess that they can do nothing apart from God. We know this is true, but we must confess that we often live as though we don’t believe it’s a practical reality. It’s quite easy to journey throughout our days, focussing on what’s immediately before us … our schedules, our tasks, our successes, our failures. Far too infrequently will we pause and recognize our complete dependence upon God. People who have greater conviction of this reality spend more time praying … prayers of request and prayers of gratitude.

As a result, God-centered people should offer regular prayers that confess “unless the Lord builds this [day, building project, meeting, lesson, game, practice … fill in the blank], those who [teach, coach, plan, lead, watch, work, wait, parent … fill in the blank] do it in vain.” We need to do this moment by moment so our hearts and minds are correctly postured toward this ultimate reality. God is before us; He always has been, and we need to spend more time in conscious recognition of this truth.

The psalmist starts this brief meditation on this truth in the first two verses but then transitions to talking about children. We can make the mistake of overlooking the connection between the two parts of the psalm. But, the link is unmistakable. Any conversation about the relationship between children and parents must start first with dependence upon God – the one who builds the house, the image of the structure in which the family unit lives, dwells, and finds its protection and unity. God must be central there.

This God has given our children to us both as a heritage and a reward. (v. 3) They are gifts; we don’t deserve them. Any parent knows this is true. Unless the Lord builds the house … The Psalmist continues this reflection upon by giving us the analogy of them as arrows in our givers … “Like arrows in the had of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them.” (v. 4-5a) It’s a fabulous image. Every warrior wants to have a quiver full of arrows; in the day of the Psalmist’s authorship of this psalm, every father would love to have a home full of children.

The image starts to become increasingly rich when we consider the relationship between the archer and his arrows. Yes, the arrows were crafted to serve a violent purpose, but most archers chose to adorn their arrows. And, they protected their arrows to make sure they would stay straight so they might fly true. Archers also ensured that their arrows were sharp, so that they would be most effective if launched through the air. Having a quiver full of arrows wasn’t a static endeavor; the warrior was careful with his arrows, even prizing them. That is sufficient reason enough to want to name a child Arrow, as a reminder that he is a gift from God whom I am to prize and care for.

The significance of the image really hit home for me when I read a collection of Jim Elliot’s letters, and one he specifically wrote to his parents. At the time of this letter, he had already decided to travel to Ecuador to evangelize the Auca indians, an unreached (and dangerous) people group. His parents had written Jim in hope of persuading him to reconsider his decision. They asked him to consider the immediate personal danger, but their larger appeal was to the ramifications of his potential death for his very young family. To this, Jim replied with this letter that expressed his gratefulness for their concern, but he also challenged their caution, using Psalm 127 as the basis of his rebuke. In essence, he told them that the primary reason God had entrusted him to their care was to prepare him for the day he was to be sent out. He acknowledged their desire to keep him safe. Of course, an archer wants to hold onto his arrows, but the whole reason he has them is to use them. Jim challenged them that his very purpose (and their purpose for all they had taught him) was to be sent to contend with the Aucas … a name which when translated meant enemy. Though they were not his enemy, he saw them as the ones he would be sent out to contend with. Even though Jim and his friends would eventually be slain on that lonely beach, those arrows weren’t lost. They flew with precision, piercing hearts and changing the trajectory of an entire tribe.

As a father, teacher, and coach I have no problem identifying with the Elliots and their fears. Maybe it’s less terrifying for educators to think about students being sent out, because a new crop graduates every year and enters into very new chapters of their individual journeys. It’s much harder for parents to swallow. I still have a few more years until our first child leaves home, but I know the day is coming. It’s coming.

Of course, the tendency can be to hold on too tightly – once again, more likely of parents than of teachers. But we all share the same propensity to think about the immediate and lose sight of the purpose of all the time we’ve spent with them. They are the arrows God has entrusted to our care. Blessed are we to have quivers full of them! But while they’re in our care, it’s absolutely critical that we are sharpening them and keeping them straight - not merely so we can marvel at their remarkable abilities and knowledge, but so they will be prepared for when they leave.

That’s really why I wanted to call my son Arrow, so every time I looked at him I’d be reminded of why God entrusted me with him. He’s my son, given to me by my heavenly Father - not so he will look powerful, sharp, and beautiful in my quiver, but so he will be equipped to step bravely into the world with the tools he’ll need to contend with the enemies in the gates. That perspective doesn’t come natural to us; we need these reminders. Names are good for that.

Maybe we should start our school years by speaking to our students as though they are arrows (and them remind them and ourselves when we forget), so they will be properly focussed on these endeavors. It’s not just the teachers and parents who can lose sight of this life-long (and eternal) perspective. Sharpening is abrasive; it’s going to hurt. If an arrow becomes warped or bent, the straightening process is stressful. It can’t be immediate, or the arrow will snap. But, it’s a pressure-weighted process to return them to their proper shape. Here, we’re given even further images of the heart of proper education. It’s about orthodoxy (which at the root of that word is “straight”); it’s about formation and shaping; it’s about return – as Milton says, the end of education is to repair the ruins of the Fall. But, it’s of the utmost importance that we do the (at times) painful aspects of the process of care, because these arrows will leave … and Lord willing, it’s because we have intentionally sent them.

We ended up not naming our son Arrow, but his name has a rich heritage none the less. But it is my prayer that I will always think of him and his sisters as arrows entrusted to me and my wife so we can prepare them for when they will be sent out for Christ and His Kingdom. May we also think of our students with the same perspective and remind each other with the words of Psalm 127 so we never lose sight.