Adventures in Ancient Tongues with Modern-Day Kids

My students and I attended renowned medievalist Benjamin Bagby's performance of Beowulf at First Central Congregational Church.

Upon receiving the chance to teach AP Literature at South High School, I was immediately overcome with enthusiasm and eager anticipation. This opportunity meant more than just exploring complex texts with motivated students; it was a way to enhance their educational journey beyond typical classroom boundaries. What made this position especially gratifying was the support from the University of Nebraska Omaha, which facilitated access to plays and guest speakers that animated the literature in striking and memorable ways. Observing my students engage with live interpretations of our studied plays or interact with authors and specialists broadened their horizons and deepened their literary appreciation. This lively method not only nurtured their critical thinking and analytical abilities but also cultivated a dynamic learning community that viewed literature as a vibrant, living discipline rather than mere written words. Teaching AP Literature at South High, bolstered by UNO’s invaluable resources, turned into an inspiring voyage of discovery – one I was excited to share with my students.

Initially, I was uncertain about what to expect when I arranged through UNO for my class to attend a live performance of Beowulf, an ancient epic poem that often intimidates readers. Would contemporary students connect with the ancient story? Would its language and themes seem pertinent or alien? Despite lacking a preview to prepare the students, I was pleasantly surprised by the strong interest and attendance. On the evening of the performance, we gathered at First Central Congregational Church, settling into its traditional wooden pews. The church’s historic ambiance, with lofty ceilings and stained-glass windows, provided a majestic setting perfectly suited for the epic we were to experience. Quiet conversations floated among my students, many keen to see the legendary hero’s saga vividly brought to life through storytelling. In that serene and solemn environment, surrounded by shared anticipation, I sensed this would be an unforgettable occasion that would forge a bond not only with Beowulf’s realm but also among ourselves.

As Benjamin Bagby, the distinguished medieval scholar, took his place at the front of the church, a hush fell over the audience. Not expecting the occasion to be solely a musical performance devoid of any theatrical aspects, I was rather taken aback when he began to sing passages from the Old English epic Beowulf by heart, simultaneously playing a six-string harp. With his emotionally charged and rhythmically precise chanting, the legendary story of Beowulf’s battles against monsters and dragons came alive, imparting a profound sense of cultural heritage and timelessness. This fusion of storytelling and music not only accentuated the poetic elegance of the work but also illuminated the oral traditions that underpin such epics, deeply affecting my students – for approximately ten minutes.

While Bagby’s act progressed on stage, I became aware of a subtle change in my students’ focus; some began to lose concentration, their fatigue revealing itself through suppressed yawns. At the same time, a few others found it difficult to hold back uneasy giggles, their nervous energy bubbling to the surface despite efforts to stay composed. Observing this mixture of responses – half boredom, half confusion – was intriguing, as it underscored the fine line between sustaining attention and the natural human reactions to extended stillness or unfamiliarity in a formal environment. From time to time, I smiled at them, silently expressing my pride in their ability to maintain composure, even though they couldn’t fully understand or appreciate the ancient language or performance style.

Prior to the start of the performance, two students came to me to explain that they had to leave by nine o'clock due to important obligations at home. One student’s parent required the car to commute to work, while the other had to stay home to babysit their younger siblings, as their mother was working the night shift. Understanding their circumstances, I appreciated their wish to witness at least a portion of the event and granted them permission to leave early. When nine o'clock came, I gave a subtle nod, prompting the two students to quietly gather their coats and exit the church.

The remainder of the group stayed seated in silence for the rest of the performance. As my own focus began to drift, I looked around the church at the audience. Aside from a young couple who seemed to be on a date, it became apparent that most of those present were senior citizens. Many of them appeared completely absorbed in the recitation of the epic poem, which made me feel rather unsophisticated by comparison. Occasionally, I glanced over at my students, who were still grappling with the unfamiliar presentation. By the conclusion, even I found myself needing to suppress yawns and battle nervous laughter.

During class on Monday, I sparked an animated conversation with my students about their impressions of Bagby’s distinctive rendition of Beowulf. Some were enthralled by the raw vitality and sincerity he infused into the ancient epic, lauding his commanding voice and rhythmic chanting that breathed new life into the centuries-old poem. They valued how his energetic storytelling illuminated the characters’ feelings and heightened the narrative’s dramatic intensity. Conversely, many found the archaic language impossible to grasp while they struggled to read the subtitles. Others had mixed opinions about the lack of staging; while it emphasized the oral performance, some longed for visual elements or props. Altogether, the exchange uncovered a rich variety of perspectives, demonstrating how a theatrical experience can deepen our engagement with literature.

Later that same day, an individual from the audience boldly contacted our principal to claim that my students and I did not belong at the event. The caller insinuated that because my students had not paid for admission (which they did through a grant) and lacked the sophistication to truly appreciate the upscale presentation, their presence was unwelcome. This unjust and harsh critique not only dismissed the dedication and effort we invested in preparing for the Beowulf performance but also contradicted the very principles of inclusivity and encouragement that underpin both education and the arts. Despite the painful remarks, I remained proud of my students and dismissed the caller as a pretentious jerk.

A week later, I was thrilled to receive a sincere letter praising my students for their exemplary conduct and enthusiastic engagement during the performance. The correspondence emphasized not only their respectful attitude but also their willingness to participate in such an esteemed event, reflecting the eagerness to learn that I strive to nurture in the classroom. Witnessing their commitment and positive spirit acknowledged in this way was deeply gratifying, especially in light of the earlier disparaging phone call. This recognition uplifted my students’ confidence and reinvigorated me as an educator, reaffirming the profound influence that encouragement and active participation have on shaping young learners’ minds.

The experience with Bagby’s Beowulf had stirred something unexpected in my students – a mixture of curiosity, pride, and newfound respect for ancient storytelling traditions. Over the following weeks, I noticed subtle changes in their attitudes toward literature and history. During class discussions, they asked more thoughtful questions and shared interpretations that revealed a deeper engagement fostered by that evening’s performance. They even agreed to present their own renditions of classic tales, eager to experiment with varying performance styles.

More importantly, the incident with the critical caller sparked an important conversation about inclusion, empathy, and the value of diverse perspectives. We talked candidly about appreciating art in its many forms and the importance of creating spaces where everyone – regardless of background or prior knowledge – could connect with culture on their own terms. The letter praising my students became a symbol of validation, reminding each of us that learning is a rich, communal journey rather than a gatekept privilege.

In the end, what began as a challenging, unfamiliar experience blossomed into a catalyst for growth – not just in knowledge, but in openness and resilience. And as I watched my students embrace these lessons, I felt certain that the spirit of Beowulf – courageous, enduring, and united – now lived quietly within our classroom too.

A student made Grendel's claw for my classroom bulletin board.