It is hard
to walk more than 10 feet in our sons’ school, St. Monica, without seeing a
wall hanging, bulletin board, statue or class project that has to do with some
aspect of God, faith or values. Some might see this as a lack of subtlety, but
I like it.
If
St. Monica School chooses to barrage my children with construction-paper Gospel
quotes, glossy inspirational posters, and crucifixes at every turn, I’m not
going to complain. When they’re not in school, McDonald’s is doing the same thing with ads for super-sized
fries.
I like that
every time third-grade Jacob comes in for recess, he sees this year’s theme —
“God has chosen you,” hanging in the hall near the drinking fountain. I like
that Liam needs to walk past a bulletin board with a Psalm on it on his way to
his kindergarten classroom. Granted, he may only be able to read the
high-frequency words in that Psalm, but still, I like it. I’m glad Saint Monica
herself and her three children stand guard in a beautiful oil painting outside
the office, and a statue of the child Jesus watches over the children as they
go up and down the stairs.
St.
Monica is not unique among Catholic schools in its commitment to adorning
hallways and classrooms with sacred words and images. I’ve taught in two
Catholic schools and visited many, and while each school has its own style,
they hold in common an understanding that if faith is to be part of children’s
school day, expressions of that faith must be all around them.
Ann
Chrusciel, a sixth grade teacher at St. Monica, put it this way: “The spiritual
component of St. Monica is like air
inside of a balloon. It’s what’s filling up the school.” While Ann was speaking specifically of St.
Monica, I believe the same can be said for any Catholic elementary school, high
school or university that does its job well.
I
see the “air in the balloon” analogy so clearly when my sons have their friends
over. As I drive kids home after a play date, talk invariably turns to school.
Mixed in with conversations about who scored the most touchdowns at recess are
off-handed remarks that I wouldn’t hear if they went to a public school.
Sentences that start, “Yesterday, after church, we…” or “For Advent, our class is…”
Before
Christmas, Jacob and his friend Joe used the ride home to practice for their upcoming Christmas
concert. They were belting out I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In with an
energy particular to eight-year-old boys. As they bellowed “…the Virgin Mary
and Christ were there, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day…” I glanced in the
rearview mirror and couldn’t help but think that we already got our money’s
worth out of our tuition payment, and the year was only half over.
I
think Catholic schools do their job so well in terms of faith formation that
they raise the bar for us as parents. If St. Monica School hands our sons
Christianity neatly wrapped up in religion assignments, prayer services and
paintings of Saints, it’s up to us to unwrap that Christianity at home. When
Christianity is unwrapped, though, it gets messy. And the closer you follow
Jesus, the messier it can get. (The areas Christ chooses to trod — where people
are hungry, naked, or in prison — are rarely neat and tidy.)
My
husband and I once heard a great homily that included the refrain, “Come on in,
the muck is fine.” The priest was saying that being a follower of Jesus is not
like diving into crystal clear water, it’s more like wading into muck. To be a
follower of Jesus is to get involved in messy situations you might rather
avoid. In muck, you can’t see the
bottom, and you fear you might get stuck. From the shore, muck can look scary,
but once you’re in — once you’re immersed in it — you find it’s not so
difficult after all, and you invite others to join you. Come on in, the muck is
fine.
If
St. Monica’s job is to teach my boys about their faith, my charge is to help
them live it. Our current family muck happens to be foster care. The children’s
court system is murky and little is clear about our foster daughter’s future.
From the boys’ point of view, Teenasia is equal parts fun little sister and a
whirling tornado who can destroy a Lego tower in one swoop. And the messiest
part is yet to come — the day when
Teenasia is returned to her birth family and we are left in a quieter, neater
house with all Lego towers standing. And on that day, I will be so grateful to
be sending our boys to a school where the spiritual component is like air in a
balloon. I will be so grateful for the prayers that will surround my sons.
This
Catholic Schools Week, I give thanks for all Catholic schools, and I pray for
the parents who choose those schools for their children. I pray that we may
always view Catholic education as just the beginning. That we will have the
courage to wade into the muck ourselves, so that we might be able to call out
to our children, “Come on in, the muck is fine.”
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