“So in this class, essentially, I want your kids to become saints.”
They broke out into laughter. I meant for it to be funny in an understated way. But I’m not entirely certain we were all on the same page. Continue reading “I Want Your Kids to Become Saints”
Change in oneself is often difficult to pinpoint. Growth can seem nearly nonexistent. Sometimes it is only after a decent length of time that we can begin to point out areas where we are different. Ah-ha! Something has changed! Finally! Continue reading “Change”
As school draws near and I find myself mentally preparing for a new year, I feel a growing excitement. It is mixed, however, with the knowledge that once this roller-coaster starts, it will not truly end until May. So I am saying a sad goodbye to sleeping in, staying up late, and not repeating myself fifteen times.
A few days ago, as melancholics are apt to do, I was reflecting on death. Particularly on my death. And how I don’t know when it will happen. It could be seventy years or this week. I have hopes and dreams about getting married and having a family, but those may never be fulfilled. Perhaps, I mused, perhaps I haven’t met the man I will marry because there isn’t one. Perhaps I don’t get married. Perhaps there is not much life left for me. Continue reading “The Vocation of the Present”
“What do your parents do?”
“My dad is a retired firefighter and now drives people at a retirement home. My mom stayed home with us when we were young and now works as a receptionist at a clinic.”
“Hmm. I thought it would be something different…I thought your dad would be a politician or something.”
“Nope. My dad is pretty ordinary.”
Some of the people at the table laugh and one says that the next time he sees my dad, he will tell him that I said he is ordinary.
“What did they do to teach the faith? Did you go to daily Mass?”
“No. We prayed the rosary sometimes and usually prayers at night. My parents just talked about the faith very openly and we always went to Mass on Sunday. My parents are pretty ordinary. They just did what they were supposed to: they were our primary educators in the faith.” Continue reading “Ordinary”
It is incredibly easy for me to think that everyone else has a far better job than I do. Over the past few years, I seem to have perfected the skill of viewing the neat ways that everyone else can live out their job as an apostolate for Jesus. Yet I seem to miss the ways in which I can do the same thing…in a Catholic school…teaching Theology.
Parked outside the Cathedral the other day, I thought of how neat it would be to show up to such a place for work. Wouldn’t it be neat to work for the Diocese? Or I’ll go to a restaurant and think about how wonderful it could be to subtly evangelize while serving people their food. Just a few weeks ago I had my students make lists of different secular jobs and then brainstorm ways to live the Gospel in the midst of such work. And I can give you a decent list for most jobs that are not immoral. I miss, however, the ability to live it out in the midst of a job that is so clearly evangelistic.
Because, so often, I want something else. Something easy. Something challenging. Just something different than the lot I have been given. Continue reading “When God Wills the Ordinary”
I dislike feeling vulnerable. This doesn’t mean that I never share my thoughts or feelings with others because I definitely do. Rather, I need it to be in a safe place. My students, generally speaking, are not that safe place. Some classes have been exceptionally open and I’ve found it easy to share my heart with them, but that is not the norm.
As far as I can remember, those classes have always been my sophomore classes. Sometimes I force myself to be vulnerable with them, though. It is difficult because: they are teenagers, they don’t understand the significance, and I feel like it places me in the position to get hurt. And I, human that I am, don’t like to be hurt. Continue reading “To Affirm is to be Vulnerable”
During 8th period yesterday, I found myself embroiled in an unexpected debate on modesty. It was interesting, albeit slightly frustrating, to hear the girls present the woes of being asked to dress modestly. And, to a degree, I would agree with them that the rules of dress tend to be more strictly enforced for women. They argued about short shorts and the horror of needing to cover their shoulders. Even in their discussions, they admitted that modesty was enforced differently by different teachers and that one rule didn’t always work the same for everyone. The true problem, however, is one of feeling burdened. Continue reading “Not Burdensome”
Maybe the reason God arranged it so that I would be “randomly” selected to chaperone the dance was because He knew my response. If my internal dialogue could have been heard by my fellow chaperones, I’m certain I would have been given all kinds of weird looks. As I was being filled in on the less-than-admirable extra-curricular activities of the students, I was praying for them. I was looking out at the dance floor, vaguely picking up on the words of music I don’t listen to, and praying that the Blood of Jesus would cover them.
I watched them. And I wished I could force-feed them some of my experiences, some of my certain knowledge. They are fervently racing after fulfillment, happiness, and satisfaction. Yet they are running in the wrong directions. I almost felt like I was in a burning building with them as they ran around, looking for the exit. Meanwhile, I am standing near the exit, holding an emergency manual, but they are convinced that there must be some other way. It made my heart ache for them in a new way.
Taking in the scene make me grateful, though. In a fairly affluent school, I could see a definite materialism within them. Success seems to be clearly defined as making money or making a name for yourself. And I was grateful that I was not raised with such expectations. I’ve wanted to be a teacher since third grade and my parents supported me: proof that making money wasn’t a part of their philosophy of success. I don’t blame the students for seeking money and success if they are what are taught as the most important things in life. But I know that isn’t where true fulfillment is found. I know I have great freedom because I don’t place tons of value in money, expensive things, or positions of authority and power.
Despite the times they make me want to pull my hair out or roll my eyes or end the day early, I have an affection for my students that is abiding. A student who is struggling stopped by my classroom and although we aren’t particularly close, my heart was moved by them. I smiled at the student and briefly reviewed the recent class work. But when the student had walked out of my room, I realized the great look of vulnerability in their eyes. Even though I was talking about videos and projects, I wanted to convey a sincerity and kindness toward them. The only other thing I wanted to say but didn’t think of until later was simply, “It is good to see you.” I’m glad you exist.
Because I am. Frustrations and disappointments aside, I am glad my students exist. I am glad I have them in my room and that I get to spend time with them. And, because they are what they are and I am what I am, I will continue to pray for them, even if my prayers would cause people to look at me askance if they heard them.
Precious Blood of Jesus, pour over my students. Sanctify, purify, and save them.
Today was a good day.
I slept in later than I should have and rushed to get ready in time. Rushing around, I didn’t eat breakfast and threw a bagel in my lunch bag. Preparing to submit my grades during my lunch time, I completely forgot to eat my lunch/bagel. A student asked me why we don’t have a class that covers all of the bad things Catholics have done in the past. And my supervisor mentioned (in a kind way) that I never date. (I had noticed.)
But today was still a good day.
I met this morning with lovely young ladies and we talked about preparing ourselves for the relationships for which we all long. I had multiple times today where I would realize, “Hey, I’m doing this teaching thing!” A couple moments with my seniors resulted in laughter, partly because I am less defensive than I’ve been in previous years and I was able to take things in stride with a smile. Today, I laughed: when a student flipped his pencil to the ceiling (and looked like he surprised himself), when a student asked if I would take them all to walk the Camino (my answer: I don’t think we would all make it to the end alive), and with various friends during conversations. I had a cup of coffee in a mug decorated with pictures from a trip my sister and I took. During school, I prayed the Holy Sacrificed of the Mass. I made Thai food. I read more in my current book. I was able to talk about art and martyrdom today and feel passionate for the topics even if my students appeared less than excited to hear about them. One of my housemates shared her leftover cheesecake. And I can hear a couple of my housemates trying to figure out the suspenseful show they are watching.
Today was a good day. The Lord used the nothing that I had and He brought about something. It wasn’t perfect and it probably could have been better if I had given more of myself. Thank You, Jesus, for this day.
Nearly all of my students disagree with me, but you cannot convince me that beauty is not one of the most compelling arguments for God’s existence.
I understand, at least in part, the seeming flaws of the argument. They protest that beauty is subjective and that nobody would believe in God simply because someone says there is lovely music or they saw a sunset. Perhaps, perhaps most people would not listen to Bach and then profess belief in God. But, perhaps some would, perhaps some have.
When I was in middle school, I read the book A Memory for Wonders. It was by a French woman who was raised in Morocco because her parents, staunch atheists and communists, didn’t want anyone to speak to her about God, filling her mind with such superstitions. Despite her parents’ best intentions, her initial experience of God took place when she was three years old.
“Suddenly the sky over me and in some way around me, as I was on a small hillock, was all afire. The glory of the sunset was perhaps reflected in the myriads of particles of powdery sand still floating in the air. It was like an immense, feathery flame all scarlet, from one pole to the other, with touches of crimson and, on one side, of deep purple. I was caught in limitless beauty and radiant, singing splendor. And at the same time, with a cry of wonder in my heart, I knew that all of this beauty was created, I knew God. This was the word that my parents had hidden from me. I had nothing to name him: God, Dieu, Allah or Yahweh, as he is named by human lips, but my heart knew that all was from him and him alone and that he was such that I could address him and enter into relationship with him through prayer. I made my first act of adoration.” A Memory for Wonders, Mother Mary Francis, p. 30
My parents spoke freely to me of God while I was growing up. So this experience of seeing the beauty of a sunset and being unable to name the author of it, isn’t something I can share. Yet I can share, in part, the feeling of piercing beauty at different sights and sounds.
It was during a semester studying abroad that the power of beauty become real to me. Surrounded by history and architecture unlike any in the United States, I was continually amazed at what I saw. In Switzerland, my heart ached as I walked around a lake and soaked in the beauty of mountains. I was nearly in tears as I surveyed God’s handiwork, and I kept thinking, “No atheist can live in Switzerland. How could you deny God in the midst of such splendor?”
I climbed a radio tower on a mountain in Austria and watched the sun rise. As the light spread across the mountains, I felt fully alive. My heart was in awe at the magnificence, at a beauty that did not need to be there even if the sun was necessary for our survival. The glory of a sunrise is entirely “extra.”
My awareness of the power of beauty began during my European adventure, but it has continued ever since. Probably three times this week I have been near tears as I watched the sun rise or set. My heart cannot stop itself from aching and expanding, my mouth uttering the briefest of prayers, “Lord!” Beauty is not always warm and delightful. Sometimes it aches: it is a blade, a spearing of the heart, a breaking into my world, and an unearthing of the hidden wellspring within.
For most, beauty may never transform their hearts of disbelieving atheism into ones of faith. Yet for me, beauty is one of the most potent reminders of God’s presence. It is a sunrise offered to millions and I look at it, bold colors covering the expanse of the prairie skies, and I think, “For me, Lord?” For a little girl in Morocco decades ago, it was a sunset that started a relationship with the living God, one that grew into her conversion to Catholicism and her entrance into a religious community.
A heart that is able to see beauty is one that is more fully alive. Beauty opens us up to an experience of something outside of ourselves. It places us in a feeling of smallness at such majesty and yet a feeling of greatness to glimpse such sights. You must be open to such beauty, however, to be transformed by it.
So, perhaps my students are right. Beauty will never force people to believe in God. It cannot overcome your free will. But beauty, if you are open to it, can seize your heart, providing the ineffable conviction that the Creator of all this splendor must be worth seeking, following, and loving.
Seeking After His Heart 