Truth and the Balancing Act of Teaching

I hesitate to say this too soon.  Mostly because I have one class period left and that could very well be the class where it all falls apart.  But so far, so good.

Today we spoke of truth.  Specifically objective and subjective truths.  My first year, I naively threw around bold statements like, “The Church is the fullness of truth” and the thing was, I didn’t know they were bold claims.  I was simply saying what I believed and had been taught.  How that translated in the minds of some of my students was that I hate every other religion and think they are stupid.  Or something to that effect.

It is a delicate balance, this teaching high school students thing.  I do not want to tip-toe around and offer the truth with an implied, “I’m sorry that I believe this, but here it is” attached to it.  However, my students aren’t quite ready for the fullness of truth.  There is something to be said about trying to put them in the best possible frame of mind when presenting the teaching of the Church.  Sometimes I come on with too much and sometimes I am a coward by choosing to say too little.  It is an art and I’m not very artistic.

Last class period, I think it went pretty well.  I didn’t want to argue with pitting specific religions against each other.  Instead, I chose the logic route.  Logically speaking, can all of the world religions all be completely correct in their teachings?  Some teach there are several gods, some teach one god, and others profess no god.  Can they all be correct?  Logically, the answer must be no.  I used this to apply it to the different religions.  Is it intolerant to say that not all of the world religions can all be correct?  You can argue that no religion is entirely correct, but you cannot argue that they are all completely true.  I then encouraged them to seek the truth.  Obviously they know what I believe to be true.

My hope is that I intrigued them and challenged them to evaluate their beliefs.  I want them to be grounded and I want them to actually believe what they profess to believe.  If they will honestly pursue the truth, I am convinced that they will find it.  That they will find Him.

I’m Busy

“No, I can’t.  I’m too busy.”

I’m a bit surprised to hear these words uttered by my three year old nephew.  I don’t think he really knows what those words mean.  I asked if he had given a hug to his grandma and he said he was too busy, as he tiredly walked away from me. He has heard this phrase but he doesn’t understand how to properly apply it.  My brain thinks briefly of The Princess Bride and the misuse of the word “inconceivable.”

Then I think about my conversations with my relatives and I realize that I am very quick to fall back on, “Life is busy.”  It is a nice conversation filler but it doesn’t really tell one anything.  Which is partially the point–life is filled with many things but I don’t want to fully articulate them right now.  Life is either busy or nothing is going on.

Somewhere along the line I began to think of busy as success or as the necessary answer for how my life is going.  Because I can’t say I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.  I can’t admit in casual conversations that I’m at times frustrated with the Lord and myself.  Or that I want to sit in my classroom and cry some days while other days fill me with over-the-moon excitement and joy.

“I’m busy.”

Oh the contradiction!  Here we are at the “busy” part of the year that revolves in essence around a quiet manger scene. The God of the Universe enters into our chaos, confusion, and hurt and the world for a moment seems to be still.  We are enraptured by the glint in the newborn’s eye, in the soft giggle, in the squirm of chubby arms and legs.

I need to come up with a better response than, “I’m busy.”  I’m present.  I have time for you.

Melting My Heart

Those lovely sophomores are at it again, chipping away at the ice around my heart and melting me into a pool of gushing affection for them.  Today was student led prayer.  Do you know what they requested?  I’m not quite certain it is really a prayer, but they tried really hard to make it into one and I gave into their supplication.  Their prayer was being thankful for all of the memories made in this class and then they tried to list their favorites.

If they would have been more serious and not the fun-loving, chatty sophomores that they are, I might have been reduced to tears.  As it was, there was just enough sincerity mingled with humor to keep a smirk on my face and feel my heart ache while not letting my tears flow.  The memories they came up with focused on none of the lessons I taught or really on me in general.  Yet the student appointed leader finished the “prayer” off with thanking his classmates for being in his class and being thankful for me.  My heart nearly burst.

I followed this sentimentality up with, “That was nice—but you still have to take your quiz today!”  I love them and I never want them to leave.  A while ago some of the students joked about failing this class so they would have to take it again next year.  Now I’m thinking, would it be alright if I found a way to fail all of them?

Good for my Heart

My beloved 7th period class is good for my heart.  I was recently talking about them, and I felt my heart overflowing with a sense of gratitude.  Despite my fondness for them, I will never claim that they are perfect.  They are beautiful and they bring out my best side, which probably contributes to the warm reception I receive from them.

I have never had such a clear favorite.  This is one of the first things I will tell people before I gush about my class.  While I am far more comfortable with my classes then in years past, this is the one class where I can let my guard down.  I never feel like I’m defending myself or persuading them of something or fighting them to accept a truth.  We laugh together, have inside jokes, and learn together.  I’m not their best friend, but I am definitely one of their favorite teachers.

There is a freedom that comes with being loved.  I can give them more of who I am really am.  Each day, 7th period, I feel like I teach the best.  Sometimes we get off topic, there is chaos, too much energy–but always there is a familial atmosphere that fills the room.  I don’t myself subtly battling the class in defense of the one kid that says things people roll their eyes at or repeatedly asks questions already answered.  When I was sick this week, one girl said she missed me.  Although I’m not extremely close with each student, I feel an understanding with most of them and, if nothing else, the class as a whole.

I am not the only one to appreciate my blessings.  One of the freshman teachers made a remark to me about my beloved class.  Typically nobody else sees the class as a whole but all of the classes each period met in auditorium for preparation for confession this week.  I have never sang the praises of this class to this teacher, so I was overjoyed to hear him applaud my class.  He said it was though each good student was hand-selected for my 7th period class.  As he was saying this, I realized they were.  The good Lord knew that I would need this oasis, this haven from the storm during my school day.  I look forward to them and love the time we spend together.  Professionally, I need to remain fair toward my classes, but I often feel a desire to spoil them, to give in to all of their requests.  Today that teacher stopped by when they were coming into my classroom and declared that heaven came early today.  We smiled and he told them it was an inside joke.

This class is the only reason I am not running forward with utter joy to Christmas break.  Next semester I will have most of these students again, but they will be shuffled around and students from my other class will be mixed in.  I am hopeful that next semester will be wonderful as well, but I know that the beauty of this class will soon end, never to be achieved again.  Life will move on and they will simply be the cherished favorite class of the past, the ones I subconsciously measure each future class against, sighing when they inevitably fall short.

For now, they are my precious gift.  They are blessing to me from the Lord.  Yet it is only the difficulty of my first two years that makes me so deeply relish this class.  If I had them my first year, I would have expected all classes to be like this.  Now I know, battle-weary veteran that I am.  This, is not the norm.  This is, most assuredly, a gift from the Lord, hand-selected for the good of my heart.  Another beautiful display of the Lord knowing what I needed before I even thought to ask for it.

Your sins aren’t that special

“Your sins aren’t that special.”

The girls giggle, perhaps a little shocked by what I said, simply because it came as a surprise.  They were concerned about going to Confession to a priest they knew.

“He’ll know my voice….”
“He’ll hear my sins and judge me.  Later, when he sees me, he’ll judge me more.”  She smiles and I know she is joking.  Partially.

“No, he won’t.  He isn’t going to remember your sins.  Your sins aren’t that special.”  I pause for a moment as they giggle.  “You’re special, but your sins aren’t.”

I myself was struck by that phrase, in a way.  How often I live my life as though my sins are special, as though they are my determining factor.  After thousands of years of beautiful, broken humanity, I doubt there is a way one could sin “originally” anymore.  Sin isn’t unique, novel, or groundbreaking.

Do you know what is special and unique?  Virtue.  It has a depth, breadth, and richness that cannot be matched by any vice, no matter how shocking or seemingly gratifying it may be.  We think our sins set us apart, for better or worse, and make us into the individuals we are.  We find our flaws to be infinitely more memorable than our strengths or triumphs.  

We are wrong.  It is our virtue and our quest for virtue that truly distinguishes us.  Look at the vast array of saints in the Catholic Church.  The ways they reflect God are manifold but each is different, highlighting a different attribute of the ineffable God.  We see in them incarnational realities of God’s love, mercy, forgiveness, patience, and more.  They are unique because of their holiness and their particular way of manifesting it.

Your sins aren’t special.  Quit acting like they are and return to your Father.

The Trinity is Laboring in Love

There is something strangely beautiful about crouching on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night as your stomach seeks to, yet again, empty itself into the waiting bucket.  With heaving sides and uncontrollable gagging, the words that came to mind at this moment weren’t exactly what I expected.  I had just started a Marian consecration the night before and in the bathroom I thought of one of the suggested resolutions for the day: Consider how all the persons of the Trinity are laboring to give you love.

A few hours later, bent over that bucket again, the words come back to me: the Trinity is laboring in love for me.  Perhaps the oddest thing about this whole situation was that those words didn’t seem that odd, even remembered at the painful moment.

It is a blessing for me to experience trials and find myself praying in the midst of them.  Not because it makes me feel super holy, but rather it reassures me that these things I pray are becoming ingrained deeper in me.  They aren’t words that I just mouth but words that are tangible, that are lived realities.

Later in the early hours of the morning, I was reminded to pray for those suffering and I offered my pain up for them.  The next day, I spent most of it sleeping or trying to start drinking different types of liquids, despite my innate desire to refuse anything that could lead, once again, to the pains of that morning.

I didn’t handle this whole illness like a saint, lest you begin to think that is the purpose of this story.  There were definitely moments I was complaining about my aches and wanted to be pampered even if it wasn’t wholly necessary.  It was a comfort, though, to see my faith being tested (slightly–I know the stories of true testing in concentration camps and Roman amphitheaters–this was a minor testing) and it enduring.

May you also realize that the Trinity is laboring in love for you—even when all seems bleak and pain surrounds you.

Are we your favorite?

“Are we your favorite class?”

I wonder if they are just guessing.  Do they ask every teacher this?  Am I that transparent?  They don’t know how I am with my other classes, so I am not quite certain how they could guess this.

“Do you have the most fun with our class?”

I don’t want to lie to them.  But I cannot tell them the truth.  I cannot say, “Yes.  You are my favorite class.  You are often the highlight of my day.  I look forward to this class and don’t stress out at all about this class.  I love the students.  You are my favorite.”  I cannot say this.  Because even if I would swear them to secrecy, it would come out.  At some point, one of them would open one of their lovely, excited mouths and spill the secret.  How would I recover from that?  While I may be permitted to have favorites, they are to be secret favorites.  Ones that are never actually discovered until twenty years later when you run into your students at the grocery store and you see them juggling kids.  Then you can say it as much as you want.  Then it is acceptable.  As much as I may want to tell them now, I cannot.

Instead, I say, “Are you guys done with your assignment?”

“She is completely avoiding our question!  Don’t lie–are we your favorite?”

“I’m not going to lie.  You have five minutes left to complete your reading.”

They mustn’t know.  But how can I help it if they think they are my favorite?  It is hard to argue with the truth.

Beholding Your Beauty

 

“The acute experience of great beauty readily evokes a nameless yearning for something more than earth can offer.  Elegant splendor reawakens our spirit’s aching need for the infinite, a hunger for more than matter can provide.”                                                          -Fr. Thomas Dubay

An acute experience of great beauty.  Sometimes beauty pierces the heart and the soul.  It catches your breath.  It very nearly makes you weep.  It is a heart-rending experience of something that makes you long for far more, yet causes tremendous gratitude that you were able to experience that small glimpse.

Photo cred for this one goes to my little sister

It can be something seemingly insignificant.  The most recent things that have caused my heart to swoon have been trees.  Last Friday, I was driving to Mass and passed a tree bellowing the glory of God.  It was the perfect shade of golden-red and I felt tears come to my eyes as I gazed at it.  It was a moment of intimate union in my car as I moved passed the tree.  It happened again last night at my parents’ house.  The tree was filled with beauty and sunshine and the brilliant contrast of golden leaves with scarlet was arresting.  Even with my arms laden with papers, I still took a few minutes to gawk at the loveliness of creation.

Yesterday, the priest at Mass focused on beauty and how it can pull us in to something beyond what we can see.  I was in love with his descriptions of different moments of beauty.  Part of me wondered if this is a common experience, the transformative power of beauty that causes one to stop and stare with unabashed brazen wonder.

It happened to me in Switzerland, a land I became firmly convinced that could never be home to atheists.  I wondered how they could look at their mountains and lakes and not see God.  Yet we can all be in beautiful situations and places and simply pass them by, not concerned with the truly monumental aspects.

Take a few moments to soak in the beauty of fall, the beauty of this world.  Gaze at a lovely painting, listen to a classical work, drive through the autumnal countryside–draw up into your soul all of the beauty that surrounds you and let yourself be drawn up into it as well.

My Cute Sophomores

My little sophomores are so cute.  Don’t tell them I said that, though.  To them, at 15-16 years old, cute isn’t a compliment.  But I mean it as a sincere compliment.

A few examples to illustrate my point.  Today we had a test in Scripture.  They came in and wanted to write “Knowledge Celebration” on the board with balloons.  They proceeded to gather around the board and do that–one person delegated to write “knowledge” and the other “celebration.”  Someone else wrote off to the side “Celebratory woop!!”

After prayer, a couple students begged to tell a story of their adventure last class period.  I gave them three minutes.  One of them rapidly told the story, including much animation, humor, and excitement.  The other outlined the story on the board with rudimentary symbols and signs.  In the end, the class politely applauded the adventure that had occurred.

Yesterday I wore glasses to school for the first time.  This sophomore class was the only one to mention anything about them, although I am sure most of the other students noticed.
Student 1: “Have you ever worn glasses to this class before?”
Me: “No.”
Student 2: “You look like a whole new woman!”
Student 3: “You look very scholarly.”
(Murmurs of assent.)

The other day one of my students gave me a back-handed compliment.  He meant it in the best way but it isn’t exactly in the way a teacher desires to hear it.  (But as compliments are hard to come by in this profession, you take what you can get.)
“It feels like we never do anything in this class and yet I feel like I am learning a lot.”
“Thanks,”
“No, I mean–I enjoy this class so much it never feels like work.”
That’s better.

They are at an interesting point in their lives.  They are in the midst of high school life.  Growing up, they are determining who they will be for the rest of their lives.  Yet there is an innocence that is found within them.  Particularly this class.  They have troubles and stresses but they are genuinely good kids.  And I love them all the more for it.  They are definitely not perfect, but they are sophomores and they give me hope in a seemingly hopeless world.

I wonder what the Lord has planned with their beautiful, fragile, so-much-potential lives.  And I am thankful to be a part of it, if only for a while.