Catholic schools: why one family sacrifices for it

This NY Times article discusses various factors affecting the closures of Catholic schools and provides a profile of a family for whom one school closure is devastating.

Waxing Brilliant

I would like the angels of Heaven to be among us. I would like an abundance of peace. I would like full vessels of charity. I would like rich treasures of mercy. I would like cheerfulness to preside over all.
– St. Brigid of Ireland

When I went to Catholic elementary school, I was taught by nuns from Ireland. Most had a thick brogue, watered down a bit from living in the States. And they told us how different life for them was in Ireland. The nuns experienced culture shock living in an American suburb and seeing how their students' lives differed so much from their own childhoods. Once in a while, one of the nuns would ask us questions such as "Do you really watch TV while you do your homework? How do you expect to concentrate?" and then add sternly "Turn that box off! It won't get you into college." Yes, we were all going to college, girls included.

Because, you see, each student was precious to the nuns. Each one of us had potential. They believed in us. And whenever we managed to write our best, figure out the thorny math problem or give a good speech, the nuns had us thinking we were waxing brilliant.

"See? You are smarter than you believe," the nuns would say quietly. There was no handing out of saints medals or scapulars, no award that was tangible, but the accolades bestowed upon the prized student of the day was far more of a treasure than that. They gave us the gift of confidence in our ability to learn, a lifelong prize.

Of course a classroom of geniuses just doesn't happen so I can't ascribe all of this to the talents of their students. What I do ascribe it to are the words of St. Brigid above, that I heard often during my childhood and saw online this morning. Teaching that includes charity, mercy, peace and cheerfulness can only serve to enhance and build up, not tear down, a student's confidence. How often when I hear parents of children with disabilities tell me of some of their children's struggles that I wish I could bring back one of my teachers! And how I wish that children all over the world, even in the poorest places where they struggle to eat, could receive the gift of education. [ A Jesuit talks about his time in Kenya. (For a video at Monastic Musings, click here.)]


{Food for the Poor Inc. is a Christian organization that is rated here.]

The reluctant safety guard

I was educated in Catholic schools until I went to high school. There were many nuns at our school who came from Ireland and spoke with a brogue, including our English teacher, Sr. Margaret, who made us diagram sentence after sentence. I began to carry a ruler with me because I was unable to draw a straight line, much less all the lines off to the bottom, right, left and upwards for those adverbs, adjectives, etc. But I learned grammar.

There was Sr. Ellen, our math teacher, who gave up her afternoons to teach Calculus to those of us who wanted to learn. When I got to Rutgers and took Calculus, I already knew the material, thanks to her.

But it was our principal, Sr. Katherine, a quiet, reserved woman who spoke softly, who ruled with an iron - well- what I remember was her crucifix. In the lunch room when we were rowdy, she'd come up from behind and suddenly her crucifix would be over  a plate of spaghetti as she gently leaned over and said "Quiet down, children. Eat your food" to which we'd reply "Yes, Sister." Or her crucifix would appear at the doorway of a classroom when a teacher was late, the sun glinting off it as she said "This would be a good time for someone to lead a prayer, wouldn't it? " She was forever exhorting us to slow down, reflect, and pray about our choices.

I was called into her office after a "fight" on the playground. What happened was I was trying to defend a student who had cognitive limitations from being teased - and things got out of hand when I physically stepped between the girl and others. I was outnumbered and received the worst of it. I was only 12 and had no ideas about social justice at the time. All I knew was no one was going to pick on her on my watch.

Sr. Katherine asked me to sit down, then walked over to me and stood there. Her crucifix dangled in my face and I stared at Jesus. And I said "I'd do it again, Sister. I didn't do anything wrong." Then I sat there, wondering why I had to say that. I think Jesus rolled his eyes at me.

I thought she was going to suspend me. Many principals would have in those days, particularly after I talked to them that way.

I was immensely relieved when, in her quiet voice, she just said " I have something for you." Until I saw what she handed me. She  brought out a safety badge and belt, the ones that were worn by the kids who were on the safety guard and monitored the playground. Sr. Katherine laid it on my lap. "I'm giving you a job. This makes it official now. If you see someone being teased, report them and I'll take care of it."

I stared at the safety badge, then up at her. "Sister, I don't want to be a safety guard," I said. Safety guards had to be at school early and stay late. They gave up their lunch hours and recesses, all times when I could hunker down with a book. Those were my "reading times".

But Sr. Katherine stared out her window and didn't answer me. I knew from the set of her shoulders that this was not a volunteer position. So I got up and left her office.

I can't say I ever relished being a safety guard. I never got out of bed an hour early and thanked Sr. Katherine for her decision, nor did I like having to monitor my fellow students day after day.

I did, however, learn a few things - about restraint. About the right way to handle things. About how little kids look up to people in authority, and how authority can be used in a benevolent way. But, mostly, it taught me that mistakes are best handled as a learning experience, rather than through censure.

And I think this would be a better world if there were more Sr. Katherines in charge.

[visual description: A female student safety guard is shown. She is wearing an orange vest and holding a sign that reads 'Please pull forward and stay in line'.]

You be Samson, I'll be the lion....

Walmart is going to carry a line of faith-enriching toys, including the action figures genre and talking dolls depicting biblical figures and stories.

"The toys are based on biblical stories. For example, there's a set of 3-inch figures based on Daniel in the lion's den for about $7. A 12-inch talking Jesus doll is about $15. And 14-inch Samson or Goliath action figures are about $20.

The toys target kids from pre-school to age 12, he says, and also are sold online at one2believe.com."

via USA Today

"

Artist with ALS helps students create mosaic of Blessed Damien

In Honolulu, 6th, 7th and 8th graders at Holy Trinity School are working in collaboration with Peggy Chun, a local artist paralyzed by ALS and learning about art and life.


Via Catholic News Service

Sister, I never did pass gym.....

I've always been a dreamer. When I was a kid, the nuns who taught me encouraged me to use my imagination and write.

So when I got to public high school, I was surprised to find that using my imagination landed me into big trouble within the first month after I wrote a piece for the high school newspaper making fun of gym class.

There was a big hullabaloo about the whole thing. The editor, a senior, protected me, a freshman. It was like a Deep Throat incident. Newspaper staff were leaving each other notes in the girls' restroom as to what they told the administration about the author of the controversial piece. The minute I found out about it, I marched into the office and announced I was the one who wrote the article, which ended the whole thing. I didn't even get detention, just a stern warning not to make fun of anything at the high school ever again.

Right.

As you can see from looking over my blog, I took that advice to heart - not. I think I was too far gone in my outspoken ways by the time the nuns were done with me to ever recede back into the shadows and keep my mouth shut. I was not only a dreamer by the time I finished eighth grade - but an outspoken, articulate one.

To be blunt, I left high school prematurely, obtained a GED and went on to college early mostly because I felt as if I was dying intellectually. The high school I attended had textbooks that were 20 years old, teachers with low expectations and an administration that thrived on keeping the status quo. I never looked back or regretted leaving and moving on.

Of course, they refused to issue me a diploma although I'd completed enough credits in the few years I went there and was ranked first in my class. The reason?

I didn't have enough credits in gym class.