He is
only in 7th grade, but he has witnessed the effects of original sin.
In my first weeks as his teacher, I heard his story while eating lunch with
other staff members.
Five
years ago, Justin’s mother was driving home after attending a fundraiser
event sponsored by another teacher. She had two of their three sons in
the car. Two-year-old baby Carson and four-year-old Sam. Justin wasn’t in the
car.
The
accident took the life of Justin’s littlest brother, it caused significant
brain damage to his mother, and it left a long scar on the right side of Sam’s
face.
Every
time there is a field trip and parents are asked to chaperone, Justin looks up
and says, I can go, but – well, dad’s busy.
His
father is busy. He’s busy raising two boys and caring for his wife. Amy
struggles to speak, she cannot walk, and she labors to complete simple daily
tasks.
Justin
asks questions every now and then. They are the kind of questions any student
might ask in a religion class. But behind the questions, there is a sincerity
borne of experience; there remains a desire for answers and a willingness to
receive them.
“Mrs.
Bossert, what happens to us after we die? I mean – you know…” and then he
groans loudly and runs the palm of his hand up his face and over the short hair
on the top of his head.”
“Are you
wondering what happens to the body or to the soul?” I ask.
He
gathers himself together and tries again. “Well – I mean – there’s just nothing
there. I’ve been to funerals and the person just lays there. It doesn’t do
anything.” His gestures are big and the whole class is quiet.
I nod my
head and pray for the necessary grace to respond well. I listen to my own words
and critique them as they come out. Are they enough? Will the words falling off
my tongue help him to heal a little more? Do I see peace and understanding
registering on that perfect face?
When we
come to the part in his religion book that talks about original sin, he asks
more questions. Other students are learning a lesson on original sin and
gathering information that they can put down on the next test. Justin is
learning something more.
He is
making sense of the senselessness in his life.
This is
not God’s plan. He did not want us to know the very thing the serpent wanted us
to know. He did not want us to understand good only when we contrast it against
the terrors or tragedies or temptations of a world marred by original sin.
God
wanted us to be in perfect relationship with Him and with one another.
The Fall
placed the entire human race under the scourge of original sin. And God
grieved.
God is
the redeemer and healer. He restores what was lost through Adam’s sin.
Justin
gets it. I can see that he does – because he nods his head as I speak. The
others are listening and learning. Justin is healing.
Another
teacher at the school teaches reading to Justin’s class. She asked the students
to write one thing they would change about the world if they could.
Justin
wrote that he wished there were no such things as car accidents.
I don’t understand
why a two-year-old brother was killed. Why he would never enjoy a game of
kickball like his brothers, Justin and Sam. Why he would never carry the
football into the end zone on St. Francis Borgia’s field like Justin does every
fall. Why he would never be able to bring birthday treats for the class like
the other students who are in the grade Carson would have been in.
I don’t
understand why Sam will always have a scar. Why he has to look at it every time
he looks at a mirror. Why he has to be the youngest boy in the family when he
was really the middle child.
I walk
Sam and Justin across the road every day after school, and I watch as they race
each other down the long lane that leads to their grandmother’s house. And I
think of the little brother who will never run with them on this side
of eternity. I think of Carson and know if I turn 90°, I will see the cemetery
where that boy’s body rests.
This kind
of tragedy was not God’s plan. But I have seen a family’s strength. A father
who works hard to do-it-all. A grandmother who bakes “the best food in the
world,” according to Justin. A mother who suffers well and still takes delight
in her sons. A community that joined together to fund and build a
handicapped-access home in the months that followed that accident. A school
where teachers intensely love the two brothers that remain.
Original
sin has dealt this world a terrible blow. We know how “good” good can be
because we have seen how “evil” evil can be. God was right about the Tree of
the Knowledge of Good and Evil. We were not made to eat of that poisonous
fruit.
But the
Tree of Life brings us the fruit that is the antidote.
What
happens to a little brother who knew the Sacramental life even though he didn’t
live long enough to learn his ABC’s? What happens to a toddler who has been
washed of the stain of original sin and didn’t live long enough to have
personal sin of his own?
That’s
the good news, Justin. While his body rests in the cemetery beyond the schoolyard,
he intercedes for you every minute of every day at the Throne of God! For you.
For Mom. For Dad. For Sam. For us all.
The Tree
of Life has the final Word. And Justin nods his head knowingly.
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