The September Catholic By Grace Article

Back to School

My husband was pushing forty when he entered the Church. His uncle made the same faith journey a few years earlier, when he was nearly seventy. Both the uncle and the nephew had Catholic wives, but that wasn’t the reason they converted. If that had been their reason, they would have done it much sooner. The real fact of the matter is that both uncle and nephew entered the Church because they had teachable hearts, which eventually gave grace an open door.


Both men are intelligent and highly educated. Without exaggeration, they are the brightest men I know. When I asked my husband why he finally decided to become Catholic, this is what he said:


I realized that I was thinking about it all wrong. There I was, studying for my doctorate, going to class, and listening to professors, and I trusted that these men and women were able to teach me what I need to know. I put faith in the university’s ability to confer degrees on those who attend their institution. It never crossed my mind to ask myself if the instructors were qualified and whether or not I should believe they have the credentials to teach. My job was to show up for class and to be teachable.


Then my husband summarized his epiphany by saying, The Catholic Church is over 2000 years old. The men and women who passed on the faith have been at this faith-thing a long time. The least I can do is trust that they are qualified to hand on the faith to me. I simply needed to show up and be teachable.


The uncle is a man of few words. When asked why he finally became Catholic, he just said, Don’t you think it’s about time?


That kind of midlife (or end-of-life) change in direction requires humility. There’s no room for self-satisfaction. There’s no room for complacency. One must reclaim that childlike hunger for learning. But the challenge isn’t just for those outside the faith. Even the faithful within the Church sometimes lose the joy of learning. All too often, Catholics stop studying their faith once they are confirmed. I’ve heard some non-practicing Catholics say they just stopped going to Mass as a family after the youngest child received First Communion or went through Confirmation.


That is a tragedy. Shortly after being sealed with the Holy Spirit, they put their books on a shelf and let their faith atrophy. The parents proclaimed mission accomplished and the children said that’s cool.


Maybe you have kept the faith better than that. Maybe that doesn’t accurately describe your situation. Great. Even so, there is almost always room for growth.


When was the last time you came to Mass and entered into the Liturgy with deep longing? When was the last time you showed up at Holy Hour and quietly listened for Our Lord’s voice, confident that He was glad to see you and wanted to commune with you? When did you last pause for quiet time, pick up a spiritual book, read the life of a Saint, or join a Bible study? When was the last time you did any of those things with the words on your lips, “Today, I want to learn more. I will be teachable. I will become like a little child.”


You are never too old to become a student of the faith.

The September Catholic By Grace Article

+JMJ

A couple of years ago, a local parish school was in a tight spot. Their 7th and 8th grade language arts teacher had a broken foot and an injured back. “Would you consider subbing for about four, maybe five weeks,” the principal asked. I agreed to help out temporarily, but when health issues prohibited the teacher from returning, the principal said the position was mine if I wanted it.

Just weeks earlier, I had decided I liked being a stay-at-home mom and occasional freelance writer. Indeed, I was quite happy with my little life. A contemplative by nature, I spent my days reading and writing and well, contemplating. I did not want to return to the classroom after eight years’ hiatus from teaching, and I certainly didn’t want to take on middle school students in a K-8 setting (my previous experience was in secondary and tertiary instruction).

But by the time I realized the classroom teacher wasn’t coming back, I had become attached to the students. Somewhere along the way, they had become my students. I cared too much to subject them to another transition. So, I signed contract and finished the year at Immaculate Conception School.

Almost immediately, I noticed that many of the students routinely jotted the initials JMJ at the tops of their papers. I had read Story of a Soul. Although a new convert, I knew that St. Therese had written JMJ on every page of her diary as a physical reminder that she dedicated every page of her life to the Holy Family.

I thought it was awesome that my students were doing this small thing for God, too. Dedicate every little thing to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Yes, even a page of notes on characterization and story maps could and should be given back as an offering of love.

What I found really offensive, though, was the occasional incident in which a student cheated, and my eyes always went to the JMJ at the top of the student’s page. The cheating seemed to stink like rotten meat when it was done on a page dedicated to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What does JMJ mean to them anyway? Does it really make a difference in how they live their lives? Is the dedicatory heading so routine that it has become a mechanical scrawl at the top of the page, along with their name, the date, and the class title? Shouldn’t it affect how they live their lives? At the very least, shouldn’t it deter them from cheating on the very page that boasts the Holy Family’s initials?

Sometimes, I would talk to my students and ask them these questions. I never singled out the offender du Jour. I suspected they all could benefit from a moment of self-reflection. So, I occasionally brought it up for general reflection and made a few comments about the importance of matching our words (both written and spoken) with our actions.

What about me? As the year came to a close, I realized that I had offended Our Lord more than any one of those students who carelessly jotted JMJ at the top of the page and moments later let their eyes roam to a neighbor’s paper or slipped a cheat-sheet from their desks. I had told myself that this year was for them. I was here for them. I loved them so much that I wanted to stay with them for the year and save them from another transition. In truth, I routinely went home and complained to my husband about how much our lives had changed by my going back into teaching. I told God He could have this year, but next year - well, next year would be different. No more mornings that began at five. No more falling into bed by nine in the evening. No more stacks of essays. No more cheating students. I wanted my life back.

JMJ.

With only a handful of weeks left in the school year, I paused for reflection - and I reflected on my life’s page. JMJ was clearly scrawled across the top of my life, but I was not living out my promise to the Holy Family. My life was not completely dedicated to God. I realized with great shame that my life was dedicated to me.

Give me the grace, Blessed Mother, to live my life for your Son and not for myself. JMJ - every minute of every day.

No kidding. No compromises. No self-deception.

It is so like God to use children to teach us an important spiritual lesson. Strange, isn’t it? And for seven months, I thought I was there to teach them.

+JMJ