Teaching Ignatian Prayer through Chess

As our youth continue to plunge deeper into the tech ridden postmodern age and its information overhaul, self-centeredness, and omnipresent noise, silence and contemplative prayer will be drowned out unless creative means are put into action.

by Russell Fiorella

The point of chess is to checkmate, or to force the opposing king into a position where it is unable to occupy an unthreatened space. It may sound simple, but within a few opening moves, the amount of possible combinations swells exponentially to near infinity. While each player controls her or his movements, they can only forecast how the opposing army shifts, parries, advances, making the game uncannily similar to the dynamics of life. Benjamin Franklin, an ardent chess player himself, expressed something similar in his “Morals of Chess:”

The Game of Chess is not merely an idle amusement; several very valuable qualities of the mind, useful in the course of human life, are to be acquired and strengthened by it, so as to become habits ready on all occasions; for life is a kind of Chess, in which we have often points to gain, and competitors or adversaries to contend with, and in which there is a vast variety of good and ill events, that are, in some degree, the effect of prudence, or the want of it.

Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Society of Jesus, cherished active prayer through meditation and contemplation in his Spiritual Exercises. Prayerful meditation is filtered primarily through the mind, inviting participants to linger over meaningful relationships, ideas, symbols, and words. Contemplative prayer on the other hand is about harnessing the imagination in order to induce the heart to discover authentic emotions and desires.

Every high schooler in America is subject to the frenetic pace and braying of contemporary life. Introducing teenagers to prayer in our postmodern context requires creatively reaching them where they are in their daily lives. Entering into a good game of chess usually means finding a quiet setting and over time my classroom gradually became favorable for chess playing mixed with spirituality. Again, I turn to Ben Franklin and his list of skills chess imparts on its players: foresight, introspection, and caution.

Foresight and circumspection require a great degree of imagination. Learning from prior mistakes, recognizing familiar situations, and projecting what moves might come in the later stages of the game are intimately woven into a formidable chess player’s decision making. The same is true of one’s imagined prayer space. The third skill listed, caution, is also invaluable to chess players and likewise develops over the course of one’s spiritual journey. Perhaps what is most striking is Benjamin Franklin’s attention to the relationships between pieces and how they impact each other. God is revealed in others. Searching the heart’s inner chambers calls for strong companions. Thus it is through contemplating and meditating on our relationships with others that enlivens the spirit of God within us.

I remember with a smile first introducing chess and prayer to my freshmen as part of their unit on Ignatian Spirituality. Our task was to learn about the principles and charisms that ground Ignatian spirituality like discernment, consolation and desolation, detachment, Finding God in All Things, For the Greater Glory of God and cura personalis. After excitedly setting up their boards, my boys readied themselves, assuming a pensive, prayerful state. Then, quietly, they executed their opening moves. Five minute long segments of playing alternated with journaling sessions responding to reflection questions pertaining to Ignatian spiritual lingo. An example in the opening stages of the exercise are the questions I posed to students to introduce detachment:

“Detachment” means exactly as it sounds-letting go of fears that keep you from fighting like a lion, having fun, being happy, finding God.
Imagine you are an actual general commanding your army of knights, bishops and pawns. What fears do you bring with you to this battle? There are many examples of Jesus in the Gospel confronting his fears, like in the garden of Gethsemane when the Roman soldiers were hunting him. Like us, Jesus experienced tremendous fear when confronting death. Imagine he is near you as you write about what personal fears or “dragons” you face in your life.

With eyes closed the boys listened, paused for a few moments to behold the questions, and then responded in their digital journal. The melding of activity and imagination in a contemplative setting seems ideal for young adults. And these questions along with others in the opening movements of chess and prayer are pertinent to the formation of an adolescent’s unique character.

Over the next few days the focus of our prayer shifted from the personal to the relational. Cura personalis, Latin for “Care for the Whole Person” was another principle contemplated over:

There are many dimensions to you. Imagine now that each of your pieces represents a certain part of who you are. Consider each question carefully before writing. 

Pawns (Soldiers) Who are some of your closest friends, supporters? Describe your feelings towards them? 

Queen (Leadership) Who in your life serves as a role model or leader? Why? 

Castles (Strongholds) What are you most passionate about? What activities or people bring you the most joy?  

Knights (Cavalry) What do you savour doing physically day to day? Do you play a sport? Walk or run?  

Bishops (Faith) Where do you find the presence of God in your life? What is most wonderous or mysterious to you? What are you most curious about?  

King (Your Flag) What values do you hold as most important? Why?

Most of these questions are associated with relationships-role models, friendships, family. Words like “joy,” “passionate,” and “wondrous,” seek to draw out responses predicated on desires and feelings. It’s important to note that writing is an essential component of this process, as it immerses students further into a prayerful state. When we write, we think more actively and intentionally, become more aware of things that normally would go amiss if we did not intend to write about them in the first place. Noticing traces of the sacred is the business here.

As our youth continue to plunge deeper into the tech ridden postmodern age and its information overhaul, self-centeredness, and omnipresent noise, silence and contemplative prayer will be drowned out unless creative means are put into action. I do not think it is difficult to find answers to these pressing questions. Simply look to the ordinary, look to what students enjoy! Purposefully merging Ignatian spirituality with chess is my weapon of choice. And while adapting Ignatian prayer to chess in the classroom has been encouraging, what is more encouraging are my boys’ earnest desires months afterward to play, and pray, over one more game. Checkmate.

-adapted from Russell Fiorella’s essay Knights, Castles, and Ignatian Prayer”  

accessible at https://russellfiorella.wixsite.com/sacraterras/mp-3-projects-exodus

Russ Fiorella teaches Old and New Testament studies at St. Peter’s Preparatory, an all-boys Jesuit high school in Jersey City, New Jersey.

Ora et Labora et Magis: A Response to Skipping Class

It wasn’t just that they wanted to get out of class; our students were earnestly seeking ways to manage the demands placed on them . . .

by Mark Dushel

In a recent issue of The Hawkeye, the student newspaper at St. Joseph’s Prep in Philadelphia, one of our seniors wrote an Op-ed piece calling for leniency for seniors to skip class in the midst of completing college applications. Unsurprisingly, his recommendation was met with great enthusiasm by his classmates. However, what I was surprised by was why his classmates were so receptive to his idea. It wasn’t just that they wanted to get out of class; our students were earnestly seeking ways to manage the demands placed on them and skipping class to work on something else seemed like a reasonable suggestion to them.

The student who wrote the article is certainly correct in saying that the pressure of completing college applications, excelling in their teams and clubs, along with the challenging workload we give our students takes a toll on everyone. As a campus minister at the Prep, I see how this stress affects our students everyday. I also began to think about what we, as a Jesuit School, and I myself, as an Ignatian educator, can offer spiritually in order to help our students grow from these challenges.

For us as a school to help provide students with the tools to respond to these challenges, I felt that it was important for me to offer my own suggestions for how each Prepper, (and in turn, those of us entrusted to care for these students), may approach the demands our responsibilities place on us.

            I first encountered Ignatian Spirituality as a student at Boston College where I met many great Jesuits and Ignatian educators who helped me understand what it means to strive for the Magis: to seek more. However, it took meeting a Benedictine monk for me to conceptualize exactly how I could go about striving for the Magis in my day to day life.

As a graduate student of theology, I had the fortune of getting to know a Benedictine monk named Michael working on his PhD. Michael invited me to visit his monastery in Minnesota to learn about what it means to be a monk. For Benedictines, the core of their spirituality is captured in the phrase ora et labora, prayer and work. Anselm Grun, a Benedictine monk and writer, explains in his book Benedict of Nursia: His Message for Today that “more crucial than a balanced partnership of prayer and work is their internal connection. Work is to help us to pray well, and prayer is to help us to do our work well.”

As I spent time in a Benedictine Abbey, I was amazed at how full each day was. I woke up early, exercised, prayed, worked in the woodshop building furniture, prayed again, studied for an exam, prayed again, cleaned the monastery, prayed again, made candles, prayed again, and watched college football before I went to bed (after night prayer, of course).

It was a lot of prayer and a ton of work. Through each I built friendships, deepened my relationship with God, and stretched myself physically and intellectually. I had the kind of days I hope our students have every day they come to 17th St. and Girard Ave. Most importantly, I learned that surrounding myself with a community built on ora et labora helped me accomplish much more than I can on my own. Grun says that “when we work out of prayer we will still get tired, but we will not be exhausted. It is a good tiredness. We have the feeling of having done something for God and other people.” In short, working out of prayer gives us a clear way to strive for the Magis.

Dealing with our busy schedules and increased responsibilities is not something that goes away. Our students will learn after graduation that as we get older, people will ask more and more from us. Building the skills to deal with them here and now is an important step for our students to become “Men and Women For and With Others.” Building the skills to deal with them requires us to learn to entrust our work to God so that we approach our work generously and lovingly.

I don’t think the answer to our busy lives is to do less. In fact, as the great charisms of both the Jesuits and Benedictines teach us, these busy times may be where God is inviting us to learn how much more we are able to do.

Lord, teach me to be generous,
to serve you as you deserve,
to give and not to count the cost,
to fight and not to heed the wounds,
to toil and not to seek for rest,
to labor and not to look for any reward,
save that of knowing that I do your holy will.
Amen.

Mark Dushel is Campus Minister for Retreats and Liturgy at St. Joseph’s Preparatory School, Philadelphia, PA

My Time with Special Olympics

Community Forged through Differences

by Kevin DeCusatis

Special Olympics has been the most impactful experience for my teaching career. It has defined my pedagogy as one that values community and differences, and, as a result, reaching students where they are at, specifically in regard to their faith journey.

Every year, I most look forward to the weekend where I get to work with the friends that I’ve made through Special Olympics. Since we first met eight years ago, this tradition has endured through the community that we formed as unified partners for Special Olympics. My experience as a coach and unified partner has taught me to emphasize the importance of community and comfort in the classroom. I often will use instructional time in creative, community-building ways to inculcate a strong, cohesive class identity for each of my five sections. Maybe it’s having Taylor Swift Tuesdays, or Fave Band Fridays, or perhaps having discussions about an upcoming dance or concert. What I’ve learned, though, is that carving out time for this fun has a profound effect: it builds community, involvement, engagement, and interest. I learned this from Special Olympics. While we probably could have used a few more minutes to go over plays or new techniques, we would never think to shorten our birthday celebrations or team chant at the end of practice for some more tactical or administrative tasks. Special Olympics taught me that it is sometimes more important to take time to be silly and caring than to stick to a rigid, unyielding schedule. Both my Special Olympics athletes and students have responded to that. 

Another critically important lesson that I learned first-hand from my time with Special Olympics is the value of working with a community different from myself. As an able bodied person, one who runs marathons, climbs stairs with ease, and navigates crowds and public transportation without concern, I had to confront how I approached difference when I worked so closely with and befriended Special Olympic athletes. This challenged me exactly because our differences were so stark. 

The skill of acknowledging difference is clearly demonstrated on the track or cross country course. I’ve been a track and cross country coach at my high school for a few years now. Perhaps the most jarring, and at the same time attractive, aspect of these sports is that there is demonstrably someone better than you at any point in the season, as well as someone who is worse than you. Some of my current athletes are nationally ranked while others can barely manage to end their races without turning blue in the face. This disparity in skill is what I love about running: track and cross country are so quantitative. Because of this, I am able to have very clear discussions with my athletes in order to make realistic goals and strategies. I don’t think I would feel so comfortable with difference had I not been a unified partner in Special Olympics. As a unified partner, I would play soccer with my athletes as well as coach them. That meant I was feeding them the ball, charging down the field with them, celebrating our victories, and mourning our losses. Among the athletes, there is a wide gap in ability level, however, we always followed the mantra “play to their level;” we needed to push them, to make them work for the goal or the ball. I yelled, “You better hustle if you want the ball,” more times than I can remember during our matches. Adriana may be a stellar goalie, but Maggie can’t run very fast; Andrew may be eager for the ball, but wouldn’t know what to do with it once he got it, while Kevin would know exactly what to do with the ball but did nothing to get it.  This disparity in ability is also seen in the classroom: I have students that can write a very sound argument while in the seat next to her is a student who can’t make an inference based on a church document we just read in class. What I learned from my athletes is that I need to respond lovingly while having standards. My Special Olympics athletes didn’t want a free pass; they wanted to compete. They were hungry for more, and they taught me how to strike a balance of love and discipline. They forced me to learn how to forge community through lifting up and honoring our differences, all by living up to the athlete oath: “let me win, but if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”

Portrait of Kevin DeCusatis
Kevin DeCusatis teaches 7th grade and sophomore religion outside of Philadelphia.

Photo of basketball game courtesy of Special Olympics Hawaii under CC by 2.0

The Growing Season

Gardening mirrors educating in that both are labors of love.

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Kevin DeCusatis

The month of August is coming to an end, I’ve begun writing numerous lists of what needs to be done before the school year begins next week. As my third year of teaching approaches, there is one particularly daunting task that awaits me: moving my many plants back into their home, my classroom.

I have always felt a connection with plants, and one of my fondest memories of childhood is cutting back the hostas with my mom at the beginning of fall. Anyone that knows me is well acquainted with my love of plants and desire to have as many as can fit in my house and classroom. I consistently post pictures of my garden’s progress on social media, and whenever I get a new houseplant from a Farmers Market, IKEA, or a school event, I take a survey of my classes to see what we should name the plants: Ruth for my golden pothos, Naomi for a hydrangea, Cain & Abel for plants in twin pots.

Plants and gardening are so attractive to me because they give me a sense of immense satisfaction. I can see the progress almost immediately. My seedlings can double in size in a week’s time and their fruit can emerge in a blink of an eye. It’s apparent to me why I gravitate toward gardening so much – it mirrors ministry.

In order for both students and plants to thrive, I need to give them my attention and provide an environment conducive to growth. Integral to this is having a healthy and realistic set of expectations; if I don’t, they’ll eventually spoil. As an educator, I have very high expectations of the quality of work my students will provide me; however, it would be unrealistic to expect this at the beginning of the year. I first need to give them all the tools to succeed, and then I can expect that they will work to their potential. The same happens when I have a plant that has outgrown its pot and I have to use a bigger, wider pot. While it looks so overwhelmed by the new soil and pot, it eventually settles in and begins to grow – robustly and quickly. It is a learned skill to know when to push to the next level: are my students ready for the next level of inquiry? will my plant acclimate to its new home? Along the way, I need to take stock to see what they need – does my plant need extra water this week due to excessive heat? Does my student need extra support crafting an argument for a paper because she is struggling with a new concept?

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Gardening also mirrors educating in that both are labors of love. In my classroom, I spend much time checking in with my students about their lives; students have often commented that my classroom has a good “vibe.” Many even cite things that happen in my class as their favorite moments of their year: our ritual of singing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” before every class during Advent; our thank you card writing exercise during Thanksgiving; opening class with a song or video clip of their choice.  The raison d’etre for these activities is for me to get to know my students better and create an atmosphere in which they feel comfortable leaning into who they really are and who they want to become. I approach gardening in a similar way. I “listen” to my plants: if their leaves look droopy, I add water; if they look cramped, I try to a new pot; if they haven’t grown, I try different levels of sun. In order for me to be so skilled at this, I need to take the time to know my plants; this is not automatic knowledge.

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Both students and plants are living and organic. They need to be nurtured to grow; they’re complex with varying needs. I approach my classroom and garden with the same amount of care and attention, knowing that they are both on a path of growth where hopefully they will eventually flower and bring forth their gifts.  I take delight in accompanying them both on their journeys.

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Kevin DeCusatis teaches 7th grade and sophomore religion outside of Philadelphia.

Bullying

Bullying is a topic that has been weighing heavily on my heart.

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by Erin DaCosta

Bullying is a topic that has been weighing heavily on my heart.  The thought of one of my students being hurt, either physically or emotionally, is heartbreaking.  I want my students to feel safe each and every day.

What happens if you know bullying is occurring, but you never witness it firsthand?  What happens if you overhear an incident, but no student is willing to discuss what happened?  What happens if the fear of being a “snitch” is so heightened that a student is not willing to disclose what is happening to them?

These are the questions I’ve been struggling with.  Students have come to me this year to discuss issues of bullying they have witnessed in their community.  They are worried about their peers, and they want to help.  Yet they sometimes do not want to share what happened.  Students are willing to say, “It’s bullying,” but they are not willing to share more specific details.  Students have also shared their own experiences of bullying, but often refuse to name other students as the perpetrators, out of fear of being a “snitch” and ultimately becoming more outcast as a result.

Students have come to me in tears, sharing details of their days.  They have written in their journals about incidents of bullying.  I have overheard conversations that seem alarming.  All of these incidents are reported to the Guidance Department, and guidance does their best to resolve these issues, but students are not willing to talk authentically about what is going on their community.  They are fearful, and confused.  And more often than not, the bullied find themselves on the other side of the fence days, weeks, or months later, and they are so relieved to be out of the spotlight that they don’t dare stand up for the bully’s latest victim.

I want to help these students.  I truly do. But more often than not, I feel as if I have failed them.  Educators can offer a listening ear, and pass these issues on to appropriate authorities.  But is this enough?

Every time a student shares an incident of bullying with me, my mind inevitably flashes to Episode 13 of the Netflix series Thirteen Reasons Why.  This series follows high school student, Hannah Baker’s, suicide, and each episode highlights one of thirteen cassette tapes she recorded before taking her life.  Each of the cassettes are addressed to one person who played a role in her death, and in each she explains why their actions (or lack thereof) contributed to her decision to end her own life.

In episode thirteen, we learn that Hannah Baker’s thirteenth tape is for her guidance counselor, Mr. Porter.  Over the course of the episode, Hannah shares that Mr. Porter’s lack of action left her feeling hopeless.  In her eyes, he didn’t do enough.  This episode haunts me.  Am I Mr. Porter to my students?  Do I do enough to help them feel supported and loved, particularly in instances of bullying?

How do we, as educators, show that we care so deeply about students, particularly when they are being bullied?  How do we show them that we are so much more than Mr. Porter?  How do we build a community of trust, where students can name their bullies without fear of retaliation?

Sadly, I have no answers, only the fear that what we’re currently doing is not enough.

Erin DaCosta teaches theology to sophomores, juniors, and seniors at Mount Alvernia High School in Newton, MA.  Previously, she served as a campus minister in a co-ed environment.

Making Our Schools Safe from Gun Violence

A Catholic high school educator reflects on reversing the pattern of gun violence in our schools.

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Lauren E Bjork

I remember very clearly where I was and what I was doing when the first school shooting, that I had ever heard of, took place. It was 1999, and I was in middle school. I found myself horrified by the way that half-way across the country tragedy had found its way to high school students in Columbine, CO. It seemed unimaginable. How could this happen? It was such impossible violence in a place that ‘should’ be safe that it just could not be.

In 2012, in the days that followed the horrific shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, the world mourned the loss of 27 members of the Sandy Hook Elementary community. Fr. James Martin, S.J. wrote an article for America magazine shortly after the Sandy Hook tragedy in which he identified that gun violence in our schools is, ultimately,  a pro-life issue. Our country continues to experience devastating gun violence in schools.  We have come to a place where a response of action is necessary in the wake of such offenses to the value of human life.

While individuals may disagree on how to solve the problem of violence in schools, one thing we can agree on is that children should be able to go to school in a safe environment, free from fear that violence may come knocking on the classroom door. We have become a culture where our children are desensitized to violence and hatred. Our children deserve better. Our children deserve to be able to go to school and not have to worry about active shooters, bomb threats, and lock downs.

So, how do we as Catholic educators respond to this crisis of life and love in our communities?

I’d like to propose some ideas for practical ways in which this issue might be addressed. First, what do we in U.S. schools need to do to promote safety in the classroom? I think our country needs to think about a twofold approach to a solution:

  1. Immediate: We need to keep our children safe at school. We need to prevent children from accessing firearms. We need to overcome our differences of politics and opinion, so that we can truly put the needs of our children’s safety first.
  2. Long term: We need to know our students and communities. We need to build relationship in a real way where students are much more than a name on a roster but rather a beloved child of God. We need to educate our communities and foster love and respect. We need capable, well-trained adults in our schools who can serve the needs of all students.

As part of the “Violence Prevention Initiative” at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, researchers  suggest that a combination of these approaches could lead to the solution, that is limiting access to guns and  developing real and lasting community among students and adults.

Outside of the school setting, there is work to be done as well. I find myself tired of the discussion on gun violence in schools without the thought of practical suggestions. So, what might this look like?

  • Political action: Our students and school community members should feel empowered to speak out. We must encourage and support those who wish to make their voices heard by those in decision making capacities. We have seen young people do this best in the solidarity that was evident in schools across the nation on March 14th, when students honored the 17 people who died in the Parkland, Florida shooting during the National Student Walk Out.
  • Gun Control: Enforcement of firearms laws and, potentially, the incorporation of new laws that serve to keep communities and children safe is key. Upon researching the aspect of the enforcement of current gun laws, it seems that nationally there is significant work to do in upholding laws that already exist.
  • Education: There is a need in our communities for an increase in education about responsible gun ownership and the responsibilities that a person takes on when exercising his or her right to bear arms.

Our Catholic faith ought to propel action, promoting positive change in the world. Those actions often require sacrifice. What does this look like? Perhaps this sacrifice involves increasing firearm legislation and enforcement. Perhaps this sacrifice looks like individuals and communities increasing the finances allocated for additional staff, such as counselors and social workers, to be added so that school communities can grow into places where students are known and are loved. Perhaps great sacrifice looks like giving up violent games, movies, and TV shows that our children are watching at an increasingly early age. Could we do these things in the name of creating a culture that is committed to the well-being of others, putting the needs of others before our own desires?

If we want to be a community of love and service to one another, then we need to start living out that kind of love. If we look to the example of Jesus on the cross, we know that real love, radical love nearly always requires great sacrifice.

Lauren Bjork teaches theology to grades 7 and 8 at Xaverian Brothers High School in Westwood, MA. She also serves as a Director of Religious Education at her local parish in the Diocese of Worcester.

Every Week is Catholic Schools Week

the vocational call of Catholic school teachers

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by Lindsey Hughes

Since I have been able to call myself a teacher, I have been a Catholic school teacher.

And, since I have been able to call myself a teacher, I have been criticized for the type of teacher that I have chosen to be.

Whether it is a family member who chides me for working in a Catholic school, when I could be teaching history (as I intended as an undergrad) in public school “and making so much more money”, or a well-meaning friend who comes to the conclusion that I am “lucky” to teach the “easy” kids, there seems to an underlying belief that teaching in a Catholic school is some lukewarm version of the righteous struggle that the “rest” of the teachers in the world are undertaking. I would like to dispute this mild interpretation of what we, as Catholic school  educators, do on a regular basis.

Additionally, I would like to validate my belief (and likely, that of countless other educators) that the choice to work in a Catholic school is one of vocation. Author and minister Frederick Buechner, in discussing vocation, states that, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” It has become increasingly clear to me that Catholic schools (and those who teach in them) are meeting the “deep hungers” of our communities, often in ways that are not evident at first glance.

So, to anyone that may need a reminder, I want to definitively state that all teaching is a radical action. As a teacher, you are rejecting the general belief of so many in society that our youth are lost or misguided. You provide a place of hospitality and safety – really, of normalcy – that is not found in some of our students’ homes, neighborhoods, and families. Lest you forget that what you are doing is making a difference – I beg you to believe differently. It does. You do.

To illustrate my point further, let me provide you with two instances from my own experience. In the first, two juniors in my theology class were staying after school to work on an essay about C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. I went to check on the step team’s practice (since I have recently become their moderator) and came back to these two boys looking at their iPads and phones. When I asked why they were not working on their essays, they told me they were looking at information from a recent fatal shooting in Boston. They proceeded to tell me how the young man who had lost his life had previously saved the life of an individual who fell on train tracks four years ago. Then, between themselves, they talked about others who had lost their lives recently to gang violence. As they talked back and forth about which gang these people were a part of, where they were from, and if they had seen them in their neighborhoods, it became increasingly clear – my students’ lives outside of our school are much different than what they experience in our small, Catholic school setting. So then, when we question why they hang around after school or constantly want to practice their three point shots for hours in the gym, we may want to consider what they may be avoiding, and treasure the fact that our schools have created a refuge from what they experience in so many other places.

In the other instance, a student for whom I was writing a college recommendation let me read some of his written reflections he had composed in his free time. Though I was aware that this student overcomes significant challenges just to get to school every day and have his work done for his challenging course load, this glimpse into his non-school life was quite eye-opening. He chronicled his days, explaining that after school he often goes to work until late in the evening, and once his shift is completed, makes the often-intimidating trek home to complete homework and study. What struck me most were the descriptions of the individuals he encounters on his commute home from work. Knowing who to avoid and what to say to these individuals in order to communicate his neutrality, it broke my heart to read how complicated it was for him to simply go home. It also gives me great insight into why when I taught him last year he often asked for extensions on assignments, and was late to school more than any of us would suggest. I feel so lucky to have been deemed trustworthy enough for him to share these challenging details with. I feel even luckier to have been able to brag to colleges about how great he is.

It doesn’t have to be as extreme as gang violence, it could be family issues, rigorous after school responsibilities, or the countless other struggles our students endure – regardless, I hope you can remember that the communities of acceptance, love, and yes, even safety, that we create in Catholic schools are making a difference. I believe that lives have been transformed because my exceptional colleagues and I have made a vocational choice.

If you, too, have made a similar choice, what difference does your school make in its community?  What lives have been transformed in the learning community in which you teach?”

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Lindsey Hughes currently teaches sophomore and junior theology at Saint Joseph Preparatory High School in Brighton, MA. Outside of the classroom she coaches girls’ soccer and co-ed track and field.