the home visit--a lenten story

Marty started teaching with high hopes.  She saw herself as a shining figure, looked upon with awe by her students.  She thought she could make a difference in the world.  She imagined that she would be surrounded by adoring little faces, asking for hugs and fighting each other for the chance to hold her hand.

Then reality intervened.  First of all, she was a new teacher.  New teachers get their pick neither of schools nor of grades.  You get what you're given, and in this economy, you're happy to get whatever you are given.  So Marty--Ms. Banks--was given a sixth grade class in an area of town that was not the best.

Things didn't start off well, and they went downhill from there.  Her dreams of teacherly bliss soon faded, to be replaced by the understanding that this was a war zone.  Her students didn't want to be there, and she didn't really want them there, either.  They were not very nice.  They were foul mouthed, they cheated, and some of them smelled bad.  Oh, there were two or three who had a ready smile for "Teacher", but most of them said little and worked less.  Within a week, Marty was sure she'd made a mistake.  By the end of the first month, she realized that teaching wasn't for her.  By the end of the first semester, she decided that she had to quit.  She hated to do it to her students, but honestly, they would be better off with a teacher who cared.  So right before Christmas break, she went to the principal, Mr. Evans, and explained that she wanted out.

Mr Evans reminded her that she had a contract.  However, he said, he would disregard it if, in return, she would do one thing for him.  She could leave without breaking her contract if she would first give each of her students a home visit.  Marty was immediately struck by the thought of what kind of homes these students must live in, what kind of neighborhoods, but before she could say a word, Mr. Evans said that he'd been to every home in the school.  He promised her that she would be safe.  The parents knew that she was a teacher, and they would make sure of it.

Marty didn't want to do it, but she knew that she was being offered a deal that was more than generous, so she agreed.  That very afternoon, she made her first visits.  She decided to start off easy, so she visited the house of two sisters who had asked to be placed together.  The house was poor but neat, and the parents--both unemployed--were nonetheless very careful to make sure that their children were clean and minded their manners.  It was a very nice visit.  The next day, she visited a few more houses, then a few more, then a few more.

As the week progressed, she ran out of "good" children to visit and started to visit the ones that gave her problems.  First was Enrique.  He never did his homework, never paid attention, and always seemed to be talking to another student beside him.  When Marty rang the bell, a woman in a long dress and a shawl answered.  Her coal black hair hung in a braid behind her, and when she saw Marty, she immediately called for her son.  Enrique came to the door along with a little sister holding a baby.  They looked on shyly as Enrique said, "Teacher!  You come see me?"  Marty said that she was only here to say "Hi," to the family; that he wasn't in trouble.  Enrique said, "Oh, my mom no speak English so good."  Marty spoke some Spanish, and she and the mom chatted about her children, her husband in Mexico, and about Enrique.  She thanked her over and over for coming--no other teacher ever came to visit--only Mr. Evans.  As she talked, Marty watched Enrique interact with his sisters.  He was so gentle, so patient with them!  He never uttered a word of English--they all spoke Spanish.  Understanding dawned--"Enrique, when you talk to the other students in class, what do you talk about?"  Enrique explained, "I still no speak English so good, and I talk to my friends.  You talk a little fast, but they help me."  Marty smiled and said that it was fine for Enrique to ask his friends for translation.  She said goodbye to the mother and went to the next house on the list--Bozie's house.

Bozie was never clean.  He came to school, yes, but he didn't seem ready to work.   He slept half the time, and the rest of the time he acted out--calling out questions, getting close to her and just standing there, jus tlittle stuff.  He was big and never seemed to wear clean clothes, and Marty thought that maybe he had some special needs.  Bozie's dad opened the door.  "What do you want?" he said.  "I'm Bozie's teacher, and I am paying all my students a visit over Christmas.  I just wanted to introduce you and say hello.  "Bozie really likes your class," he said.  He's out at the store right now.  I"m disabled, and Bozie helps me out a lot around the house.  It's been hard on us for the past few years--his mom died right after I broke my hip at work, and things just haven't felt right since.  He'll be sad he missed you.  He talks about you all the time.  It's really hard, you know, raising a boy on your own, but Bozie is a good kid, He's been slow since his mama died, but the doctor tells me that happens when kids go through trauma.  She died in a car accident--did I tell you that?

Marty left the house before Bozie's dad could see her cry.  As she continued her visits, she realized that the only person with a problem at the school was her.  The other students had problems, yes, but she had not realized that and hadn't tried to help in any way.

When she came back to the principal the week after Christmas, she told him that she'd changed her mind.  She wanted to stay.  The principal told her that he had not doubted that.  Sometimes we had to remember that we were here to serve. It is hard to know how to serve if you don't know who you're serving.  When second semester started, Marty had a different attitude.  No, things didn't magically improve, but Marty's attitude did.  Now she understood.  The answer to her problem wasn't a new job--or more discipline--nor was it better classroom management.  The answer to her problem was love.  Love those that are put in your path, and that love will be paid back a thousandfold.  It was a lesson she never forgot.  And every Christmas from then on, Marty made it a point to visit her classes.  It was a labor of love.

the pharisee

Hi everyone--

This is important to me. Please respond.  I have lots of these portraits--it's the major thing I've always wanted to publish. But how do I publish them?  What do you think they would do best as?  Monologs? Short stories/poetry?  Some sort of book of reflections?

I call them Biblical portraits.  They are pictures of men and women from the old and new testament, seen in a different way.

I would love your comments.  If enough of you comment for me to get a clear picture of what you think, I will follow the majority rule.

Thanks!

the pharisee

Matt 22:34ff, 23

Among my people, there is a saying

that if anyone could keep all the rules

all the laws

for one day

then Messiah would come.

All the rules.

All the laws.

There are over 600 laws recorded in the Torah.

We have laws which govern everything

we do not need to question anything.

It is all clearly spelled out.

Of course, it was not always so.

When our father, Adam, was created

there was only one law

do not eat the fruit.

Knowing he could not,

naturally he ate

and caused the curse to come upon us all.

Since that time, we have slowly become overwhelmed

by law

by rules

by regulations.

Eat this

do not eat that.

Wear this

do not wear that.

Associate with this group,

but not with those over there,

who worship a different way.

Actually, I do not mind it.

I see it as a challenge.

A goad to the intellect.

Who is following the law,

and who is not,

and for those who are not,

what shall the punishment be?

I was content

until he came.

This Jesus.

Who did he think he was?

Saying that all of the laws could be broken down

made into two:

The Shema:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart

and soul

 and mind

and the other like it:

love your neighbor as yourself.

I heard him that night, and at first I was amused,

even impressed

by his insight.

But that night,

alone in my room

with no other faces about me

 to reflect my superiority

I was forced to consider anew his words.

Love the Lord your God

Love God

Love the Lord

Love your neighbor

Love yourself

Love.

This is the difficulty.

Laws are easy to follow.

You know right away if you are right or wrong.

Everything is clearly spelled out

and punishment is swift and sure

for those who transgress.

But love?

What does law have to do with love?

I am a Pharisee.

One of the chosen--

chosen even among the chosen

elite.

A lawyer.

One who has made it his life's work to carry out

the law.

I know every law

all 613

and I ruthlessly search out those who transgress those laws

to prosecute

even kill

 if necessary,

so that the law may stand firm.

But if this man,

this Jesus

is right,

what happens to the law?

What happens to me?

No!

He cannot be right.

For if he is,

then he is God.

And if he is God,

then the law

and everything it stands for

must be different than I had thought.

But I spent my life in the study of the law.

I cannot be wrong.

The price is too high.

Therefore,

he cannot be God.

And if he,

not being God,

proclaims himself God,

then he must die

so that the word of the law may be fulfilled.

There is a tradition among my people

that if one man should uphold all the law

for one day

then Messiah would come.

As I watched him on the cross

a man who

it was said

had no guilt in him

it occurred to me:

could it be that the only man who could uphold the law

all the law

for one day

was the Messiah?

And was that man

Messiah

even now upholding the law

fulfilling the law

on that same cross?

No!

It could not be.

The price was too high.

Unless, of course,

you reasoned in the price

of love.

1 cor 13

13 If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains,but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,^[b]but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Nothing.  What a big word.  It seems like something at the time.  Some may listen, applaud, even honor you, but in the end…ashes. Nothing.  All because you did it without love.

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 

⁸ Love never fails.

Be careful.  You may think that you are full of Christian love, but is it patient and kind?  Is it envious?  Does it boast or show pride?  Here's a good one.  Does it dishonor others?  Is it trying to bring things around to your way of thinking?  Does it fall easily into anger? Is it busy keeping records?  Does it rejoice in the truth, even if that truth is inconvenient?  Does it protect? Trust? Hope? Persevere?

I'm sorry, but I am drawn to the line, it always protects.  What kind of love is being shown today in the name of Christianity?  Love that protects or self-righteousness that throws others under the bus and into the mouths of wolves?

8 (cont) But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 

We know so little when compared to what we will know.  We may see a good deal, but it is so little compared to what is to come.  Love.  We might prophesy, we might attain all wisdom, but it all will end.  Only love remains.

¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

To see without limitations.  To understand without the barriers that are common to man today.  To be able to wipe our eyes, open them wide, and see God's truth displayed clearly, in plain view. I will one day know him as well as he knows me.  And he is love.  To know him better even now, seek earnestly for the ability to grow in love.

¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Ever believed beyond belief?  Ever hoped beyond hope?  Ever woke up one morning and thought--for that one precious second--that the lost loved one was back again?  It will one day happen.  And love will rule it all.  Come quickly Lord Jesus.

on being happy: Mr. Kanamori

How was your home room?  Did you spend your days hearing announcements and then sleeping on your desk?  Did you dread the start to your day?  Did you even sleep in so that you could miss it?

Mr. Kanamori's class would never do such a thing.  They are a 4th-grade homeroom in Japan, and Mr. Kanamori has helped them set a goal for themselves:  to be happy.

To be happy?  Seems like a useless goal, doesn't it?  But this incredible teacher has thought of a way to bring meaning and understanding to this goal.  To be happy, they must share with others.  Only in revealing themselves can they help others understand that they are not alone.  Once they understand that they are not alone, the children let go of barriers that have stood for years, and the entire class grows in understanding, empathy, and love.

In the video that I saw, Mr. Kanamori's class writes notebook journals.  These journals are designed to be read tot the class.  In it, the students tell their stories, and the other students then write responses.  The responses pave the way for empathy, as well as give other students the ability to tell their own stories, bringing about the ability to heal.

One boy had been gone for several days.  His grandmother had died, and he wrote the class about the experience.  He wrote about it all, from the grandmother lying in bed upstairs to the family going on a bus to the crematorium to witness the grandmother's cremation.  Afterwards, many other students shared their sympathy; some also shared their own stories.  The children were not afraid to cry about their own experiences, and they also shed tears for the experiences of others.  One little boy had lost his grandfather recently; the tears were still fresh.

Then a little girl stood up.  She had lost her father when she was three, and she had never discussed his death with anyone.  She was afraid that she was the only one to have gone through this and thought that nobody would understand.  When her classmates shared their experiences, she realized for the first time that she was not alone and that it was safe to express her grief.  

A few days later, this same little girl brought a well-loved drawing to class. It had hung in her room since she was a tiny girl.  It was a drawing that her father, an engineer, had made of a machine that was going to be in a parade.  He died before it was completed, and even though the machine appeared, her mother was too afraid to see it.  For the first time, the little girl shared her treasure with her friends and smiled as she spoke of her father.  She was happy.

Happiness is a choice.  It is something that is given away.  It comes with sharing, and it usually comes when two or more are together.  I think that it's hard to be happy without sharing.  

Val, the older I get, the more I understand your wish.  I hope you are happy now--I'm pretty sure you are, since you're surrounded with God and his saints.  I know you made us happy.  I'm going to do my best to make others happy, too.

For a link to the video, press here:  .http://www.wimp.com/homeroomteacher/