Composed by:  Br. Raymond Penefort
 
The small Catholic School is still a friendly and active place.  The warm, close atmosphere can be felt with a simple walk down the halls.  But in this particular Catholic School, an air of sadness prevails.  With almost a tear in their eyes, the principal and teachers of St. Thomas Aquinas must prepare for the closing of their elementary school located in the Hampden section of north central Baltimore.  After nearly one hundred fifty years of service to the Catholic and non-Catholic community, the fact had to be faced that the School could no longer operate with a budgetary deficit.  Regardless of the efforts of the parish and supporters, the Archdiocese made the decision that the doors must be closed in June, 2017.
 
I had the opportunity to visit St. Thomas Aquinas on a number of occasions and I was always impressed.  What a wonderful experience it was to witness the gentle but busy interaction between the students and teachers, with small class sizes where every child was important.
 
Most of the teachers have been long-term at St. Thomas.  Some were even taught by teachers still currently on the staff, and along with the principal can tell you the name of every student at the school.  Students were reading; students were calculating—doing math; and students were learning American history.  The evidence and influence of religion were everywhere, from statues and pictures to students and staff praying together.  I believe the teachers taught as Jesus would have taught.
 
As to the financing, the parents were paying approximately $7,000 per child per year.  The Archdiocese of Baltimore had been subsidizing and declared St. Thomas a Diocesan School.  There were fund raisers with everyone involved.
 
But still not enough.  A study of the School indicated several problems including the needs of the physical plant and the inability of the school to increase the budget via increases in enrollment; a problem exacerbated because of the minority Catholic population in the area and a decline in the number of families able to pay tuition.  The decision to close had to stand.
 
What could be done?  Was there no other way?
 
Something I’ve pondered over for many years and something that at last has become to me a moral issue and not really a political one:  Why couldn’t some of the taxes paid by the parents of St. Thomas, the school of their choice, gone to fund that same school?  Is it really just to deny someone a values-based education?  In so many ways there was service to the City of Baltimore including the dollar amount per student that the City would have paid had the children been in public schools.
 
Was it fair?  Has it ever been fair to parents that because they make such a choice they forfeit their dollar value for education although they’ve paid their taxes?  This was the penalty for choosing St. Thomas Aquinas.
 
Is this freedom?  Freedom of choice?  Freedom of religion?
 
Many questions without answers and too late to save St. Thomas.  In the meantime, let’s pray.  Pray to St. Elizabeth Ann Seton and pray to St. Thomas Aquinas.
 
Pray for the government officials and leaders in our country that they see the need for an ethical and just solution to this problem—as have leaders in other nations such as Canada.
 
Pray for all the children and families who could have been blessed with an education at St. Thomas School or at any number of other Catholic schools.
 
Pray for all the children and parents who must leave St. Thomas.
 
Pray for all the teachers and staff as they close the door behind them.
 
Pray for the future of Catholic education when the last bell rings.

While working on a performance of The Passion of Our Lord for my parish community, I once wrote a short song for the unrepentant thief to sing from his cross alongside Jesus.  As I prayed and played with it, the words for “Where Is Your God Now” began to take shape.  The good/repentant thief already was singing a great song by the band Third Day, simply called “Thief.”  (If you’ve never heard it, I encourage you to take a listen!  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwPqCPMyypI ).  What started as a kind of logistical need for a song quickly became a prayer and an opportunity for meditation.

Picture, if you will, the scene in John’s Gospel in which the Evangelist describes the Crucifixion of Our Lord.  So they took Jesus, and carrying the cross himself he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha.  There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus in the middle (John 19: 17,18). John doesn’t speak to us about anything the two others may have said as they hung from their own crosses.We hear about them, however, in Mark’s Gospel account. Those who were crucified with him also kept abusing him (Mk 15:32). And it is in Luke’s narrative that we hear from the two thieves themselves. Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.”  The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, “Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation?  And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.”  Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” (Lk 23:39-42).

It is in this conversation, that I would ask us to linger for a while.

First, let’s make note of what may be obvious.  Luke, though he is recognized as one of the four Gospel writers and Evangelists, probably never met Jesus in the flesh.  He is not listed as one of “the 12” apostles who travelled with the Lord and heard His words and witnessed His miracles directly.  It is thought that Luke was likely a close travelling companion of the apostle Paul (also not one of “the 12”).  So, it can be easily surmised that Luke did not directly hear the conversation between the two thieves of which he writes.  This fact, however, does not detract from what he may be trying to convey to us in our own time and place.

I think it likely that we can embrace the reality that there is a little bit of “thief” in all of us.  Perhaps not by the conventional definition, but certainly in what these two others represent and demonstrate to us.  In the repentant thief we can, perhaps, more willingly see ourselves.  We recognize that we sin, we stumble.  Perhaps like Peter we can even recognize that we deny.  In our own examination of conscience, with a hope in God’s Mercy, we can echo the words of this condemned man and ask, “Remember me Lord, when you come into your Kingdom.”  But I think Luke may be asking us if we might see ourselves in the unrepentant thief as well.
​
Let’s take a look at his words once again:“Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.”Are there times when we lack faith, even question the existence of God?  Or at least question His status as benevolent and all-merciful?  We’ve heard the argument, perhaps even from friends or family: if God is real, how is it that the world is full of suffering?  Why would a good “Father” allow his Son to suffer in that way?  What about me!?  In fact, I think perhaps that’s the biggest difference between the “other” on Jesus’ right and the “other” on Jesus’ left.  One recognizes his weakness, woundedness, and sinfulness, and yet he chooses to hope in Mercy.  The other, by contrast, continues to push off blame onto other people, even onto the Lord!  If he is not saved, it is because Jesus is not really the Messiah.  He has yet to admit his culpability and is still demanding things of others.  This requires no faith at all.  “But I have faith,” we protest.  “I’m much more like the good thief.”  In what situations might we resemble the unrepentant one?  If we pray hard for a loved one to recover from a serious illness or injury and they die, do we wonder if we didn’t pray hard enough?  Did they die because of our lack of faith or failure in prayer?  God’s Mercy doesn’t work like that.  His Mercy is never withheld from us.  Perhaps it doesn’t look like what we expected or had wished for, but it is still an abundantly loving mercy.  Our own suffering calls out a greater faith in us.  Lord, when you enter your Kingdom, please remember me.  When things have gone poorly or with difficult obstacles I’ve often heard (or perhaps even said!) “the evil one is really on the attack.”  To be sure, I do believe that Satan takes full advantage of our weaknesses.  Indeed, many saints suffered greatly from his torments.  Christ, himself, was tested and tempted during His 40 days in the dessert.  That having been said, I think it prudent that we check our own responsibility when something goes poorly.  Am I making myself more vulnerable because I’m distracted, careless, self-absorbed or overtired?  Am I forcing the fulfillment of my own wants and desires instead of graciously accepting the gifts that God gives me?  Am I assigning blame to others (other people, Satan, the Lord) instead of accepting my own part in a failure or unexpected outcome?

The reality of the human experience is that there will be times when we fall into the pit from which we see our circumstances and our sufferings merely as things that are happening to us.  The risk in this, I believe, is that we see this cross as a Cross of Despair, rather than a Cross of Hope.  When we are willing to see ourselves more clearly through the merciful eyes of the Savior, when we accept our mistakes and shortcomings with what the psalmist calls a contrite and humble heart, we can more readily recognize Christ the Lord, in whom our hope lies.  Jesus’ cross is a Cross of Hope.

​The struggle is real.  St. Augustine describes it in beautiful and poetic agony:


When at last I cling to you with my whole being there will be no more anguish or labor for me, and my life will be alive indeed, because filled with you.  But now it is very different. Anyone whom you fill you also uplift, but I am not full of you, and so I am a burden to myself.  Joys over which I ought to weep do battle with sorrows that should be matters for joy, and I do not know which will be victorious.  But I also see griefs that are evil at war in me with joys that are good, and I do not know which will win the day.  This is agony, Lord, have pity on me!  It is agony!  See, I do not hide my wounds; you are the physician and I am sick; you are merciful, I in need of mercy.  In adverse circumstances, I long for prosperity, and in times of prosperity I dread adversity. On your exceedingly great mercy rests all my hope……

- St. Augustine

​These posts are to help you kick-start the week and find inspiration through the lives of the saints. There is a depth of value in which we can learn from their insight and reflections. We hope to share them with you so that we all live for God at work, with friends and with family. 
 
My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, 
My spirit rejoices in God my Savior!