We find it necessary. We know we will win. We have confidence, in the victory, of good over evil.

(fiction, in the Lamentations series)

The communion rite came to an end.  Father Gerlach stood.  Everyone else then stood.  He read the prayer-after-communion, but he did not read the final blessing.  He sat back down, which meant that there would be some announcements, at least, if not a speaker from the missions asking for financial support.  Everyone else sat back down.  The busy and important ones in the pews sighed.  They had come to the Saturday five o'clock mass to “get it over with,” and now it was pushing beyond 45 minutes.

“Isn’t this what the bulletin is for: announcements?” thought parishioner Diane Randazzo, not for the first time, sitting by the choir.  She had lobbied her family to go to the five, despite the weather, because it would be “in and out.”    

To leave now though was out of the question.  If you wished to leave early, you had to do it straight from communion.  Get your coat and things together ahead of time, walk up to receive the body of Christ, and then walk out the back.  Don’t look down sheepishly like you’re embarrassed, but don’t make too much eye contact like you’re proud.  Grab a bulletin from the usher if he’s ready.  Most importantly, beat the traffic.

Jim Gallagher walked up to the lectern. “At the conclusion of mass, in the narthex, the parish council will be selling scrip for Genaurdi’s.  To this date, we have raised $10,000 dollars for improvements to our Catholic education center.  Thank you for your support.”  He continued, “The Knights of Columbus will also be in the narthex with petitions for you to sign for school choice vouchers.  Please take a minute to tell Harrisburg you want your tax dollars going to schools like Saint Jude’s.  Daily mass is on the usual schedule for this week: 6:30 and nine am.  So is the Thursday novena: two and eight pm.”  

Jim paused.  It would not be the final blessing yet.  “But first, to kick off Catholic Schools Week, we have a special talk from one of our school’s finest eighth graders: Todd Henning.”  

The reluctant applause was not a direct slight at young Todd personally but stemmed from the congregants’ resentment that they would now not be beating the traffic.  Todd understood these dynamics.  Often, it was his parents sighing when Father Gerlach or Monsignor McCoy did not roll right into the final blessing.  Therefore, he understood that if his little speech was going to keep people from the Skyline Tavern or from their own televisions for another five minutes, he’d have to deliver.  Like Lincoln at Gettysburg.

“Shit,” thought Brian Haines, sitting in the back under the 7th station of the cross and still stewing over the Sister of Mercy from East Africa who asked for donations last month.  “Well, at least he’s not gonna guilt us like Sister Kenya did.”  (Kenya was not her name.)

Todd enjoyed Catholic Schools Week.  Not like he did the week before Christmas or the week at the beach with his cousins but a big fan nonetheless.  This was his ninth one, including kindergarten, all at Saint Jude’s.  Catholic Schools Week meant games.  There was the parents-come-to-class day and the hoagie lunch.  There were soft pretzels provided at snack time.  Sister Maureen, the principal, added more recess.  The school held assemblies, partly for fun, partly for catechesis.  Todd enjoyed both. They had dress down days.  There was a dance.  And this year, on the front end, Todd had the honor of speaking to the five o’clock mass on the importance of Catholic schools.

“Thank you, Monsignor McCoy, Father Gerlach, Sister Maureen, and all the faculty and staff at Saint Jude’s parish and school.  There is something unique about a Catholic education.  That is why my parents have sent me to Saint Jude for the past eight and a half years.  We learn virtues and values….”

The question of “Why Catholic schools?” for Todd and for so many of the faithful, begged the question, “Why not public schools?”  As he wrote and now as he proclaimed, he had a few of the lost sheep in mind.  Julianna had switched to Unami, the public middle school, and now she smoked cigarettes, or so he heard.  Carly was at Unami too, and out of mocking sedition--probably not patriotism, knowing Carly--she had dyed her pubes red, white, and blue, or so he heard from someone who heard.   Elizabeth left St. Jude’s too and now hung out with people who wore the baggy-goth jeans with the hanging wallet-chains and who had painted-black fingernails and Korn and NIN patches on their bookbags.  Probably not many books in there, Todd presumed, and even fewer virtues and values.  

  

“We begin our days with prayer, and then the pledge of allegiance--under God.  We are not afraid to have prayer in schools.  We are not afraid to practice our faith.”   

In social studies class, earlier in the year, Todd learned about Al Smith, the first Catholic to run for president.  Al Smith was not afraid.  That’s whom he had in mind, contra Juliana and Carly.  Todd learned that the KKK targeted Catholics too.  “It wasn’t just black people,” Mrs. Rider told them.  (There were no black people in Todd’s class and only two in the entire school.)

“In religion class, we learn the ten commandments and the beatitudes.  We focus on the whole person.  The mind cannot be educated at the expense of the heart. Our hearts must not become hardened, like the Pharisees' did towards Jesus.”

   

Todd was channeling the pride and the fear and the faith that his socials studies and religion classes had given him. He had learned that Catholics, too, were put to death by the Nazis and their hardened hearts.  “It wasn’t just Jewish people,” Mrs. Rider emphasized.  (There were no Jews in Todd’s class.)  

“When I see an elderly person needing help with a door, I try to help them.  When I see a first grader hurt at recess, I ask how I can help.  I believe these actions stem from the gifts of the Holy Spirit—wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord—working within me.”

John F. Kennedy, the first Catholic president, had those same gifts.  That’s why he tried to bring peace and democracy to Vietnam, Mrs. Rider had told them.  But anti-Catholic sentiment was high, and JFK paid the price. 

“The first Friday of every month, we have mass.  In third grade, Mrs. DeLellis taught us the song, ‘They'll know we are Christians by our love,’ and it is a hymn we still sing.  People know us by our love.”

Todd’s grandmother, upon seeing Ted Turner on tv at a Phillies-Braves baseball game, hissed at him.  Not at Hanoi Jane sitting next to him, as others were wont to do, but at Ted.  Ted was not known by his love but by his money, and his anti-Catholic views apparently.  He had remarked, in some pre-Twitter forum, that people getting ashes on their foreheads were “Jesus-freaks.”  

“I’d hate to be him on judgment day,” Todd’s grandmother said.    

“Catholic schools have a rich history.  It is a history as deep as the public school system’s, if not more!  When Catholic immigrants came to the United States, they needed places to preserve and practice their faith, especially when they were persecuted, and so Catholic schools were established as safe places.”

Todd went on to summarize several key moments in the history of Catholic education.  He emphasized that Irish immigrants in the US had it really difficult, remembering what Mrs. Rider had said.  “No one will say this, but I will.  In many cases, they were treated just as badly as slaves." She had revealed the seemingly hidden truth.  “But, they worked very hard and after several generations, many achieved the American dream.” But, the fight, of course, was not over.  

“At a time like now when the culture of death is popular, Catholic schools teach the culture of life.  We are proud to be part of the culture of life, to end abortion, birth control, and euthanasia.  To show respect for the traditional family.”  

About a year prior to the speech, Todd had tried to have a serious talk with his dad, as he felt something dangerous was afoot.

“Dad, I heard that someone on Saturday Night Live tore up a picture of the pope.”

“Yes, Sinead O’Connor.  Why?”

“Mrs. Rider and Mrs. Flanagan were talking about it.  Is she Jewish?”

“No, she’s not Jewish. Why?”  

“Well, they were talking about the ‘secular Jews’ who run Saturday Night Live.  What does secular mean?” 

“They said that to you all, in class?” only then giving eye contact to Todd.

“No, I overheard them in the hallway.”

“Don’t eavesdrop on other people’s conversations,” turning back away from Todd.

“Why did she tear up a picture of the pope?”  

“I don’t know.”

“Are we under attack?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why do they hate us?”

“Thank you to my parents, especially, for making the financial sacrifice of sending me to Catholic school.  But as we know, it is a small sacrifice compared to the one Jesus made for us on the cross.  We must not forget that. Thank you, parishioners and Father Gerlach.  Saint Jude, patron of hopeless cases, pray for us.”  

Todd climbed down from the lectern to applause--this round louder than before.  He had done well.  Most importantly, it was not yet six o’clock.  He was quick enough, and the people were grateful.  Back in the pew, his mom and dad gave him a side hug and kiss.  His little brother stuck his tongue out as his sign of congratulations.  Father Gerlach gave the final blessing.  The cantor announced hymn #455, “They’ll Know We Are Christians by Our Love.”  She smiled as she announced it, as it was not the originally planned closing hymn.  It was a nod to Todd’s own nod to Mrs. Delellis.  Some people rushed out as Father and the acolytes turned and bowed toward the altar.  The rest waited until they finished walking up.  No one stayed for the end of the hymn.  A dozen parishioners stopped to buy the Genaurdi’s scrip.  Some would go straight to the store with it.  A smaller number stopped to sign the Knights’ voucher petitions to Harrisburg.  Father shook hands.  Three families the Hennings knew well came up to Todd to tell him he did a great job.  They would see him on Wednesday, for the parent-hoagie lunch.  

The organist and cantor continued to a now empty church:

We will work with each other, we will work side by side;

We will work with each other, we will work side by side;

And we'll guard each man's dignity and save each man's pride.

And they'll know we are Christians by our love, by our love,

Yes, they'll know we are Christians by our love.

Without Mental Reservation

 Without mental reservation?

unsolicited, (unpublished) article sent to NJEA Review magazine (New Jersey Education Association)

_____

“So, Mr. Fitz, should I join the navy or the air force?”

Melina’s question caught me off guard.  In the mock draft we did only two weeks prior, she chose, “Apply for conscientious objector (CO).”  She gave very sound and impassioned reasons.  When asked by her classmates what would happen if her CO application was denied, Melina answered, “Flee to Canada.”  In real life though, here she was asking which branch to join.  “Neither,” I wanted to say to her.  

*

In 2000, I signed up for the navy through the Reserve Officers Training Corps (ROTC).  I wanted to serve my country.  It seemed like an honorable path.  The uniforms, the parades, the “hometown hero” banners, the flyovers and returning troops at the ballgames, and the World War 2 movies all convinced me that the navy was for me.  My parents weren’t thrilled by the idea, however, and my own history teacher, Brother Ernest Miller, gently challenged me to interrogate what “serving my country” entailed and whether the military was the only way one could serve.  I could not articulate excellent answers, but Brother Ernest was a good teacher.  Neither he nor my parents ever told me, “Don’t go.”  They supported my decision.  

The attacks of September 11, in my sophomore year of college, confirmed my belief that the navy was my vocation.  I was commissioned an officer in 2004.  I took the oath “without mental reservation or purpose of evasion.”  I served tours on the USS Pelican in Bahrain, the USS Cardinal in South Texas, and the USS Cowpens in Japan.  

In the navy, I met some very good people, and I visited some very interesting places around the world.  Yet, soon into my service, I began to hate it.  My superiors were dehumanizing, the work was alienating, and the pace was grueling, especially when out to sea.  I was simultaneously stressed and bored, and also very lonely.  Much of this could have been expected when I signed up for the navy.  It wasn’t supposed to be easy.  The deeper cause of my struggle though, I came to understand, was that I no longer believed in the mission.  The 2003 US invasion of Iraq had precipitated a moral crisis.  I viewed that war as blatantly illegal, immoral, and unnecessary, and I worried, “What if I was sent to Iraq?  What if my ship were to fire Tomahawk cruise missiles at Baghdad?  Would I do the right thing?  Even if I was not directly involved, was I already part of the larger military machine?”  Military life is all-encompassing, and so I could not escape the moral crisis.  It weighed on me most waking hours.  In 2005, I painstakingly assembled an application for conscientious objector status, with outside counselor support and letters from mentors who could attest to my integrity, including Brother Ernest.   

I did not submit the application in the end.  To prove CO status, one has to show they’re against all war, and I was not entirely a pacifist.  More poignantly, submitting the CO application would have upended much of my life.  I feared potential ridicule and shame inside and outside the navy.  I was too scared to go through with it.  And so, I gritted my teeth and completed my obligation.   

*

We hope that our students follow their consciences, in both the urgent and the mundane, in civilian and in military life.  However, what must precede the conscience-following is conscience formation.  Educators can and should play a role in that process.  Ample opportunities exist--for social studies and other teachers, educational support professionals, counselors and administrators--to nudge our students into this necessary introspection.   

My students especially enjoy the mock draft, which can be done in one day or multiple days.  I typically do it with Vietnam, but teachers can do it alongside any real or even made up war.  (For the sake of inclusion, we make the draft open to all genders, sexual orientations, and ability levels.)   Using an improvised lottery, we draft three-quarters of the class, and those students have to decide: report for general military duty, with the potential for combat; apply for non-combat military roles, but if denied, you could get sent to general duty; flee to Canada; stay, refuse, and face possible arrest and up to five years in prison; declare CO status; or injure yourself.  Students spend time reflecting on and writing their decisions.  Those who are not drafted work together to develop difficult questions for each group.  Then the draftees report for duty or to another station (e.g. prison) around the room.  They share their reflections about their decisions, and then the non-drafted ask their questions:      

“What happens if you are given an unlawful order?

“Can you even find Vietnam on a map?  Do you even know who Ho Chi Minh is?”

“Why flee to Canada when your country needs you?”

“As a draft dodger, are you willing to have a felony conviction on your permanent record?” 

“If you’re against all war, what would you have done about Hitler?”

“Won’t this weigh on your conscience when you’re older?”

 We give time and space for the draftees to share.  Initially, no one is allowed to argue.  We respect the individual answers.  Only after we let those answers hang in the air for a bit do we open it up for the groups to cross-question each other.

“Why are you shirking your duty while I’m over here ready to fight for our country?”

“Can you tell us what ‘fighting for your country’ actually means?”

In addition to the draft, I try to give my students regular, shorter opportunities to “enter the story” alongside well-known and lesser known characters throughout US history: e.g. the 54th Massachusetts regiment in the Civil War; David Fagen in the Spanish-American War; Ray Bridgman in World War I; Smedley Butler in the gunboat wars; Marek Edelman or Franz Jagerstatter in World War 2; Tim O’Brien, Susan Schnall, or the GI resisters in the film Sir! No Sir! in Vietnam; Tomas Young or Chelsea Manning in Iraq.  Not all of these were war resisters, but each faced complicated individual moral choices inside specific political contexts.  

“What if David Fagen confided in you that he was thinking of defecting?  What advice would you give him?....  Would you snitch on him?”

“Would you join Susan Schnall and go to the protest in your uniform too?”  

I often place this type of reflection alongside the more typical assignments, and I have found student engagement to be higher on both when they’re able to regularly enter the story.  In these scenarios, there are no wrong answers, as long as they’re authentic.  

*

At the end of February, this year, the US began bombing Iran.  In addition to the lives snuffed out and the geopolitical fallout, the Center on Conscience and War reports that their GI rights hotline has been ringing nonstop since this war began, with servicemembers trying to learn their rights, in case they need to disobey unlawful orders or get out entirely.   

*

At the Catholic prep school I went to, military recruiters did not visit.  They are, however, very active in Passaic, the lower-income district where I teach.  For many of our students, college is unaffordable, and the military offers a steady job and benefits.  The marines put on pull-up contests and offer free swag.  The national guard drives humvees at the homecoming game, and the army embeds into video games.  The navy promises money for college, and the air force makes half-assurances that you probably won’t be placed in harm’s way.   I served with past and future recruiters.  They were fine individuals, but their job is to get enlistees.  

The military and potential war is a serious undertaking--perhaps the most serious of undertakings--and in my estimation, we don’t treat it seriously.  We resort to an easy, reflexive patriotism that does not ask many questions.  What does it mean to serve one’s country?  Is that our highest or only calling?  And, how do you define a country?  Is it the geopolitical interests of the ruling class or the working people who live there, their water, their sacred places, their health, their schools, and their families and dreams?  Our students need the time, space, and tools to think critically, to feel deeply, and to define and keep refining their authentic selves.  More important than any state standard or any memorized battle or war hero, we want our students to explore and be their authentic selves.

“If I had to do it all over again, Melina, I personally wouldn’t.  But, you have to make your decision.  Make sure that is informed.  And, we will support you.”