It All Comes Together

Here's a confession: Sometimes -- not all the time, but sometimes -- I feel as though the work I do is unimportant. I work at an independent school, where the tuition for high school students is more than $20,000 per year. Sometimes I feel as though the work I do would be more meaningful if I worked at an inner city school, a school for disadvantaged children. Sometimes, when I walk through the parking lot and see the cars that the students drive -- cars that are beyond my budget -- or pass through the lobby where girls are holding handbags that cost more than enough to feed a family of five for a week, I think I am in the wrong place. I ask myself if working at a school for the wealthy, the privileged, is in conflict with the values I learned at seminary where the focus was on servanthood.

It has been a struggle. I remember the year that Tom taught at a public school in the Bronx. We all thought it was wonderful that he was helping these kids gain an appreciation and understanding of classical music. He didn't think it was so wonderful, because he spent most of his time breaking up fights rather than actually teaching. It was disheartening.

I've thought about this on and off for quite some time.

And this summer, it all began to make sense because of a young man I met.

This young man -- let's call him Nate because that is what his name is -- works tirelessly at the campaign office of the candidate I support. I met him back during the primary season. He was there almost every time I went in, greeting people, listening to their concerns, suggesting ways they might use their talents and skills to help the campaign. He's back now for the general election, patiently registering new voters, answering questions, and listening more than talking, as people share their stories with them. He's probably paid a small salary at this point, though back in the spring I believe he held down a minimalist job of some sort that would enable him to devote so much time to the campaign.

He's bright, he's capable, he's a graduate of a fine college and could be working in a position where he would make more money than I do. But for the present, he's working to effect change, to make a difference in the lives of some of the very people who come into the campaign office. He's committed to an election where health care and so much more is at stake. And he works, seemingly tirelessly, for what he believes in. I don't know what the future holds for him or what he aspires to; I suspect it will have something to do with policy making.

As it turns out, coincidentally, Nate is a graduate of the very school where I work.

Luke says, "Everyone to whom much is given, of him much will be required."

This school is operated by the Quakers, the Religious Society of Friends. Their values are held up and passed along to the students in subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle ways.

Maybe Nate never heard what Luke had to say. Maybe he did. But he understands it and he lives it. Perhaps better than I do.

And so I am at peace with my struggle, believing that in some way I am contributing to the shaping and forming of young people who are given much and will, in turn, give much.

Amen.