Garden of Luke

One Memorable Mass of the Immaculate Conception

Source Alchetron.com

“1C, 1C!” I call out.

“That’s me, that’s me,” respond the 1st graders at the Catholic school where I work.

“Listen up, 1C.” (1 for first grade, C for the third of three classes)

Sensing I was about to unleash an incentive, 1C stops chattering and sits up straight.

In the next few minutes, we would enter the church for Mass for the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception.

During Mass, the lead teacher and I will spend the next hour attempting to corral the students into paying attention. The tussling of missals, crawling on pews, poking neighboring classmates, turning around to socialize, and asking how much longer, etc. is rampant. Paying attention to what’s happening on the altar is a rarity.

As an aide, I have an idea and suggest it to the lead teacher. She supports my plan to keep more of the first graders’ attention on the Mass.

Positioning myself in front of the class, I hold up three fingers.

“There are 3 readings during Mass; they come from the bible.”

“Who can tell me, who comes up onto the altar to read the first 2 readings at Mass?”

Crickets.

I answer my own question. “A student. An 8^th grader reads the first two readings from the bible.”

“What about the last reading; who reads it?”

Blank, empty stares at the ceiling and at me. One student picks his nose. Some fidget.

Answering my own question again, “The priest! The priest always does the last reading from the bible.”

“And he always reads from one of four books of the bible called the gospels.”

I hold up four fingers.

I write Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John on the board.

Placing my hand behind my ear and say, “Listen carefully to which book the priest reads from today.”

“If anyone can tell the class which book -- Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John – the priest reads from, then you will be so proud of yourself and we will all be proud of you!”

Some glance at their neighbors; some hands shoot up. The booger picker is still at it.

I raise my hold-your-questions finger.

"Who can tell me what happens after the gospel reading?”

“Peace be with you!”

“Ringing the bells!”

“Songs!” are the responses.

“Yes, but first a message,” I say. “The priest gives us a message about the readings called a homily. If you listen carefully and share the message with the class, then you will be so proud of yourself and we will all be proud of you.”

I press ahead about listening for the first two readings but my jig is up, as one student crawls under his desk, one puts his head down, and others resume chit-chatting with their neighbors. I’ve reached their limit.

After Mass, even before we exit the church, the kids are crowding me in the pew and talking over each other to share their discoveries about the Mass.

I encourage them to quiet down and wait to tell me back in the classroom.

First graders may not have cell phones yet, but they have their own lightning-speed communications network that rivals the likes of 5G. It’s comparable to the game of telephone on steroids. As we walk the distance between the church and the school, the first-grade network is on overload, buzzing and humming, all around the topic of the Mass.

Back in the classroom, we debrief.

Peyton exclaims, “I know, I know the reading! The reading was about the garden, the garden!”

The first reading was indeed from Genesis and about Adam, Eve, and the garden (Gn 3:9-15, 20).

“The garden? Who was in the garden?” I ask, as two other students hop up and down,”Oooo, oooo,” to answer the question.

I’m anticipating Peyton will respond along the lines of Adam and Eve.

Instead, she exclaims, “Luke, the garden of Luke!”

She had been paying attention. (The gospel reading had been Luke 1:26-38)

Next question: “Which book was the gospel reading from?”

1C shouts in unison, “Luuuuuke!”

To their response, I back up with an astounded I’m so proud of you expression.

Mindy confesses with a guilty, I think I did something wrong look, “I didn’t hear it, so I looked at the book Peyton’s mom had open, and it said Luke!”

“That’s a-okay. You were listening AND looking. Clever investigating.”

Next, we talk about the homily. Their responses don’t quite hit the mark, but they are close enough so I affirm their efforts.

“Pick up your arms, way up here, bend your elbows, and pat yourselves on your backs. Say to yourself -- good job!”

They giggle, twist, and contort their bodies with exaggerated movements patting their own and even their neighbors’ backs.

The lead teacher chimes in, “1C, you were better behaved today than in any other Mass this ENTIRE school year. You get free play time this afternoon.”

1C roars in jubilation.

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If faith were a garden, Catholic educators are entrusted to help parents care for this sacred space within their children. Our efforts often feel like water evaporating into the parched dry air of our world.

Each seed planted has its own full bloom DNA, with some demanding deep burrowing into the soil while others are scattering on top. No one can see what’s going on with the seeds in the soil as each has its own conditions for germination.

Yet, we pick up our watering cans day in and day out, season in and season out, and rejoice over every single tender sprout.

1 Cor 3:7 Neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who causes the growth.

Let’s ask the Ultimate Gardener, the One who causes growth, for lush, fruitful gardens in the hearts and minds of our littlest brothers and sisters in Christ.

Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception, pray for us!

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