Ten things I keep forgetting

By Jim Auer

I will sometimes make mistakes…I will sometimes make mistakes…I will sometimes make mistakes…

Why am I repeating something so obvious? I’m reinforcing a basic concept so that I won’t forget it once I’ve started teaching. From time to time in the past, right in the middle of the teaching year, I’ve suddenly remembered something basic like this, something I should have kept in mind all along. This year I’m going in prepared. I’ve made a list of ten things that I call “Some Good Old Basic Stuff I Keep Forgetting.” Here’s what’s on it.

1. I can’t improve on Jesus’ track record as a catechist. Where did I get the idea that if I do it right I will transform every child into a dynamic, permanently committed model of youthful Christianity? Certainly Jesus often “succeeded,” even with hardcore cases like Mary Magdalene, Matthew, and Zacchaeus. But what about the rich young man, the Pharisees, Judas, and that whole crowd of people who walked away grumbling? Why should I think I will successfully reach every child? By expecting nearly universal “success,” I am assuming that good catechesis is a matter of assembling the perfect gimmicks and/or that children are robots. Jesus didn’t think this way; neither should I.
2. I will make mistakes. This will not earn me the enmity of either God or the children I teach. If it earns me the enmity of the DRE or Coordinator, I will pray that God leads them to an administrative effectiveness workshop.
3. The children will forget some things I’ve said. I hope they won’t forget everything, but realistically I know they will forget a lot. Even after my masterful, lucid presentation of church history, some students may think Constantine is the name of a new rock group. I must remember that this is not proof of their perversity or of my incompetence. This is just life. So, I should build review into my plans, no matter how much I’m tempted to skip it (which is often, because the next topic always seems to need as much time as it can get). I must remember that it is better to study four things and remember three, than to study ten things and remember one (neo-ancient catechetical proverb!).
4. I am not an answer machine. It is normal, okay, and actually preferable not to be able to answer every question with the style and grace of a contemporary “Father of the Church.” The fact that I do not have all the answers does not mean I will leave the children deeply dissatisfied or alienated from religious studies. Thinking that I am an answer machine, or pretending to be one, is precisely what will alienate them. At the same time, I should never shy away from expressing my convictions because I am afraid “it may not be what they want to hear.”
5. Some items on my “wish list” should be priorities. Ideas for really special activities often get permanently filed. They usually call for additional planning, telephoning, schedule juggling, and (Lord, help me) meetings. Someday it would be nice if…we planned a super-special liturgy…invited this or that guest speaker…shared a session with this or that school of a different faith…visited the cathedral…had a class-plus-pizza-party in someone’s basement or back yard…It’s not possible to do all or even most of these projects, but it’s possible to do at least a few. This year I will make such activities a priority, and I will include them in my schedule. Actually I’ll do it right now while I’m thinking of it.
6. My lessons should contain both affective and cognitive approaches. Not that I need to be hyper about this. (“Let’s see, this lesson comes out to 22 minutes cognitive and 16 affective…”) Some topics and projects do lend themselves much more to one approach than to the other. But, over a period of time, there should be a balance. Stressing religious facts, or getting “back to the basics” is certainly appropriate in religious instruction; if I get carried away with it, though, I’ll be measuring the effectiveness of every lesson by the way the class scores on tests. At the other extreme, it’s possible to engineer a dozen projects that are colorful, musical, dramatic, and otherwise appealing. But if these projects don’t complement my lessons, they’re just “fun stuff.” If children spend several months making award-winning posters or banners and decorating hallways for liturgical seasons, but don’t know what happens at the Eucharist, there is definitely an imbalance.
7. I must find out where the children are coming from. I may have spent the evening before class in anticipatory ecstasy over the sheer grandeur of my lesson plan. But Don may have spent it in a shouting match with his alcoholic father, and Sherry may have spent it crying because her parents are splitting up. Maybe that’s why he seems immune to whatever I try, and she’s so tuned out to whatever I say. I have to try to find out things like these and it’s not a waste of my time.
8. God loves even that child. The one I sometimes wish were absent—or not in my class at all. I may be meeting him or her at a time in our lives when neither of us can accept, appreciate, or do much for the other. But that doesn’t mean either of us is hopeless…or the enemy.
9. I must be demanding, but also loving and caring. In fact, to be demanding is usually an integral part of loving and caring. I’m doing no child a favor if my attempt to be an understanding catechist produces a class “where you really don’t have to do much.”
10. I’m not alone in my catechetical task. There’s an excellent chance that God cares about “my” religion class. And there’s an excellent chance that God is willing to help me out. Didn’t Jesus say, “Ask and you will receive, knock and the door will be opened to you”? I have to remember this—in every class I teach—all year long.

Jim Auer

Jim Auer taught religion and English to Catholic teens for thirty years. He is currently a full-time writer, speaker, and presenter of workshops and retreats. Most of his sixteen books and approximately four hundred articles and stories have been written for Catholic teens and young adults.