Sunday, June 30, 2002
Sunday, June 30, 2002
For as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.
It was necessary for her to take a week off from her teaching duties to attend her mother's
funeral. She was very close to her mother. Following the funeral she needed some time alone
to deal with her feelings. Her frustrations at the pre-school seemed like an even heavier
burden at this point in her life.
After a weekend of aimless shopping, puttering in the garden and watching TV, she realized
she must return to her classroom. She felt more like a soldier going into battle than a teacher
of pre-schoolers.
The first day back was about what she expected. Her hurt and despair produced resentment
which she kept carefully hidden. She went through the paces like the competent professional
she was. She smiled at the right times and was admirably patient considering the environment
and her raw feelings.
But then it happened. She had come around the corner to discover Rachel picking the last
chrysanthemum from the pot in the hall. Rachel, by the way, was the most distant, most
disruptive child in the class. In a stern, trembling voice the teacher demanded, "Rachel,
what are you doing?"
Rachel held out in her little hand the flowers she had already picked. "Mrs. Terrell," she said,
"You used to be like a mother. Would these flowers help you to be like a mother again? I know
you are fussed in your mind. Wouldn't you like some flowers?"
Mrs. Terrell thought, fussed in my mind? You mean it shows? To a five-year-old? She spoke:
"Rachel, what is a mother like?"
"A mother is like you used to be," Rachel said. "A mother likes being with children."
"But Rachel," said Mrs. Terrell, "I like being with children. I've just...well, I've been...well,
Rachel, my mother...passed away, and..."
Rachel meekly interrupted, "You mean she died?"
"Yes, Rachel," said her teacher sadly, "She died."
Rachel looked up at her teacher and asked, "Did she live until she died?"
Mrs. Terrell thought, what kind of question is that? "Well, honey, of course," she said, "All
people live until they die; they..."
Rachel interrupted her again. "Oh, no they don't, Mrs. Terrell. Some people seem to die while
they are still walking around. They stop being what they used to be. Mrs. Terrell, don't die just
because your mother did. Be alive while you are alive."
Out of the mouths of babes. How do we witness to the world that Christ is alive? We do it by
being alive ourselves.
(1 Corinthians
15.22
NRSV)
Educator Jeffery Holland tells about a pre-school teacher who faced what she thought was
"burn-out." She was a committed teacher whose heart particularly went out to the so-called
"disadvantaged child." She had begun to despair over some of the children who seemed so
lost, so limited--and in some cases, so neglected at home. In her growing frustration she
vacillated between the feeling that there was something wrong with her, or that there
was something wrong with "this current crop of pre-schoolers. They just don't respond like they
used to." Then her mother died.
Loving God, help me to be alive. Amen.
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