Scottish Catholic Observer

November began busily, as it always does. As a school chaplain, Holydays of Obligation can sometimes be a bit of a challenge, but I’m fortunate that my high school, St Columba’s, can fit into a neighbouring church and my lovely wee primary, St Joseph’s, can comfortably be accommodated here. I must admit that, where whole school Masses are concerned, I’ve been on a bit of a journey. I’ve been in situations where entire schools have been corralled into games halls and the staff have been on constant guard patrol at either side.

If you’ve ever seen any of Johnny Cash’s prison performances you’ll get the idea: it’s a necessary part of maintaining order, but not very conducive to prayerful liturgy.

Luckily, St Columba’s is just the right size to be gathered inside St Andrew’s, Greenock’s biggest church. Having Mass in a church makes a palpable difference to the behaviour, attentiveness and reverence of the students. Seeing our school community coming together to celebrate such major feasts has convinced me, after a period of having some reservations, that such occasions are definitely worthwhile. As our new headteacher commented, seeing the whole school together in this way was a source of real pride to her—and to me.

I’m aware that a recent campaign by the Scottish Humanists has reignited debate over aspects of ‘religious observance’ in Scottish schools, including our own Catholic schools. To paraphrase St Peter in Acts 10:34, ‘the truth I have now come to realise’ is that collective, whole school liturgy is a core element of our identity as Catholic schools. The word ‘worship’ is a bit of a red-herring, I think. The secularists are fond of using emotive language to conjure up images of principled young atheists being ‘forced to worship’ a God they don’t believe in.

In reality—and this is a point I make regularly to my own students—is that neither faith nor worship can be forced. You can be respectfully present at a liturgy without having any of your human rights infringed, especially if that liturgy also affirms values which are central to the school’s self-understanding.

I can’t remember if I heard it somewhere else or whether it’s one of my own ideas which has come back to me, but there is an analogy between Catholic schools and ‘language medium’ schools. For our purposes, Gaelic is the most obvious example. Parents who send their children to a Gaelic medium school would reasonably expect that school to reflect Gaelic language and culture as the ‘medium’ of instruction. Whether or not they are native speakers, they would expect their child to ‘speak Gaelic’ (or French, or whichever language). Indeed, they would have a right to be concerned if they did not.

Well, the same applies to Catholic schools. Our schools should be marked by the presence of a distinctly Catholic spirit—‘ethos’ is maybe a bit passé nowadays—which informs everything in the school. Whether the child is Catholic or not, they should be expected to ‘speak Catholic,’ to have a familiarity with the Catholic vision of the human person, of the life of grace, the ‘joy and hope’ of the Gospel. This is the faith which constitutes the medium of instruction in the school.

Let’s be clear: this is about understanding, not ‘indoctrination’ or any of the other red-flag words the keyboard warriors of the Humanist Society like to bandy about. If parents who aren’t Catholic but send their children to our schools have a problem with that, then I would respectfully suggest they reconsider their choices.

Last week we had another aspect of this Catholic spirit: the sixth year retreat in the Lake District. St Columba’s boasts such fantastic views that it is really only a place like Keswick, and its views of Derwent Water, which could make our beauty-spoiled teens go ‘wow.’ We stayed at the Diocese of Lancaster’s youth centre, where they always make us very welcome.

Some eyebrows were raised when we were asked to bring sleeping bags (to cut down on laundry costs) but, as I pointed out to the group in the words of St Thomas More: “We should not look to go to Heaven in feather beds. It is not the way.”

A far greater ascetic challenge to the young folk came in the form of no WiFi and perhaps the worst mobile coverage in the UK. After some initial hyperventilation, they soon adapted to these privations. Besides, superfast broadband connections are not yet a human right—although if the humanists wanted to campaign about that I could get behind them.

The sixth years themselves were a delight. They engaged with the theme of the retreat and were on their best behaviour throughout. One curious thing which struck me about this particular cohort was how ‘retro’ their tastes in music were. As lights out approached, one group of boys could be heard giving a very respectable rendition of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody (1975) and on the bus back to Penrith they all spontaneously erupted into Starship’s We Built this City (on Rock and Roll), from 1985. Clearly parental tastes have filtered through to the next generation.

Returning to the parish late on Friday afternoon, I stopped by the Hospital to visit Deacon Paul, our permanent deacon, who is battling cancer just now. Please remember him in your prayers. He had been very poorly the day before but looked a little brighter. That cheered me a little as I headed into battle later that night in our regular First Friday Quiz in the parish hall.

I tend to take these things a little too seriously and I am very competitive. My team, Les Quizerables, is mostly composed of family members and, when we’re at full strength, we’re usually contenders for first place. Sadly, this month the questions were very poor indeed and we were without some of our most helpful members.

Our most bitter rivals, a large team from a family well known to the constabulary, pulled off a very suspect victory. While I am magnanimous in defeat, let’s say that if the quiz had been held in Keswick with its poor internet access, the result would have been very different. I’ll say no more.