The spirit

I've been in the South for over a year now, and it still surprises me how extensively religion pervades my co-workers' and students' lives.  Sure, my students and co-workers last year in the Delta would talk about church and pray at assemblies.  I had a few students who weren't allowed to read Harry Potter because it involved witchcraft.  But the people at my new school, while not necessarily any more religious, are far more outspoken about it.

Our town has a reputation for being religious, and I see it crop up everywhere.  When I ask my students for favorite memories, "getting saved" is on the tip of most students' tongues, along with winning sports games and the other usual suspects.  Somehow a student revealed that he hadn't been saved and half the class exploded in a flurry of disbelieving questions.  If I ask students for milestones in their future, dying and "going to be with the Lord" are immediate suggestions.  I've had to break up heated arguments about how long a certain Old Testament character lived.  On their campaign posters for positions in our junior honors society, several of my students placed quotes from scripture.  Another student put "[alpha] give me strength in this test" at the top of her nine weeks exam.

This devoutness extends all the way up to the administration.  We were only fifteen minutes into the first day of school-wide in-service, before the year even began, when our principal gave us the unprompted reassurance that "God is throughout this building."  I looked up from my cold apple danish and noticed most of the teachers around me nodding in assent. He went on to explain that when they had been constructing our relatively young school building, the administration had prayed together for a way to ensure that God would be watching over the place.  They decided that lines of Scripture should be literally built into the walls, ceilings, and floors of every room in the school.  Our principal assured us that this had indeed happened. Once again, I saw nearly every head in the room nodding its approval.

That's not the only way authority and religion come together at my school either. On the back of the "In God We Trust" poster that the state requires you hang in every classroom, there's a sticker declaring that the poster was sponsored by a local church. While these examples do ring the separation-of-church-and-state bell in my brain, I'm not immediately filled with secular indignation so much as a personal and academic curiosity.  When a student asked me if a personal experience that "changed the way [he] thought about [his] spirituality" would qualify as a rite of passage, I wanted to interview him right then and there.  Here was an eighth-grader telling me about a change in the way he related to a powerful idea.  Given how devout so many of my students seem, they must have put some serious thought into these matters.  I would love to harness that enthusiasm and mental energy, if it's possible.

I've worried about those on the margins of the vocal and apparently overwhelming Christian majority at my school.  In at least one of my classes, though, we have a Catholic and a Jew, both of whom are eager to share information about their faith.  It was especially great to see the Jewish student share a story about visiting Israel with her family and have the rest of the class listen, rapt, and then demand to know more about what she saw.  I don't know that it's always that easy for her, but it felt good to know that that kind of moment could take place in my room.