Catholic schools are built on Christ's empty tomb
Our schools prepare children for eternity, says Fr John Bollan, and not just for their GCSEs
21 March 2008

'So, remind me, why is it we have Catholic schools again?" Anyone involved in Catholic education will have been asked that question at some point, if not repeatedly. Sometimes the question arises out of a desire to have a ready answer for those who challenge the existence of Catholic schools. Most times the question is part of a default mantra of contestation and thinly veiled hostility. I'm not convinced that either constituency will get an answer to their liking because, quite simply, the truth does not admit of a glib response and those who are implacably opposed to Catholic schools would not change their minds even if Professor Richard Dawkins were to emerge as a cheerleader for "Rome on the rates".

There are, of course, historical arguments. The reason we have Catholic schools is because, Reformation aside, we have always had Catholic schools in this country. Looking particularly at the Scottish context, these schools were an extension of the Church, built and paid for by the contributions of ordinary Catholics. Even when they became part of the state system as a result of the 1918 Education Act, they were (and in law still are) conceived as "being conducted in the interest of the Church". It is, of course, very easy to dismiss this "interest" by tainting it with epithets such as "self" or "vested". How often have we read the line about the Catholic Church tightening its already white-knuckled grip on its schools to compensate for haemorrhaging Mass attendance? The intrinsic flaw in this argument is that critics cannot (or will not) accept the fact that, for Catholics, there is no distinction between parish and school (or the home, for that matter). These are merely different contexts in which the Church manifests itself - or, to use a better theological term, in which the Church incarnates itself. The worshipping community gathered around the altar is one aspect of the Church, albeit a privileged one; the school community centred around Jesus as "way, truth and life" (Jn 14:6) is another. That said, historical arguments only have limited value. They easily fall prey to the rejoinder that we had lots of things in the 19th and 20th centuries that we don't have nowadays - child labour and rickets, for example. Surely we have made great advances in curing these social ills and medical pathologies? Is it not only a matter of time before the embarrassing hangover of "segregated education" (another favourite tag) is cured as well? Since all schools are, with the exception of the "Saint-this" or "Holy-that" in their names, virtually indistinguishable, why allow a separate Catholic system?

The answer is - because Catholic schools are different. As expressions, or incarnations, of the Church they should display an openly distinct character. By that I am not necessarily extolling the virtues of an in-your-face Catholicity which comes at you as soon as you set foot in the school foyer. It is all too easy to assault the visitor's senses with an overpowering array of religious bric-a-brac screaming, "This is a Catholic school!", and yet have nothing discernibly Catholic going on within. There are those who err at the other extreme, however: nary a holy picture and a suitably anodyne motto such as "Being All We Can Be" or "Reaching for the Stars". Why not go the whole hog and have "Climb Ev'ry Mountain"?

If there is one message which a Catholic school ought to convey to its students in unambiguous terms it is capillis captitis vestri omnes numerati sunt - "Every hair on your heads has been counted" (Lk 7:12). In an age when many of our young people are beset by a crippling sense of randomness and futility, it is so important to assure them that they are loved and wanted - indeed willed - by God. Their lives are of immense value.

Advocates of a uniformly secular education would be quick to point out that all schools cherish their students and want what's best for them. That is undoubtedly true, but only Catholic schools would have the temerity to suggest that what they also want is the eternal good of their students. Here lies the rub. Although the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem probably has the best claim to the physical location, all Catholic schools are built on the empty tomb of Christ. Either Jesus rose from the dead or he didn't. If he didn't, then we are, as St Paul says, "the most deluded of people" (1 Cor 15:19), and should get therapy. If Jesus is risen, however, then everything changes. His words are life and his Gospel becomes normative for us. It shows us the meaning of our lives, what it is to be truly human, what it is to love in the fullest sense, the experience of suffering and failure: the whole mosaic of human life is shown to be precisely that - a mosaic and not just a chance assemblage of bits and pieces.

This is where the Catholic school finds its soul and its voice. Its purpose is not simply to meet attainment targets but to do so against a backdrop in which young people are as aware of the motions of grace and the power of redeeming love as they are of the shifting of tectonic plates and the effects of static electricity. The Catholic school is a place where these disciplines meet and are held together because the inner logic of all these laws is, as Dante suggested, "the love that moves the sun and the other stars". These are not the crazed convictions of flat-earthers but core beliefs of Catholic Christianity. These principles give a shape to everything we do and that includes education, which is the humanising activity par excellence.

That is the purpose of Catholic schools and the mark of their authenticity is the fact that they are unashamedly different. If they did not do things differently, if they were to consign their Catholicity to a curricular ghetto in RE or the occasional bit of religiously motivated fundraising, they would not be Catholic schools. They would have forfeited their right to exist because, as their opponents have long argued, they are no more than laboratories of segregation. Were that the case, I would be the first to call for their closure.

That is not the situation as I see it. There is a growing awareness of the need for leaders of our Catholic schools to examine their consciences. This examination of conscience should be an occasion of grace for Catholic schools and a reason for increased confidence in those who work in them.

Why then do we have Catholic schools? Quite simply because they are schools of the Gospel in which Jesus is the head teacher: the Christ who sees and loves the enthusiasm of the young and understands what it is they lack. Catholic schools are spaces in which teachers are invited to see their teaching as ministry (regardless of whether they are Catholic) because teaching is, as St Augustine said, the officium amoris, the duty of love. These are manifestly good things and Catholic schools are manifestly good places. By appreciating the beauty of this educational and spiritual vision we can only make these good places even better.

Fr John Bollan is a lecturer at Glasgow University's Department of Religious Education. His book The Light of His Face - Spirituality for Catholic Teachers is published by Veritas