No Teacher's Edition

For several months in 2011 I worked as a substitute teacher in Louisiana public and charter schools in New Orleans and the surrounding metro area. It was difficult to say the least. I actually wrote on my resume that I worked in the "toughest schools" and it was no joke. One day the students actually revolted and bum rushed out 10 minutes before the bell rang. Another teacher came in to ask me if I was okay. I was not.

It wasn't all gloom and doom; some of my favorite experiences came in arts and humanities classes where students could do their work unsupervised, welcoming conversation. I also enjoyed the younger, unspoiled classes, and I have to say that substitute teaching 1st grade was really fun. I had a drill sergeant demeanor and those kids got in line, and were also very sweet and fun. I also knew the material, which made it easier to feel comfortable (unlike the time I had to sub for AP Math class, I haven't thought about that stuff in a loooong time, and was little help to the honor students).

One thing that troubled me and still does to this day was in teaching the first grade lesson plan for the day which included spelling and writing, reading, coloring, and basic arithmetic. The dismay came at the presence of a teacher's edition. For first grade. The basic arithmetic answers spelled out, answers in a different font and color. Who is teaching this class?

I think of this now because my work place is an educational environment. I work in a teaching hospital, my supervisors official titles are "Educator", and I am here to demonstrate learning. But unlike even our earliest formal learning, apparently, there is no teacher's edition, there are no easy answers. Sometimes there are no answers at all. I get asked why suffering happens, and even if the words are unspoken, I see the question on their faces. I often say, "That's a tough question"...or "I wish I could answer that"...There is a sacred dialogue with those who suffer, or who's loved ones suffer, and it has little to do with me telling them why or how I think this is possible and unpacking years of philosophy in a cold monotone.

But even if there were a teacher's edition, a magic book with all the answers filled in for us (spoiler alert, the Bible  does not have all the answers, nor does any other sacred text),  it would not be satisfying. I believe that what is meant by asking the questions is not the wish for an easy or simple answer, like we received in first grade. It is the desire to struggle with someone. It is the desire to know that the search for meaning, though veiled, is not fruitless in and of itself, and that we are not alone in it. It is our way of wrestling with our own despair and of finding hope in the relentless uncertainty of life. Any platitude is just a form of bargaining with our grief, trying to tell ourselves we don't need to feel the feelings we feel when we suffer, or witness suffering.

What our "teacher's edition" does offer is that simple hope in the midst of the difficult journey. We might not know why we experience things, or why we feel the way we do about our experiences, but it is okay for us to be fully human in the midst of the catastrophic and the heart-rending. There is reassurance that we are part of a greater mystery, and that in the trillions of lives played out in our planets history, many have felt as we do, and that in our shared experiences and natures we are truly one and the same.  We are not alone, and life will go on. God have mercy, Christ have mercy, God have mercy. For everyone. May we be here and now, for one another, and trust that life will go on.