Local students train for a life of faith.

By: ANNIE WHALEY

     On High Street in Oxford stands a little brick church, sandwiched between The Den and the Oxford Municipal Building. It is surrounded by bars and restaurants, and passed by students with backpacks or driving in SUVs. It looks quiet and unassuming in the middle of the uptown flurry. The doors to St. Mary’s Church are heavy and tall, made of wood with black iron handles. The only Catholic Church in Oxford, it is smaller than you might imagine: a tiny front corridor, a lone table against one wall with a stack of weekly bulletins and other information about activities and worship services. The ceilings are high with beams that cross from one side to the other, following along to the walls, fitted with beautiful stained glass windows.You might except to find a choir singing at the front of the long aisle at the center, or people praying on their knees, lighting candles for loved one overseas or sick friends and family. It is a Sunday evening, at the end of the day that Catholics call their Sabbath, a day of rest.

     But as you walk through the double doors at the back of the sanctuary, you’ll see that no one is resting at all. Girls in Talawanda running suits sit at the end of one pew near the middle, talking animatedly about the latest happenings at school, while sixth-graders near the front poke each other with pencils. Everyone is chattering, waiting for classes to begin. An adult teachers stands at the front near the altar, preparing for the group lesson that the students will have before they separate into classes for their specific age group. She sets up two easels, two posters of two giant hearts. In her hand, red pieces of construction paper in different shapes and sizes.

     Three eighth-graders recite a prayer to signal the start of class, and as everyone realizes that class is beginning, the sanctuary becomes quiet. They all talk to God. This is what St. Mary’s feels like every Sunday evening as people gather for religious education – the everyday spilling into the sacred.

     Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, but these students aren’t giving each other candy and flowers, or giggling about their crushes. They are learning about the love of God.

     The teacher asks each person in the group to come to the front and glue a section of the red paper into the outline of the hearts on the easels. “We don’t always know what to think about things like war, taxes, issues that teen-agers go through, “ she says, “but when a community is ‘glued-on’ to God, that’s going to help you when things aren’t easy.”

     The students at St. Mary’s tonight go to public school five days a week to learn mathematics, English and science. Sunday nights are just a continuation of their education, only these classes are voluntary. They choose to learn the ways of God and the church, coming in out of the storm of basketball practice, television watching and band concerts.

     The senior high class is held in the basement of the church, in a room reminiscent of a standard classroom in some ways and a lounge in others. A chalkboard hangs on one wall, next to a bulletin board posting flyers and information about the happenings at St. Mary’s. Students sink down into soft white couches instead of sitting at desks; the room is lit by lamps. A small crucifix hangs from the wall over them, the porcelain head of the dying Jesus bowed.

      “We’re pretty informal around here,” says Chris Altrudo. She is a Miami University student who volunteers as a teacher for the religious education program. Everyone settles into a comfortable spot, and she opens up the floor for questions. “If you guys have some questions about the church, you know, things you want to know more about, just write them down on this paper.”

     A student in a Talawanda letter jacket hands in his piece of paper. “What is the job of a bishop?” The answer: He oversees the priests in an area; he can ordain new priests and confirm people in the church. Another student on the far couch asks two questions: “Why can people only think of questions when they’re not told to think of them?” and “How did religions form?” Even in a class with a more serious focus, some of the everyday joking slips in. These juniors and seniors can’t stop being high school students. The laughing mixed with spiritual study makes the atmosphere comfortable; everyone can act like themselves.

     Religious education isn’t just another subject to add to a student’s course list; it is central to living out the Catholic faith. Father Terry Schneider, the priest at St. Mary’s, describes these classes as an orientation of sorts.

     “The only reason we exist is to be an expression of faith, and you can’t just assume that everybody automatically knows everything they need to know,” he says. “Some people are growing in their faith, some are renewing their faith, but other people are being initiated into their faith.

     “You know, the police station is next door. You don’t just grab a badge and become a police officer; you have to be initiated into what it means to be a policeman, go to the academy. If we’re going to be followers of Jesus, you have to be initiated into what that means, and then you have to live it out,” said Schneider.

     These students spend their Sunday evenings seeking answers about the Catholic Church and how their faith affects their personal lives. Tonight they listen to a tape; a couple shares their perspective about dating and marriage. All of the ears in the room perk up. The subject is not lost on these teens. They are learning how their relationship with God spans not only their religious lives but also their lives at home, school and with their friends.

     As it gets near 7:30, time for everyone to scatter until next week, Altrudo gathers everyone together on the floor in the center of the room, while someone else volunteers to turn out the lights. The same ritual ends the class every Sunday: prayer to God around a single candle.

     “Do you guys have any prayer requests?” she asks.

     “We should pray about Iraq.”

      “For a good week.”

      Their concerns range from large-scale international conflict to things much smaller, but each thing is equally important in their lives. Their voices join together as they say the Lord’s Prayer. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.” They gather up their bags and papers and shout goodbyes to each other, cutting through the alley or passing back through the sanctuary, the front corridor, and the heavy wooden doors onto the busy Oxford street.