Community

I have rust returned from a national Conference for Lutheran School Administrators. It was held in New Orleans. While there I attended two excellent workshops. I’m proud to say they were led by my nephew Kevin on the topic of “Lutheran School in Community.” One of the great illustrations he shared was that at the school where his children attend there is a Friday afternoon ritual. The kids from the two upper grades take the last half hour each Friday to walk their community and pick up trash. They do more than pick up trash. They meet the neighbors. They ask questions. They share short stories and warm greetings. Slowly the blocks around the school are embracing the school and the feeling is mutual.

It reminded me of another very different urban community. Years ago I sat in a tenement house apartment in upper Harlem in New York. I was meeting with parents and other community leaders who were concerned that the local Lutheran school (School on the Hill) which had served them for a long time was in danger of closing. In the midst of our discussion they shared how the kids who attended there were watched over by the community

They said to me “You know Mrs. Jones. She runs the newspaper kiosk at the end of that school street. She watches each kid that walks to by her shop on the way to school.” And they said, “You know around the corner is good soul Mr. Smith. He just sits on his stoop every morning and afternoon and he knows those kids by name.” A third chimed in, “The one we really like is Mr. Waters. He makes sure he walks his dog just before and after school. Those kids all know that big Rottweiler and that dog loves those kids. Nobody messes around with a kid wearing a School on the Hill uniform!”

When the meeting ended quite a bit later and I was at the door, one of them gently and firmly grabbed me by my arm and said, “Let me just walk with you to your car. I noticed you parked it on 145th Street. “

Unfortunately there was new leadership at the school. The pastor was too busy with whatever he thought was more important than to ever meet the Smiths or the Waters. They weren’t even members of the congregation. The principal saved 10 cents a day by bringing his own water rather than picking it up at the kiosk. He worried about a guy who seemed to just sit on his stoop all day. Before long the school closed.

Yet I thank God for what it once was. Years later I was sitting in a TV studio being made-up for an interview. The person doing the job was a real pro. Then she said to me, “I heard you were with the Lutheran schools. I could just cry when I think about the one I attended. We were a community. Everybody (even the pastor, whose name was Pr. Clem Sabourin) knew my name. We looked after each other. We shared dreams and stories of faith. And the reason I want to cry is because I went to a Lutheran school about which you may never have heard. It was called the School on the Hill and next to my family it is God’s greatest gift to me. “