In the high school, Bishop Fenwick in Boston, there are, as is typical in the United States, many clubs. As the school day comes to end, around three in the afternoon, the kids stay at school for clubs dedicated to theater, chess, creative writing or computer programming. So too do Fr. Michele Benetti, who teaches Physics and Religion, and I who teach Spanish; once a week, we remain for our club which we call “School of Community.” Every time, about ten or so students join us, of their own initiative, for an open discussion or to read and discuss a brief text.
Luna began to come to these encounters thanks to Maria, an Italian exchange student who spent some time at our school. Luna initially came a few times with Maria, but then did not come back to the club for a couple of months. Instead, when Maria left, she began to participate again every week. We were all a bit amazed: it seemed more logical that she would come when her friend was still in Boston. Instead, Luna did the opposite. She explained herself as follows: “When we were saying bye, Maria told me that, since she was going home, our friendship would have withered away to the point of disappearing, unless I was part of the group of School of Community. Following Christ together, we would become better and better friends.”
A few weeks later, Luna asked us at the end of a meeting: “I would like to be the one to ask a question to begin the next discussion; can I?.” “For sure!” we responded, without knowing exactly what she had in mind. With high schoolers, you learn to be open to their questions, to the disarming sincerity with which they take on life. In particular in the United States, in young people there is a beautiful openness of spirit, often privy of any cynicism or preconceptions.
The next time, we said a brief prayer and then looked at Luna, awaiting her question. “One second,” she said, “I wrote it down.” She took out her phone and began searching amid messages and apps. “Got it. According to you all, is it possible to live every moment fully?”. She turned to me, looked me in the eyes and said, “Fr. Luis, what do you think?”.
I was silent for a few seconds. I did not want to close up a question so true and profound with a canned response. I would have deluded everything, as well as myself, cutting it short with a simple affirmation or negation. Therefore, I tried to look back at my week, the moments in which I lived “fully,” to use her expression, and Ι tried to find examples of those situations. We identified some recent experiences in which we felt truly like ourselves, aware, alive. We also, however, had to acknowledge the fact that those moments were not frequent, unfortunately; often, we were simply dragged along by others or by events that were external to us.
This conversation stuck with me. Some days later, a 15 year old student of mine died in a terrible accident, and I had to ask myself if I had lived the relationship with her as fully as possible. On other occasions, whether in my work as a teacher, in my relationship with colleagues or in the house with my brothers, the question continued to re-propose itself: do I live fully, or only partially? At the end of that conversation with the kids, we came up with a provisional hypothesis, which was very helpful for me. I could sum it up as follows: both when we feel like we are living to the full, as well as when it seems like we are not, in our companionship, we are always provoked to wake up and to risk more of ourselves. For this reason, it is worth it to have the club of “School of Community.” For this reason, people like Luna are a precious gift for my life and for the world.
