Is There Dodgeball in Heaven?

On Sunday mornings, my mother teaches a C.C.D. class (that’s Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, for all you non-Catholics; not Central City Dump, for anyone who may or may not have attended St. Mary’s C.C.D. anytime between 1977 and 1981) to a group of first graders. They’re a pretty tough crowd. They need a lot of tissues. They break at least five pencil tips an hour. They all talk at the same time, blurting out priceless one-liners like, “Is there dodgeball in heaven?” and “I think Jesus’ mother was MaryAnn,” as well as this gem: “Wouldn’t it be great if Jesus was really real?”

I am only a helper in this class. An enforcer, of sorts. I’m there to ensure everyone walks to and from the bathroom without incident. Quietly. To remind that seats are for sitting. To pass out replacement pencils. A lot.

“Wouldn’t it be great if Jesus was really real?”

Of course, the answer was that Jesus is real and is everywhere, all around us, all the time. I say I believe that, and I want to believe that; but I get why it doesn’t seem so to a first grader.

It doesn’t always seem so to me.

Spirituality is important to me, if not so much by-the-book religion. It’s also very personal to me. There are some days I truly feel a divine presence in my life, and some days not. I think that’s what faith is all about – a personal range of belief within which you constantly struggle and from which you continually grow. It doesn’t have to be Jesus for everyone. But to believe there is some higher purpose for our presence in this life, and something greater binding us together and guiding us, is probably a good way to recognize Jesus around us. Even first graders.

When I go to mass, I am usually upstairs with the choir, where we are busy flipping through music and focused on what and when we are next singing. Whispering to each other about whether or not we will need to sing three or four verses of a hymn doesn’t necessarily lend itself to spirituality. So I need the first graders for that. To remind me, while I pass out the sharpened pencils and tissues, that faith – while personal – is passed on collectively. From my mother to me. From the entire community to our children. And it’s important.

Without faith, we are hopeless. Hopeless. And I need to have hope there is no dodgeball in heaven.